Shadows and Shade Box Set

by Amanda Cashure

  “I can do that on my own too.”

  He stops suddenly at the bedroom door and puts me on my feet.

  “You’re right –” he begins, but gets cut off by the door downstairs slamming shut.

  “Why do I smell blood?” Killian booms.

  “It’s mine.”

  “I know that,” the man says, storming up the stairs.

  Pax walks into the bedroom – which, due to the three-step bubble, pushes me into the room too, and Killian follows.

  “You like blood,” I say, pointing at Killian over Pax’s shoulder.

  The guy moves to my side. All I need is Seth and Roarke, and I’d be completely blocked in. Which is exactly the moment I realize I like being blocked in. I almost need to be blocked in.

  Which is weird.

  Killian grabs my chin. Inspecting me. The touch is too enticing, a small moment that is almost like feeling him.

  “I like it when you bleed.” The guy sounds so distracted I’m not even sure he realizes what he’s saying. “But only when I say so.”

  I brush his fingers away. “Killian, that’s scary.” Fear. Fear’s a feeling. A Killian kind of feeling.

  He grunts. Then smiles. I can feel parts of me adapting to this new world. Killian equals fear equals good. It’s primitive but comforting.

  “Good. What happened?” he asks.

  “I walked into the bubble.”

  “She should stop walking,” Killian says, turning his whole body to face Pax. “I could break her legs?”

  “What?” I scream, taking as many steps back from them as I can. “Bralls no.”

  Killian chuckles, the sound almost a hum – deep and dark.

  “Stop trying to be funny!”

  He shows teeth before his brow draws with thought. “I’m always funny. Why does your mouth run off, but never with curses?”

  “Like shit and fuck?” I ask as I fold my arms over my chest. I say those words too – but only when the world is ending. Kind of like Roarke. “Clearly my mouth is more talented than yours.”

  He’s got a grin on him that looks too much like Seth. Because they all think poking fun at me is amusing.

  Which it’s not.

  Killian runs a finger over my top lip, and it comes away red with a smudge of my blood. “Have a shower.”

  “Sounds like Jada is saddling her horse, good,” Pax says.

  Which takes me by surprise – is he keen for her to leave too?

  I grip the front of his shirt, which barely manages to slow him down. “Why is that good?”

  “Because I have an important task for her – and I’m pretty sure I was going to get in that shower with you. Thane has been thinking about it all morning.”

  A rush of sharp static zaps through me so quickly that I’m left unable to speak. The charge clamps the muscles in my jaw. This Power Blocking Potion has side effects – sure, my immunity to him seems to have vanished, but more importantly, I just enjoyed that sensation. Pax equals lightning equals good.

  Pax doesn’t seem to notice, saying, “Told you it wasn’t happening,” to Thane as he leaves.

  “Wash,” Killian says, breaking me out of my trance and pointing towards the shower.

  I hold my hands out, walking carefully until I push against the wall – nowhere near the shower.

  “You have to walk with me,” I tell Killian, not looking back.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Push through it,” he orders, crossing his arms over his broad chest and looking very serious.

  I frown at him. Why?

  I mean, why not?

  “Because I did it before, at the Lackshir markets?”

  “Try,” he grunts, then sucks in his breath, some of the stern determination smoothing from his face, and adds, “Please.”

  “But whatever happened at the market had me locked instantly inside Pax’s bubble.”

  He nods, folding his arms over his chest and making his biceps pop. His chin is all stubbly, and his hair has almost doubled in length, rough and wild about his ears, which only enhances his ‘I’m serious’ face.

  And it is worth a try.

  Anything is worth a try.

  Well, almost. Power Blocking Potions aren’t.

  “What about this potion on me? Wouldn’t that make it impossible?”

  “You didn’t use our powers to get through.” As he speaks his chest tenses, and I realize his arms crossed might make him look angry and intimidating, but I’m pretty sure he’s holding himself together right now.

  A slow smile laces across his lips.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think – or feel – about your death. Only that it doesn’t happen inside this bubble.”

  “Aw, Killian, and here I thought you’d grown a heart,” I tease, turning my back to him and glaring at my invisible wall.

  I press both palms against it and start to push, tensing through the ache in my hands as my wrists protest the hard surface and the pressure. I grit my teeth against the growing zap of electricity running through my flesh and bones, leaning into it with every bit of strength I have. Pushing my chest against it because pain and pressure aren’t going to stop me from trying. My fingers numb, and my ears begin to ring.

  But I push harder.

  The world turns black...

  Harder.

  Because if this works, I’m going to be free.

  Freedom.

  Harder – through the dizzy nothingness.

  Harder.

  Gravity tilts then the wall vanishes, and I fall forwards uncontrollably. There’s no saving myself since I can’t even see the damn floor through my completely blackened lack of vision. Arms wrap around me and slide across the timber with me. Someone falling in my path, cushioning me.

  I have to blink through the darkness before I can see the rough shape of his body and be sure. It should smell like Killian, but it just feels like a big, muscular person. Without his power, his scent is a mix of sweat and steel. Possibly exactly how every other Saber smells.

  There’s a buckle under my chin. A soft cotton shirt against my cheek and a hand stroking the hair off my face.

  “Good effort,” Killian’s gravelly voice cuts through the ringing.

  I swallow a few times, my heart rate steadying as air begins to feel like it’s actually doing its job in my lungs.

  “Did I do it?” I ask sarcastically.

  His chest rumbles underneath me. Laughter. I like Killian’s laugh, and I nestle myself permanently against him. My body runs alongside his, one leg over him, arm against his chest, and oh so very comfortable.

  I’m not sure when I closed my eyes, but I’m very happy to keep them closed.

  “You started to burn yourself,” he says, lifting my hand off his chest.

  The skin tingles sharply, and I jerk it out of his grip – opening one eye to take a look. Long lines, like bolts of lightning, run up from under my fingernails – some of them past my elbows.

  “Same as last time,” I say.

  “You didn’t notice this happening?”

  I shake my head, my eyelids drooping closed again. “It doesn’t hurt – just don’t touch it.”

  So he presses his thumb into the nearest one.

  I groan but don’t fight him. The same as when my arm was broken and he worked the damaged muscles. Killian equals pain equals familiar.

  I close my eyes at about the same time as he lets go of my arm and asks, “Are you going to fall asleep on the floor?”

  “Maybe.”

  He brushes his hand through my hair again, then starts to get up.

  I groan, rolling onto my back and opening my eyes as he straightens to his full height.

  “Bad mallow.”

  Killian points squarely at his own chest.

  “All-Mighty, All-Deadly, All-Inspiring, All-Feared, All-Empowered, Omniscient Lilian,” he says.

  I manage to control the explosive grin on my face long enough to point up a
t him and say, “I’ve promoted you to Mallow.”

  He smiles then offers me his hand. I’m a little nervous when I slip mine into his, ready for pain. He grips my hand and pulls me up, sending scorching pain through the burnt lines in my skin and cutting all thought off.

  As soon as I’m on my feet, he lets go.

  “Bearable,” I tell him, inspecting them.

  He waves towards the shower.

  Shower, yes, please, I think, walking with my head down and my arms up, inspecting the marks – then run into a stupid wall.

  I growl, and Killian’s hand settles onto my shoulder. Leaning into the touch, I let him steer me forwards.

  Nothing signifies the end of the bedroom and the beginning of the bathroom. The timber floor is still the same. The timber walls are still the same. Just a drain to one side, a showerhead protruding at about Killian’s height, and a tap. A railing for the towels. A small sink and a box with a pit-hole for a toilet. Which Seth informed me runs into the same system as the shower drain and flows down to disperse on the far side of the field.

  “You guys have amazing plumbing,” I mutter, tugging my shirt over my head – which leaves my top half covered by only a breastband.

  Just like that, no second thought. Like the man isn’t even there. Which is insane, because even before the bubble I could sense these guys were dangerous and deadly and something more than mortal. Something I should be careful of.

  Killian leans himself against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, one leg over the other, looking very relaxed. His dark blue dyed cotton shirt is tucked into the front of his black pants. Leather has replaced the cotton from the knees down, with several brass buckles. The buckles around his chest normally hold an assortment of weapons, but right now they’re empty.

  “Martin had a washhouse for the servants outside, but we fetched buckets by hand for him to bathe inside by the fireplace,” I explain, trying not to look at the way his biceps bulge when he has his arms like that.

  Or the fact that he’s watching me get undressed.

  Which, oddly, I don’t mind... or to be more precise – I enjoy it.

  “You get more done in a lifetime when you live ten times longer and rarely sleep,” he says. “Building shit.”

  His dark eyes, with their emerald sheen, are failing to hide a sparkle which has nothing to do with plumbing.

  I drop my pants and flick the tap on, let it warm up, then adjust the water. Droplets run over my hands, weaving a sting along the jagged red lines. I cling a little too hard to the enjoyment of it, the sizzle of pain. The way it makes me feel alive. Killian is casually standing there – his presence drawing goosebumps down my spine even though I’m not quite naked yet. I still have my breastband and braies on. I turn the water up higher, finding the burn, then unbuckle the dart cuffs from my wrist and ankle.

  “Are you showering in those?” he asks, accepting the role of keeping the weapons safe.

  “Nope.”

  I pull the breastband over my head and slip the braies down my hips without a second thought.

  He growls, twisting so he’s facing the other way, still leaning against the wall with one shoulder. He obviously wasn’t expecting me to do that.

  “Killian, you’ve seen me naked before,” I point out.

  “But you ask us to turn around.”

  Which is sweet, that he’d honor that even when I haven’t asked.

  I shrug, which he doesn’t see. “I’ve got a three step radius and a potion that makes me feel like crap. I’m not in the mood for caring about the direction you face. Plus, it’s not as nice talking to your back.”

  He turns around, and I feel a zing of… pleasure is the wrong word. Excitement isn’t quite it either. It’s like a confirmation that he still exists. That I still exist. That the Power Blocking Potion hasn’t taken everything away.

  I grab the soap and build a lather in my hands, paying extra attention to my face and hair, where there might still be smears of blood.

  Blood.

  Bleeding. Bleeding also felt good. Alive. The pain was pleasant – empowering – seductive.

  He growls, and I jump, shattering the memory.

  “Hurry up.”

  Yes, Shade. Hurry up. Stop thinking of all the ways your soul feels hollow. All the ways more pain would fill that hole right now, I think, pressing harder than I need to over the lightning on my arms. The sting is gentle, distracting.

  Like a beast being tamed, it settles inside my chest. I savor it as I turn to put the soap back on its shelf and dig a little deeper into my feelings. Into wanting these intense moments, the pain. Sparring with Killian, hurting with Killian. I can sense there’s a link there – but I fail to find a reason to care about it.

  Pain I can do.

  Pain I want.

  Pain I desire.

  The ideas have an unfurling reaction inside me. Like my insides are melting and alive with something so close to the Allure Roarke hit me with in the attic that first night.

  Suddenly, the darts fall to the ground, and his hand snakes around my stomach. He pulls me back into him – hard. His whole body is tense, rumbling. Wanting.

  His power rushes over me, and I damn near gasp in the pleasure of it.

  Wisps of black smoke smooth over my skin where his fingers have begun to dig in. I arch my back, but it’s not to get away from him. My head is screaming that this is so so so very dangerous – but my body is singing a very different tune.

  Singing the sweet taste of a connection from my soul to his, and the drowning distraction from everything other than his touch. Even if the air is already harder to breathe. The light dimmer. The world colder.

  He picks me up off the ground. My back pressed against his chest means the hardness in his pants isn’t being concealed one bit.

  He turns sharply, snagging the towel in his other hand and depositing me beside the rack of clothes. The towel over my head.

  “Enough nakedness,” he says, letting me go.

  The magic pulls from my skin as his touch slips away, leaving me gasping.

  I can’t see. I’ve got a towel over my head, but I can hear someone storm up the last two steps and let out a long growl.

  I tug the towel down and wrap it around myself.

  Pax is in the doorway. Eyes glowing. Teeth long and sharp. He’s not even looking at me, all of his attention on Killian.

  “What? Do you have an alarm that goes off every time one of your brothers –” I cut myself off, and Pax finally looks at me.

  Thane just growls, ready to attack, and his teeth have to retreat before Pax can translate the sound into words.

  “Your lips are blue,” Pax snaps.

  I press them together. They feel fine, so without a mirror I can’t confirm their color. The reaction is weird, but I’m pretty sure the reason is Killian.

  Leaning back a little I meet his gaze to ask, “Why are my lips blue?” But I already suspect it has something to do with the depth of cold around him.

  Which doesn’t scare me – it excited me – because it means he’s relaxing his power around me. It means he’s beginning to trust me.

  “You’re weak,” he says, poking me in the back of the shoulder.

  I roll my arm back and try to shoo him like a fly.

  “I’m always weak, and you guys are the ones who tossed a steaming hot potion on me.”

  “You’re weaker,” Pax says. “Roarke explained the side-effects. Whatever resistance you had before, it’s not there now. You need access to our powers to survive us, but our powers are killing you.”

  “That doesn’t explain why my lips are blue.”

  Killian leans forward to whisper in my ear. “The Shadows are cold.”

  “Killian shouldn’t be playing with Shadows anywhere near you,” Pax growls. “Next time we get Seth. Pace your bubble.”

  I obey, but the steps are the same – three.

  Killian sighs, not a reaction I think I’ve ever seen from the guy, then he
turns to leave.

  “Roarke was right, cutting you off has plugged the leak,” Pax says, sounding equally as relieved.

  “This sucks,” I mutter, yanking a set of clothes off the rack. “Shut your eyes,” I order, not checking that either of them have obeyed before I drop my towel and pull on a shirt and braies.

  Just a shirt, and braies that are a whole lot shorter and cover a whole lot less than wearing the guys’.

  I don’t care. I’m too tired to deal with any of this crap.

  “I’m going to bed.”

  Pax cups my chin, tilting my head so my gaze and his align. “It’s still morning. Why are you tired?”

  “No, it’s not, it’s at least late afternoon.” I glance at the window to check.

  “Morning,” Killian grunts, hesitating by the exit.

  Morning. Right, I woke, trained with Killian, made shit vanish into the Silvari version of hell, had my boyfriends ambush me with a potion that ripped their presence from my soul, and managed to give myself a bloody nose and burn lines like lightning into my arms all in one morning. I don’t care. I need sleep, now.

  But first I need to deal with my choice of internal descriptions.

  “Would you consider yourselves my boyfriends?” I ask… because, yes, in all of that my connection with these guys and relationship status was the most important thing.

  Killian growls. “No.”

  “No,” Pax agrees, and the guy is seriously frowning.

  I swallow hard. Reality check, Shade – kissing doesn’t equal a relationship status.

  Thane’s features wash over his face, a stronger jawline, the glowing eyes, the sharp teeth again, and a hint of fur through Pax’s hair.

  “Mate,” he says.

  I shake my head. “Not really. I mean, we can’t be. Also not lovers, and,” I add, then point at Killian, “you’d better not say we’re just friends.”

  “I don’t do friends,” Killian growls. “Don’t do mates or girlfriends or lovers.”

  Well, I know he does lovers because Rose said as much.

  “What would you call this, then?” I ask, waving between the two of us.

  “This,” Killian says, pointing from me to himself slowly. “This is fate, and I do pain.”

  Chills run down my spine in anticipation of something mixed between desire and fear.

  “Enough of this,” Pax orders, then rattles off some quick orders, instructions that are getting old and rely on one key line. Find the Spring.