Footsteps moving hard through the dry leaves alert me to Killian’s fast approach.
Shhh time. Hush. Quiet … Just a few more seconds.
Then Roarke’s lips brush against mine, warmth tracing each and every movement he makes. His fingers flex in my hair. His exhale skitters and dances over my skin. The subtle thrust of his hips pushes all of the hard parts of him against me. Thankfully, we’ve got clothes on, or more would be happening right now.
Or maybe not so thankfully, because I really want more to be happening right now, as his kiss makes me fall into bliss. I’m sure no one else could feel like this, though I want to kiss Seth and Pax a million more times, and Killian is on my must-conquer list – if I ever find the bralls – but Roarke is… Roarke. Perfect and irreplaceable.
And mine?
I need him to be mine.
He pulls back for a breath, then turns his head sharply to the right.
Time has stood still.
Frozen.
Means nothing anymore.
I know this even before I follow his gaze and see Killian mid-run and ready to kick Roarke off me.
“I did that?” I ask.
Roarke nods. “Yes,” he says, his word breathy with all the desire that we are not going to be able to explore.
He untangles his hand from my hair and climbs to his feet, adjusting the waist of his pants.
“What do I do now?” I demand, still panting on the ground.
“Time only gives you a minute or two. He’ll snap out of it on his own.”
“Oh,” I say, starting to climb to my feet on shaky legs. Nope – I’m going to kneel for a moment until I’m sure I won’t fall on my face. “Why are you smiling so big?”
“I’m pretty impressed you managed to Allure me and time – almost simultaneously. Any pain?”
Killian snaps out of his freeze, still storming forwards. His boot kicks through the air and brushes against my arm, only just missing me, before slamming back to the ground.
I squeak and jump back, pretty sure if Roarke and I hadn’t already begun getting up, that kick would have landed on the side of Roarke’s head.
Growling and glaring, he moves back in close to me. So close that as I rub my almost injured arm I’m also rubbing his stomach.
“What happened?” he demands.
“She held time,” Roarke says.
Killian grabs my head with both of his hands, scaring the crap out of me. His lips press firmly to my forehead, then he releases me again and turns sharply to Roarke.
Roarke takes giant jogging steps backwards.
“Next time tell her to move out of my way,” Killian growls, stalking after him.
I follow, because every step away from me that they take is a step closer to me being smacked by a wall.
But I’m not looking at them anymore – distracted by the rock and the dark maroon blood stain.
And I’m not sure how the guys resolve their issue, but Roarke steps up on my right, still panting a little, and Killian on my left, arms crossed over his chest and his bulging bicep intentionally pressed into my shoulder. I don’t move, and as Roarke’s hand settles onto the small of my back, I don’t want to move either.
“That worries you, doesn’t it?” Roarke asks.
“It just looks too perfect.”
Killian rumbles.
“You don’t think so?” I ask him.
“We’ve seen a lot of blood. Blood does weird things, perfect droplets or wide arcs or big pools,” Roarke says.
“But wings,” I press.
“They’re not very big. Really, it’s not a lot of blood, given the trauma the woman had.”
I move forward, feeling a little exposed as their bodies lose contact with mine. He’s right about the size; with my thumbs pressed together each wing is barely the span of my hands.
“But they are wings.”
Killian offers a ‘maybe’ grunt, grabbing the back of my pants and yanking me back a step. His gaze is locked onto the design.
“Why does it matter?” he finally asks.
I sigh. It doesn’t in the scheme of things. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. The Sabers said they killed her, but they weren’t the ones to damage her body. They were waiting for the thing that did the damage to come back when we arrived. So something took her heart, and in the process left a mark that looks like wings.”
I run my fingers over the design, feeling a shiver as logic reminds me that this is someone’s blood that I’m touching.
Just blood. Just stained stone.
“Weird – yes. Important – no,” Killian says.
He sounds so much like the thoughts going through my mind that I have to chuckle at hearing him say them out loud.
“Agreed,” I say.
“I’ve got work to do,” Roarke says, waving towards the book he had carried out with him and the one he found in the cellar.
Among the river pebbles at the base of the big, bloody rock is something tiny and shiny. I lean down and scoop it up.
“Huh,” he says. “Looks like glass.”
“Can’t be.” Killian tries to take it from me, but I snap my fingers tightly closed around it.
“Is it a spider?” I demand.
“Not likely,” Roarke says with a curious tilt to his head.
“If it’s not going to turn into a spider – like that pretty blue leaf – then you’re not allowed to squish it.”
“It’s a rock.”
I roll my eyes. I didn’t literally mean ‘squish’ – except Killian could probably crush it with ease. So, yeah, I did mean squish.
“There’s a cliff made of smooth stone at the end of the path. Maybe it chipped off,” Roarke says.
Their attention moves down the path, looking around even though it’s obvious that we’re in a bit of a secluded nook, with the boulders and stream bordering us on both sides and the cottage blocking out all view of the rest of the domain.
“You’re right,” Roarke says, as if Killian has actually spoken. “One shard this far away is unlikely, and it doesn't look quite like the same compound.”
“What’s a smooth wall doing at the end of the path?”
“The water for the stream has probably flowed over it for thousands – maybe millions – of years. There’s nothing better than water to wear any type of rock smooth, given enough time. These boulders are black granite, which is rare, but it just means that there was a volcano around here a few million years ago, but not enough quartz. There’s only one active volcano in Silva, but the remaining mountain for this one probably forms part of the border to the south, though I’m not sure which mountain it would be.”
He points into the mist beyond the big tree. I can’t see a mountain, but in that direction I can’t even see the sky. I don’t remember seeing that kind of mountain from the Manor, either – but Cook did tell strange tales. And all we could see was a forest and the green mist of the border. It was spooky.
“So volcanoes form rocks?” I press, trying to find the link between volcanoes and the stone in my hand or the smooth wall apparently down the path.
“Volcanoes release lava, lava cools to make granite, though granite needs a percentage of quartz to be true granite, so what we’re looking at is specifically termed ‘gabbro’ –”
“Roarke,” Killian grunts, cutting in.
Which earns him a sharp elbow and my cranky tone. “I was listening to him.”
Roarke leans in and kisses my temple, leaving the spot tingling as he whispers, “Thank you.”
I want to say ‘you’re welcome,’ but I’m a bit distracted by the sensation still humming on my skin.
“I was going to say,” Roarke continues, “that volcanoes leave tunnels too, and now that I’m thinking about it, a tunnel from the mountain would create a constant source of water and pressure for the unusual direction of flowing out from underneath the roots. The tree is probably growing its roots into the tunnel, enjoying the luxury of a pure, endless wate
r supply. If the stream didn’t flow uphill, this whole area would be a pond, or even a lake, so the stream’s direction is probably Eydis’ work.”
“But no spring?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“No spring and a path that leads to a pretty rock,” I mutter, uncurling my fingers to inspect my pretty rock.
It’s almost the size of a small egg, the kind a pigeon would lay. But it’s rough, like it’s covered in a million scratches. Without the scratches, it might be completely clear – but it just looks scratched and a little broken now. Oddly, I get a sense that it is anything but rough and broken – that this is how it’s meant to be – but all of that just feeds my curiosity more.
It’s cold against my skin, even though me holding it should have warmed it up by now. And to say it hums would make me sound crazy – but that’s exactly what it feels like.
“Is it a weapon – is this what smashed through her chest?”
“And left these marks on the boulder? Also unlikely. Why are you so curious about it?” Roarke asks.
“The blood? I’m not anymore; I’m curious about this egg now.”
“Egg?” Roarke asks, trying to snatch it back out of my hands.
What is with these guys and snatching!
“No, this is my project. You’re on bubble-popping duties, and I get to work out the weird glass ball thing that I think looks like an egg, and I’m pretty sure came out of Eydis’ chest.”
Rourke's eyes almost pop out of his head. All the pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even realize existed are falling in front of him. And he looks pretty desperate to solve it, too.
“Not currently important,” Killian says, tapping it before I manage to pull it out of his reach.
“Fine, but we’re done out here. Bring it inside with you,” Roarke says.
His hand trails across my back as he walks off, a sensation I mostly miss out on because I’m wearing two shirts. Then he’s outside my bubble, and I’m left with the distinct sensation of Killian. Leather and safety, an odd combination.
“I need a shower,” I say.
Killian chuffs.
“Like, a proper one. Not a rub down with a towel or a dunk in the cold stream. You have to stop doing that soon – winter will hit, and there’ll be snow on the ground, and I’m not built for swimming in frozen lakes.”
“Maybe I like seeing you cold,” he says, ambling back to the cottage.
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Maybe I don’t care what you like.”
“Don’t lie, you care.”
He just grunts, reaching back and tugging me out of his shadow and in close to his side.
“Maybe,” he says.
I take my books and detour past where Pax is strategizing. Four logs have been carried in from the forest to form a square of seating beside the cottage and the stream. Enough room for our impending guests and important meetings – because there’s little chance Pax will let them sit inside. He’s claimed that space for his pack, and aside from tasks involving serving us, there is no room for others, even allies.
I wave the book in the air, and Pax nods, following me inside and up into Eydis’ attic workspace. An attic which, I admit, is a mess.
“The Origin Spring is close. I found more of Eydis’ notes. She talks of building her cottage here to watch Kitten because she was frightened that bringing her through the border would eventually kill her. She didn’t know if Kitten would have a Seed or any kind of power or if just being here would drain her life.”
He reaches for the book, and I pull it out of reach.
“You don’t want to read her notes. It’s like a journal of Kitten’s life – none of us wants to read this.”
He clenches his fist, then slowly lowers his arm.
“I will read it,” Thane declares.
“But not now.” I put my foot down on the subject.
Thane backs down, but Pax presses on, “One of us needs to read it. The answers might be in there.”
I shake my head. “I looked at the last entry. It’s like Eydis just gives up on taking notes when Kitten turns sixteen.”
“So you flicked through it and discovered that the Spring is close and that Eydis was watching Beautiful, and that being in Silva might be killing her. All of that information, but you don’t think it’s worth reading the rest of the entries?”
Okay, so there is a lot of useful information in there. He’s right – but, “It doesn’t feel right,” I try to explain.
“Then get Beautiful in here and read it with her. I don’t care. Find me that Spring!” he shouts. Thundering down the stairs, he keeps shouting, “Shade!”
Moments later, I hear her arguing about needing a shower. I don’t move, just listen. Pax lets her have about a minute in the water on the next level down, and it’s barely five minutes from the water turning off ‘til Killian escorts her up the stairs.
All of which is rather amusing.
Killian stops at the top of the stairs, his eyes set on me with a vague question in them.
Do I need to stay?
I feel around the edges of my power, calm, settled, almost peaceful, then I shake my head. I’m in control.
“Check the sequoia tree again,” I say. “I’m sure the Spring is there; where there is one water source maybe there is another. And ask how Seth is going with his Sigil Seek Potion.”
Kitten glances between Killian and me, a confused crease on her otherwise calm brow. She looks young and innocent, but doesn’t get to ask her question before Killian has begun to vanish down the stairs.
“What tree?” she asks. “What potion?”
I wave in the vague direction of the enormous pine outside. “The big one, and Seth was looking to see if Eydis used some kind of sigil to help conceal things. She could have used a potion, that would make sense from a Potion Master, but there is no Potion Seek Potion that we can make.”
“Oh,” she says.
Her gray eyes do a quick flick around the room. The work stations are completely rearranged for either research or experiments, the floor covered in trip hazards, and the window seat now piled with half-read books.
“Right,” she says, drawing out the syllables and stepping over or around the piles, subconsciously running her fingers through her damp, vibrant blonde hair. The color catches the rays of light and makes the whole room seem lighter.
“Showered?” I ask her.
“Much better,” she says.
“With Killian?”
“No,” she snorts. “I showered with water, thank you. And soap. Found Eydis’ soap.”
“Where’s the egg?” I ask.
She pats her left pocket in answer.
“And your weapons?”
She pats her ankle, then pulls a karambit from her right pocket. It’s not a very popular weapon – small, just as easy to use as any other blade for a beginner, but with a lot more potential in the hands of someone who has skill.
The sheathed knife fits nicely back into her pocket as she asks, “Why so many questions?”
“Because you have a habit of leaving things lying around.”
She bends over, flopping all of her hair forwards and trying to struggle it into a band. She’s wearing one of my shirts, my pants too, and I rather like that she just helped herself. Another small moment that sparks questions about what in the Aeons my power is doing. Allure owns, it doesn’t generally delight in seeing someone take what is ours. But right now, her in my cream cotton shirt and beige linen pants feels exactly as things should be. The back of my shirt is wet, the light cotton sticking to her shoulder blades and hugging her hips. My splayed fingers would enjoy gripping right there, at the point where her waist narrows. There’s more to her than most Silvari women, and every curve is redefining my definition of perfect.
Because she would fit perfectly in my hands.
My power swirls to life, skitters over her flesh, then settles on her… fingers.
I stare at them. They’re nice fing
ers, for sure. Anything she did with them would also be nice, I’m equally sure. I’ve a long list of very intimate things that fingers can do – but right now my deepest desire is to still them.
Before I’ve finished that thought, I’m slipping around behind her and leaning over her bent figure. My body molds perfectly around hers, making her breath falter and her movements still. I trace the length of her arms, sliding my hands over hers and replacing the grip she has on her hair. Slowly, she stands, her arms lowering as I take over the task of fastening her hair into a band.
I can feel the little stutter in her breathing, the way she leans back against me. The way she enjoys my presence. No clothes tearing and desire-filled moans, or bodies rushing toward a single moment of pleasure, leaving sweat stains on the sheets and red marks where fingernails raked over skin.
None of that.
Just... this. A soft touch, a moment of comfort, an unassuming companion.
My magic dances along my fingertips, alive with desire and making little wisps of steam rise from her damp hair.
This.
This moment.
This touch.
This is exactly where I want to be.
The band snaps tight, and her hair is neatly in place. She lets out a soft exhale. “Thank you.”
“You have had hair all your life, right?” I tease, my fingers trailing down to rest on her shoulders.
“Yes. Just never this long. Cook and the knife and the hacking usually left it short and, well, nasty. It’s growing like crazy. Your hair is too. Killian can almost put his in a band.”
I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth skin just behind her ear.
“Pax wanted me to come up to you – what for?” she asks.
“I’d rather keep playing with your hair,” I admit. I kiss her neck once more, a diversion as I find the band and pull it out.
“Hey,” she squeaks, her hand flying backwards as she turns and tries to wrestle the band from my fingers.
I hold it aloft, too high for her to reach, biting the corner of my lip as I look down at her. Damn Pax for making me do this, and damn this whole mess we’re in for needing me to do this to her.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 89
