“I’d never eat all of your chocolate, Kitten,” he says softly.
I snap two pieces off, one for me, and the other I put straight into his mouth.
“What are we reading?” I ask.
“Master-level Potion Bases and Variations,” he says, tapping the book before flipping the page.
“Are you getting anywhere?” I ask.
He scrubs a hand down his face, motioning to where he tossed the last potion at my feet. “Not really.”
Which is the perfect opening for me to pull the egg from my pocket and rest it in the groove down the center of the opened book.
“Want a distraction?” I ask, realizing that I’ve curled my legs underneath me and begun to hug his arm.
He moves his arm to wrap around me, picking up the egg and turning it to inspect all angles.
“The lines aren’t random,” he muses, then jumps up so suddenly that I crash to the floor, thumping my head on the floorboards. I moan, which he ignores as he grabs paper and an ink pot.
“Quick, move,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his foot.
“I am moving quickly,” I mutter, sitting up, rubbing my head, and frowning at him.
Which he also ignores.
At least he isn’t telling me to pee in the corner like he did last time he fell into his ‘learning cool stuff and ignoring the world’ mindset. This Roarke is super-focused, and it’s all inside his head, taking no notice of what’s outside it as he sits down hard – on my hand.
I wince and pull it free from being squished, and I’d curse at him too if I wasn’t biting my lip.
He puts the stuff down slowly and turns towards me, focusing enough that some of that far-away look in his eyes dissolves.
“Sorry, Kitten,” he says, his dark eyes scanning over my body as if he knows something hurts, but not what.
I hold my hand up for him.
“Not a cushion,” I say, pointing at it.
He quirks a soft smile, takes my hand, and gently kisses my knuckles.
“I didn’t see it.”
“I don’t think you were looking. I could have held your quill pointy end up, and you would have sat on the thing.”
He grimaces. “Please don’t.”
Which makes him look… adorable. Yes, that’s exactly what Roarke is. Adorable.
“What was so important, anyway?” I ask.
“Watch,” he says, dropping my hand so he can scoot closer to me.
He pours a puddle of ink onto one piece of paper then rolls the egg into it. The ink goes everywhere, leaking off the edges of the page and into the wood grain of the floor. My beautiful egg is stained before I can gasp.
Not that he seems to notice as he shoves the inky page away and pulls a fresh one over. With the egg between his thumb and forefinger, he rolls it across the white surface – leaving behind a print.
Wings.
The egg has the exact same pattern as the blood on the rock. Much, much smaller, but the same curves, detail, feathers, everything.
For half a beat I just stare at the beauty of the design, then I come to my senses and snatch the egg off of him. Wiping it on the leg of the pants he’s wearing, because he made the mess.
“I think you were right about the wings,” he says, not objecting to the growing stain.
“I’m always right,” I mutter, relieved that the ink is coming off but still annoyed that he almost stained the thing in the first place. “So the thing got covered in her blood while it was open, hit the rock or something, then closed itself?”
He stiffens, then snatches the egg off me, eyes wide – looks like I’m right again.
“I think this was inside her.”
“It’s her heart?” I gasp because it was in my pocket and that’s gross.
“No. I think it was in her chest, though. I didn’t double-check for her actual heart, but it’s probably still in there. This thing just burst out when she died, ripping her chest into a mess and shredding everything around it.”
“Like a parasite?”
He shakes his head sharply. “No. I doubt it was doing anything other than hiding. There’s nothing about it in her notes, so she might not have even known it was there.”
It’s my turn to snatch, and I grab for the egg as fast as I can. And miss, because he’s faster. Chuckling softly, he offers it to me.
It’s cold in my fingers, but aside from the pattern and the wings, there are no other hints as to what it is. At least not to me. It could be a bird or a bat or some random Silvari creature.
“Is it a dragon egg?”
“No, they’re impossible to carry.”
“What could it be, then?”
He tilts his head to the side, thinking, his gaze focused and the soft smile still on his lips. “I don’t know,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair and resting his palm against the back of my neck. “And we’ve got more important things to research right now.”
I’ve kind of lost focus on what he’s saying, the warmth of his skin against mine shifting from normal into a slow sizzle.
With a little pressure on my neck, he turns me to look at him, then leans forward to rest his forehead against mine.
“You are more important,” he says.
Killian stomps loudly off the staircase, clearing his throat for added effect.
I startle, but Roarke doesn’t, straightening slowly but not letting go of me – which means Roarke probably sensed Killian was coming.
“Now,” the Darkness guy grunts.
“Huh?” I manage, entranced by the soft glow of emotion still in Roarke’s expression.
Killian grabs my arm and yanks me so hard that I stumble over Roarke’s books, and the egg drops to the ground. Roarke just points to it, smiling up at me.
“I’ll keep it safe.”
“Lose it and you die,” I shout.
I don’t get a chance to reinforce my threat since Killian manhandles me down to the next landing.
“Wait,” I demand, pulling free from him.
He glares at me, but otherwise waits.
“Toilet?” I start by asking, folding my arms over my chest and hoping he realizes that it’s not really a question at all.
He walks into the bedroom, which is no small blessing, then starts poking at the clothes on Eydis’ rack. My clothes.
One day I swear I’m going to have my own clothes in my own wardrobe, and they won’t have any leftover associations with dead women or being the center of unwanted attention.
“Go,” he says, waving toward the bathroom.
And I’m not going to argue, a girl has to pee. With my arm up to shield my face, I step into the little bathroom alcove. Five steps – which surprisingly is enough to get to the toilet without needing Killian to join me in here. Thank chuck for small rooms.
I flip the lid closed and pull the chain to flush, then barely turn around before a set of clothes smacks into my face.
My world washes with leather and citrus and books and metal and vanilla and lavender. So many scents that swirl and mix in my chest – binding to have one meaning. Pack.
I don’t have Pax’s clothing issue, or maybe it’s Thane’s, but I suddenly have an appreciation for what we smell like. I cup the items before they can hit the floor and inhale deeply.
Pack.
“Hurry up,” Killian grumbles.
“I am,” I call back, which is a lie, because I’m still sniffing the clothes.
“I can smell lies.”
“I hope they smell better than jealousy, or living with Seth must be hell,” I say, finally snapping out of my clothes moment.
I tug Killian’s shirt over my head and slip into the new one. It’s rust red Silvari cotton, snug across the middle with long winter-appropriate sleeves. The pants are a sandy brown color and lacking any of the leather reinforced parts I’m so used to wearing on the guys’ clothes. Last thing, the small dagger that was in my pocket. I feel a little naked with just one treasure.
; “Killian –” I begin, with every intention of asking where my darts are.
Except he interrupts with, “Leaving,” and in the same second he must have started walking because I’m immediately pressed against by the biggest pain in my ass ever created by man or magic.
“Killian, wait, hold up,” I call, trying to catch him on the stairs.
I don’t catch him until he stops in the kitchen, and shoves my dart cuffs at me – both of them.
The skinny little ones with the twist and the wider, almost arrow-tipped ones with ribbons on the ends.
“Your arm’s mended now,” he explains.
That’s why I was only wearing one cuff, because it was impossible to pull darts with my arm broken.
“Kunai,” he says, motioning for me to put the ribboned ones on my leg. I obey. “Dragon dart,” he adds, pulling my arm into his grip and making light work of getting the cuff on my right wrist. “Good.”
Then he’s walking past me again, heading outside and dragging me by my bubble. This man is in a serious hurry.
The day is bright, birds are singing, and there’s a slight breeze that is rustling the tops of the trees, but something feels off. Like Lord Martin’s whiskey glass has already been knocked off the mantelpiece and we’re all watching it fall because there is no way to stop it, or fix it, or save it. At any second now, it will shatter with a heart-stopping glass on stone echo. The kind that puts fear right to your bones.
Any second.
That’s how the world feels today, like any second now it’s all going to go wrong. Even Ximena herself is heavy with an air of being ready for the end.
And it’s not because of Jada, she’s nowhere in sight.
“So,” the words begin, my mouth clearly wanting a distraction from what’s going on in my head. “What are we doing?”
“I have an idea.”
“A violent one?”
“No,” he chuckles. He sets a cracking pace over the boulders and moves sharply toward the trees, motioning at the frantic way I’m trying to keep up. “I do like this, though.”
“What? Making me chase you up a hill?”
“Yeah,” he rumbles.
Which leaves me at a loss for words. It almost feels like it should be an insult or a threat, but I think it’s supposed to be a compliment.
Or maybe just a statement of fact. I really don’t know.
I follow him up the hill, watching his heels as they crush down the fresh green growth. Then struggling to stick as close as I can to his heels as he lunges up the boulders. Don’t these guys understand the limitations of a mortal?
He doesn’t stop, though, and I know better than to ask him to.
He leads. I follow.
That’s our relationship.
Upside, if there’s a swarm of blue spiders, he’s going to walk into them first – I’m good with that.
We climb all the way up and into the trees, where the axe is still embedded in the log Seth started destroying yesterday.
When I woke up, I would have sworn I was fine, but the ear-shaped, semi-permanent wisp of darkness sticking out of the folds of Killian’s hood is a testament to my failing mental state. His hood is drawn back, hanging about level with his shoulder blades. The black linen is a little stiff, and I could flick pebbles into it with ease. The hood of his vest, his muscled arms, and the cuts of his biceps are an unobstructed view. I can see all of that fine – but this creature-shaped shadow can’t be real.
He’s scanning the cleared area, and though I’m not a hundred percent sure why we’ve come back up here, I’m thinking it’s to collect wood for the fire. Fires need wood.
“Question,” I begin, stepping up in front of Killian and trying to get his attention.
He finally looks down at me, giving a little ‘I’m listening’ noise.
“Can you see that too?” I ask, pointing to make it very clear that I’m asking about a hallucination on his shoulder.
One little ear and one beady eye is peeking, looking at me like it’s curious but shy.
Killian grabs my hand and folds my pointing finger back into my fist, snapping, “No.”
“Okay, what isn’t in your hood, then? And why can’t anyone else see it?”
The thing blinks, and it’s gone.
“Sensing things with my Darkness is useless to you,” Killian grumbles.
“It’s Darkness?”
“No.”
“It’s in the Darkness?”
“No.”
“It’s from the Darkness? Killian, help me out here. I’m no good at guessing games. Remember when I first met you and suggested you were a plumber?”
He grunt-chuckles. “If you can see him, you’re seeing with my Darkness.”
“So it’s a him?”
“I think it’s a her, and it’s a pest.” And just to highlight his opinion the guy smacks his shoulder hard and makes the shadowy-creature dart out from under his collar and fall back into his hood.
“That’s mean,” I say, grabbing his hand so he can’t do it again.
Killian glares at my fingers. “It doesn't have pain receptors.”
That’s the worst excuse! “Doesn’t make hitting it any less cruel.”
“Having a pest in your shirt is cruel.”
I smile up at him. “That thing’s always in your shirt?”
“Mostly. Shirt. Boot. Saddle bag. Hides in my room when we’re at the Castle.”
“For how long? I didn’t see it at the Castle or on the road,” I say.
Killian pokes me between the eyes. “Seeing with my Darkness.” He says each word like they’re offending him, then he pinches my nose. “And stop smelling with it too. Allure is useful. Chaos is useful. Smelling is not useful to you. You need to learn to use my strength like everyone else does.”
He doesn’t let go of my nose, and when I speak, my words are all nasally. “Okay, looks like we’re not talking about the funny shadow-thing anymore.”
“Agreed.”
He drags me the last few steps past the fallen log – by my nose – making me hiss and snort. We are already out of sight, and if I could look over my shoulder, the cottage and clearing would be muffled by trees, but we’d still have a good vantage point. Anyone down there, though, will have a tough time spotting us. So, at least no one else gets to find this funny.
Killian sure does, smiling as he lets go of my nose and grabs my arm instead. I rub my nose with my free hand because nothing about Killian is gentle. He squares himself off in front of me, which sends sparks of nervous-fear down my spine. He’s looking a lot like he might be about to teach me something. Which is bad. I eye his hands, hoping to spot the moment he draws a weapon before he has a chance to stab me with it.
“Free yourself,” he orders.
My instinct is to kick him in the balls, but he stomps on my toes before I can move.
“Argh, what was that for?” I demand, jumping on one foot but still trapped in his grip.
“Use your other hand to pry my fingers off.”
“You could have just said that to begin with! Shade, I’m going to hold your wrist, and you’re going to use your other hand to free yourself – how hard would that have been?”
He huffs at me, then waves my trapped arm in front of my face. “Free yourself or I cut it off.”
He wouldn’t.
Would he?
Crap – I think he would.
Desperately, I wriggle and twist while pulling, pushing, and even squeezing his fingers. He doesn’t budge. Nothing.
He draws the short dagger from his side. The man is loaded up with weapons – the big curved blade strapped to the front of his belt is his most impressive – but his smaller dagger still gets my heart racing.
“Killian,” I plead.
“Escape,” he threatens, lifting the weapon into the splintered fractures of morning light. Deliberately, I’m sure, because the glinting steel triples my heart rate.
Crap, crap, crap.
I can
’t escape. This isn’t a new skill; it’s a new torture. No matter how much I struggle and pull, he doesn’t budge, and Killian is always, always serious. The weapon moves, and I give up on his hand – lunging at his torso instead. At his neck, actually, with my teeth bared like I might actually use them.
He takes a big step back, drops the blade, and stops me by putting his palm on my forehead. That’s all it takes, and I’m at his mercy again.
Why the chuck did I just try to bite him?!
“More motivation,” he mutters, yanking me by my wrist across to the fallen log.
“Killian,” I say, partly in warning, but mostly in confusion.
He lifts the great big tree trunk with one hand, tugs my arm downwards hard enough to make me stagger, trip, some-chuckin’-how end up on my damn back in the dirt, then lowers the log back down.
“What are you doing?” I scream.
The opportunity to struggle is over before I’ve even realized what was happening.
He doesn’t say anything, just settles the log into place and steps back.
Most of the weight of the tree is taken by several scattered rocks and some broken branches beside me. The log is still well and truly on me. There’s no sugar-coating how stuck I am, but I’m not being crushed to death. Which is a bonus.
“Killian, let me up. It’s damp down here, and I’m getting a wet bum. It’s too early for this crap. Breakfast, Killian, that’s what people do in the morning. It’s breakfast time. Not crush Shade time.” As I rant, I squirm and wriggle and fail.
I try to push myself out from under it or move it just the tiniest bit – enough to slither free – with every ounce of strength I have. One whole second later, I realize that escape isn’t possible, but proving that to Killian means I genuinely have to try.
The rough bark and ridges in the trunk feel awkward, but I press my palms flat one more time and push as hard as I possibly can. Hard enough to feel like I might pop something vital inside my skull.
Nothing.
“There, I tried, now get me out of here,” I gasp.
He just laughs. He’s already collected his blade from the ground, and he perches on a sizable boulder, pulling a small piece of cloth from his pocket, then starts polishing the steel.
“No,” he says.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 109
