What he’s really asking is if he can take her – or does she need my power to stay alive right now.
I nod. “If she starts whimpering, call out to me.”
He scoops her up and carries her up the stairs, having heard everything he needs to. I wait until they’re out of sight, then jump to my feet. Everything warring inside me, to hold her – be there for her, against the relief that Pax has her safe, and more. So much more.
“If she needs me, you come find me.” I point at Killian before running from the cottage.
Killian rushes out the door behind me. “Seth,” he roars, storming in the other direction. “If she needs Roarke, you find him.”
Both of us running away.
Terrified.
I slam through Eydis’ knowledge gate – then keep running. Until there’s nothing but me and trees, and I collapse to the ground, releasing my hold on my power and sighing in relief as every part of me settles into its proper place.
The pain eases to nothing. Air tastes as it should, delicate and full of potential desire, and the pulse of mother earth returns like a second heartbeat beneath me.
I fall back, looking up at the sky through the patchwork of autumn trees each one desiring something.
Normally, when I’m not blocking myself off from my power, all of this is background noise that I grew deaf to a very, very long time ago. Maybe it’s the forced break – I have never bottled my Allure this much or for this long. Or maybe it’s the new person in my life who expects nothing, takes nothing, but gives so much – that’s rare in Silva. Even more so among the people around me.
So rare I may have forgotten it exists in my daily battle to toe the line. To ensure I don’t use people, and they don’t use me – unless, of course, it serves a purpose bigger than what my Allure wants.
But, oh, how beautiful this world is.
Kitten is right. We will not let it burn.
I have to keep everyone alive – keep her alive.
Eight Paces
I stir awake with a cracking pain through my skull, a soft pillow under my head, and a heavy arm over my chest. The sun’s up, barely. The storm has definitely moved on, and a clear blue sky fills the view out of Eydis’ bedroom window.
My fingers trace along the bare arm that has me pinned in place, finding a bare shoulder, then a bare back. I stop myself from exploring lower. I know it’s Pax – not sure how I know, though. I’m lying on my back, and Pax is almost on his stomach, his head on the very edge of the pillow next to mine. Not sure how I got here or exactly why my head hurts. My arm still aches, so I’m pretty sure trying to heal was unsuccessful and not worth the price.
And the other stuff. The bits and pieces that I remember. Killian’s hand in my hair. Roarke pressed oh-so-hard against me. The roses being turned to ash, and my whole being feeling like I wanted to be ash with them.
Crap. Think of something else, Shade, before you turn your insides to mush.
Pax lets out a soft snore, which makes me giggle.
The guy sucks in a breath and cracks an eyelid open to look at me.
“Sleeping?” I ask, then close my eyes against the low thrum of pain through my head. Talking hurts.
“Napping,” he counters. “I’ll get Roarke.”
“No,” I whisper, giving my head a second to settle before opening my eyes again.
Being pain-free would be nice, but being alone with Pax is more appealing right now.
He rolls over, pulling the top cover over himself as he moves to prop up on an elbow. With a lingering look of concern, his gaze searches mine. “How do you feel?”
“The same as the last time I passed out.”
The mortals-don’t-live-long-with-Sabers thing is really starting to be driven home. The risk is real. The dangers are real. And the pain is very real.
He leans down, pressing the barest kiss to my forehead.
“How does your arm feel?” he asks, his lips brushing against my skin.
My eyes drift shut again, all of me relaxing into the sensation. “Like I want to kiss you.”
He chuckles. “No, your arm.”
“It wants to kiss you, too.”
He sits up sharply, clearly needing a serious answer, and grabs my arm, inspecting it. Disappointment races through me. Would he listen if I ordered him to lie back down?
“Killian said it worked,” he presses. His tone is calm, but there’s a forced edge to it.
I keep my mouth shut because my arm still hurts, and there's a chance I knocked myself out for nothing. Or for only half a job.
“The bruising is gone,” he says.
He’s right – the bruising is gone, leaving smooth creamy-tan skin with a smudge of mud near my elbow.
“I can’t tell if the breaks have healed.” He looks at me as if I might have the answers.
I shake my head. “It still hurts.” Like a horse trampled it.
He frowns, looking like he might be ready to leap out of bed and lecture Roarke and Killian – or worse.
I reach for him. Grabbing at his chest, which would work if he were wearing a shirt, then at his arm. He slips free from my grip. If he were Roarke, I’d grab his hair, but Pax’s hair is a bit too short for that. So, I grab his ear.
He freezes instantly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
His lips press into a hard line. “Are you commanding me to stay?”
“Yes, Pax. You need to stay here. You can’t be pissed at your brothers when I did this to myself.”
“Logan’s men broke it first, and Killian broke it a second time because I wasn’t there to protect you.”
“Shut up,” I growl at him. “I’m all for you protecting me – but not from your brothers. You said you trusted them.”
“I,” he says through gritted teeth. “Do.”
“And you can’t attack them with this sigil on, anyway.”
“I can yell at them for ten minutes – then attack.”
“Stay with me for ten minutes,” I say, mentally adding, then don’t attack them.
He leans towards me, which relaxes some of the pressure on his ear. Then he reaches for my arm, his fingertips trailing a line from my elbow to my hand and settling at my wrist. In no hurry to remove my grip.
“We need to be careful with you – I trust them to respect that. But we have all agreed that if one of us oversteps the line, the others will step in.”
“When did that happen?” I demand.
“While you were sleeping.”
I practically roll my eyes at him. “Which time?”
“The very first time.”
Okay. Um. “That was a long time ago.”
His brow furrows into confused angles.
“Why does that puzzle you?” he asks, sitting back.
“You didn’t even like me then.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice is soft, his movements gentle as he finally pulls my hand free from his ear. “I tried to make sure you didn’t like me. It didn’t work.”
“Oh, it was working.”
“What made it stop working?”
“You saved my life a few too many times,” I say. And you’re sexy as bralls, all the way to your core. “Wait, why did you like me? You guys hate mortals.”
“I don’t know. I have a feeling my mother knew, though.”
“Knew what, exactly? That this whole mate thing would happen?”
“Maybe. If she had taken you in like the rest of us, we’d have bonded as brother and sister. Maybe whatever is going to unfold requires this different kind of bond. Maybe because I’ve already lost one mate, it will be easier to lose another.” By the time he’s finished, his voice is little more than a whisper.
“Or maybe I’m going to kick ass and just need to learn how to use a weapon and your powers without knocking myself out.”
“If that’s even possible.”
I toss the blankets off, then snatch them back around me. “Where are my pants?”
“They
were covered in mud. Apparently trying to heal you came before getting you clean. Your shirt was okay, as much as I wanted to take it off you.”
“You make it sound like I can’t get myself clean – like I’m a puppy who enjoys rolling in puddles.”
He leans in, lips brushing on the sensitive skin near my ear and sending shivers up my spine, then back down again.
“Yes, puppy. That’s exactly what you are,” he whispers.
I groan.
“What?” he asks, lips still so close to me that I can almost feel them.
“You’re naked.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m almost naked.”
“Yes.”
He cups my cheeks. Just the slightest bit of encouragement to turn my face, to put my lips and his lips together in a whisper of a kiss.
“I see the problem,” he says.
His lips. My lips. No room to breathe.
Pressing me down onto the bed, he angles himself over me. The blanket falls back from his bare chest. I moan, and his lips follow the source of the sound, kissing down my neck and over my throat.
“This was a bad idea,” he rumbles, his tongue tracing my collarbone.
I press my good hand to his chest with absolutely no intention of pushing him away. “Yes.”
“Don’t do that,” he says, starting to kiss from my shoulder back towards my neck. Slowly, like each one matters. Kiss, long slow exhale, kiss. Very long, very slow inhale.
“Don’t. Do. What?” I manage to form rough words.
Pain presses into my shoulder, his teeth slipping through my skin, and my moan sinks into a low growl. Which only makes him bite harder, sending bolts of lightning through every dark, painful corner of my body. Hard and alive as everything in me turns into his.
Slowly, he relaxes back, running his tongue over the bite.
“You’re growling,” he says.
I cut the sound off. Yeah, that is a little weird.
“You’re biting me,” I counter in a gasp because gasping is so very sexy.
Just mildly better than growling, but gasping is safe – and what I really want to do with my mouth isn’t.
Lick him – all over.
Nibble – yum.
Bite – yes. I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling nothing but ordinary mortal teeth.
Sure, I could bite, and I could probably draw blood, but it would be nothing like the delicious puncture from Pax’s teeth. Or maybe they’re Thane’s. I really should work out who’s who.
“I may have been dreaming of doing that. Lucky I wasn’t dreaming of doing anything else,” Pax says.
The sigil on his chest is glowing, along with the gold in his eyes. I run my fingers over it, tracing the edges raised like a brand pressed into his skin. But here and there bits are missing, like finger smudges through a drawing in the flour on the kitchen bench. A very small finger.
“Does it hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Just inhibits. Like my ideas run into a wall.”
“I know what running into a wall feels like.”
He offers me a lopsided smile. “You’re going to have to get up, Beautiful. I can’t pull myself away.”
Right, get my almost naked body out of this bed before he manages to find a loophole in his sigil.
Which, at this point, I completely don’t mind him doing. Headache and threat of death don’t even deter me. But he would mind, and death is not something I’m keen on existing in. Staying nestled under him with just the fold of the blanket and my shirt between us is clearly warring with his instincts and his common sense.
In short, I’m currently torturing him.
“Stay,” I order, pressing my finger against his nose like it might be the key to him following my command.
He smiles. “Just for the record, so you’re aware when this sigil wears off, giving me orders is the last thing you want to do.”
I shimmy out from underneath him, saying, “Right, so I should give as many as I can before the sigil wears off?”
He collapses onto the bed, rolling to watch a glimpse of my bare ass crossing the room towards Eydis’ clothes.
Slowly, something about being exposed makes me hyper-aware of the way my body moves and jiggles – and sways. I sway, not something I’ve stopped to explore before. I mean, unless I didn’t sway before, which is also a possibility. It’s not like I’ve ever enjoyed anyone looking at my ass, not in this or possible past lives.
I feel… almost… sexy.
Thane cuts through my thoughts with his growl, and shivers cover every inch of my skin.
The new bite on my shoulder is nestled against several half-healed puncture marks. I must be crazy, because just looking at them makes me clench my core in anticipation of something more.
And… no shaking. The remnants of static are rushing down my spine, but no twitching. No tremors. Nothing.
I consider this as I stretch out still-sleeping muscles.
Did I shake after our last kiss? I think, and walk straight, smack, forehead first into a wall.
My wall.
I groan, holding my head and fighting against my eyes watering.
“It’s still shrinking,” Pax says, not really asking or sounding like he wants me to respond as he jumps out of the bed and rips open the zip on his bag.
I’m too busy trying to breathe through the sting to bother saying anything.
His arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me back into his bare chest. He hasn’t even bothered with a shirt – but at least he has pants on.
That chuckin' hurt.
“Get dressed,” he whispers, pushing a pair of his pants and a shirt into my arms. “Wear these; we still need to get those clothes smelling right.”
“Pax,” Seth shouts up the stairs.
I would argue, but I don’t have time. Seth is on his way in here. Rushing, I pull Pax’s pants on just seconds before Seth bursts into the room, his gaze finding me.
“Ah?” he asks, pointing at me and clearly saying something other than what he intended.
“Bubble’s shrinking,” I grumble.
“We’ll discuss it down stairs, get dressed,” Pax orders.
Seth looks over my head to Pax. “She’s healed?”
“Yes,” I snap, because I’m right here so I’m going to answer. “I think.”
Seth gives me a lopsided smile, not sure what Pax’s doing because he’s behind me. I run my hands over my braided hair, then down the front of my messed shirt.
“Worried about your looks?” Seth asks, smiling wickedly.
“Shut up and turn around,” I snap.
Seth chuckles, but he obeys.
“Why?” Pax asks, his back to me as he fishes through his bag for a shirt.
“I’m changing my shirt,” I say, shimmying out of the dirty garment from Eydis that I actually liked and working Pax’s nice and clean, creamy white one on.
It’s not going to be clean for long.
“My shirt,” Pax says.
“Oh, brother, everything you own is hers now,” Seth says. “She’s like the mouse making a home in your bottom drawer. Nothing survives.”
That’s just mean.
I run at him with every intention of tackling the guy and kind of wishing there were a pot of gravy nearby. But somehow he turns my tackle into a straddle and takes my full force without even staggering.
“Nice to see you too,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and starting down the steps.
I squeal and squirm. Being carried down a tight staircase with no way to see where I’m going is a horrible feeling.
“Put me down!”
“Even if I put you down, you’re still coming with me. Pax has had enough time with you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, but I don’t stop trying to escape.
He lets me slide to my feet by the front door and stares down at me. “Exactly what I just said, my turn.”
“Pax didn’t just get a turn. There are no
turns.”
He lifts his hand and starts counting off his fingers, “Was he with you while you slept?”
My brow scrunches, but I nod. Truth.
“Naked, all night, and kissing you this morning, and the two of you were only just getting dressed.”
I don’t get a chance to interrupt before he’s leaning in close to my ear and saying ever so softly, “My turn.”
So I blurt, “I’m not the outhouse.”
He snorts, but he doesn’t really backup, so I consider myself lucky it’s a tiny snort. “What?” he kind of whisper-demands.
“For you to take turns with. Everyone has to share the outhouse.”
“If you were an outhouse, I would keep you all to myself,” he whispers. “That’s my goal in life – to have my own private bathroom.”
I – ah – what?
I seriously don’t know what to do with that? It could be a compliment, but it feels like an insult.
Then he straightens, putting some space between us. Chuckin’ beaming at me. “I like watching you squirm. It’s fun.”
I adjust my shirt, hunting for a distraction, or the right thing to say, or some smart-ass comment that currently eludes me.
What a time for my mouth to fail me.
So I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s Pax doing?”
“Showering, using the toilet, brushing his pubes, who knows.”
Seth and information do go surprisingly well together. He’s not one for withholding things, but sometimes he just enjoys watching what happens when I draw conclusions. This is one of those times. Now I’m chewing on my lip, trying to picture the various times I’ve seen Pax pantsless and if the guy even had pubes.
The air is teased with a rich scent that’s coming from Seth.
“You smell like a blacksmith eating an orange,” I tell him, hoping it will change the subject.
He laughs. “Killian says my Seed smells like copper, and I smell like citrus. Have you always been able to smell me?”
“Usually body odor and decaying food.”
“I was being serious,” Seth says, taking my free hand and leading me to the kitchen alcove. “Have you always been able to smell me?”
My other hand is being hugged to my chest. It aches, but nothing like the pain I was in.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 85
