There’s no hesitation as Killian leaves or Pax nods at the bed, and I sag under the weight of knowing sleep will distract me for at least a few hours.
With heavy limbs I crawl over the foot of the bed and up to the pillows, then collapse belly-down on top of the blanket. My eyes close somewhere in between.
Behind me there’s a swoosh, then a soft thud – the sound of clothes dropping to the floor.
“Pax, what are you doing?” I mumble – but I don’t bother opening my eyes, or pulling the blankets back, or even properly putting my head on one of the pillows.
“Listening to Thane.”
“What’s Thane doing?”
“Listening to Roarke.”
I almost give up trying to understand him but push for just one more question. “What did Roarke say?”
“Something about enjoying the small moments.”
He tugs at the blanket, toppling me to one side before flicking it half over my cold body. I can’t even be bothered lifting my arm to finish the job.
There’s a flash of light, then the mattress bounces, and a wet nose nudges into my neck sending a zap of adrenaline through my weary system. My heart’s racing with nervous energy as I open my eyes, but for some crazy reason a giggle escapes me.
Giggle? It feels surreal to be this close to a predator, but at the same time it feels right.
I rub at the wet mark on my neck and gently push the oversized wolf’s muzzle away.
His eyes are golden, a little differently-shaped but still the same as Pax’s. He’s huge. If I tried to hug him around the neck, I’d barely be able to get my hands to touch. Hesitantly, I reach my fingers for his fur. He sniffs my fingers, then he lays down and rests his head on his paws.
Oh, wow.
My heart can’t settle, can’t stop beating like crazy. My stomach feels like it’s twisted itself up to the point of no return – doesn’t stop me from wanting to pat him though. Sure doesn’t stop me from brushing the tips of my fingers over his fur. It’s ash and coffee-colored, with hints of molten metal beneath. Like his actual skin is made from melted gold.
But there’s no heat, so I push my fingers further into his fur. It feels like liquid silk. Not warm, not cold – oddly, it feels exactly the same temperature as me.
He lifts one paw to my middle and pushes me down, leaving it over my stomach to pin me in place. I have no energy to resist with as he snags a pillow in his teeth and drags it down to me, lifting his paw to let me get comfortable. I roll on my side and wriggle until my back relaxes against his fur, plump up the pillow, then close my eyes. Curling into his side, it feels like his body was designed perfectly to contour mine, and his warmth covers the spot that was left bare by the blanket. My aching body slowly relaxes.
He huffs and sends my hair flying over my face.
I wipe it away without opening my eyes. My mind stills. My soul quiets.
“I like you,” I whisper, drifting off to sleep.
* * *
At least until he starts scratching behind his ear.
I roll over, brace my foot against his shoulder, and shove.
He cracks an eyelid in time to see me topple off the side of the bed. I hadn’t realized how little room I had, and gravity’s as unkind to me as it is to Brahman balls.
Thane bounds to his feet, turning into a man in a flash of light, then perches on the edge of the bed – laughing at me.
Laughing! Not nice.
I groan. Pointing up at him. “You’re naked.”
Because that’s the most obvious thing to point out, and not the fact that he took up all the room and scratches like he has fleas.
Still chuckling, he climbs off the foot of the bed and saunters towards his clothes, making it three steps before my wall nudges into me, sliding me across the floor.
“Wait,” I groan, crawling towards him.
Yep – crawling.
He looks down at me with a worried crease in his brow.
I don’t bother getting up, instead collapsing back to the ground when I’m next to his clothes. Having a bubble really takes it out of a girl – but this potion is worse. It’s like my energy levels have sprung a leak. I stay belly down, hair splayed out over my eyes and a stray piece of grass on the floorboards tickling my nose.
But I have to get up.
Time to get up, Shade. Up in four, three, two, one.
As I climb to my feet, I’m not surprised that he’s already dressed in a cream cotton shirt and black linen pants. Plain and comfortable and no leather in sight, except for his belt and the sheath of his sword. Silvari fabric is always comfortable unless it’s made for a servant.
“Show me,” he orders, waving in a vague circle motion.
I pace out the bubble, then say, “Still three steps.”
He grabs the front of my shirt and dumps the contents of a potion bottle down my back – before I can fight or struggle or even talk to him about it. The liquid feels steaming hot and fizzes against my skin as it sinks in. Ripping my soul to pieces and taking a knife to every bit of calm inside of me. The last one hadn’t even worn off.
I gasp and fall against him.
“Pax,” the word whimpers over my lips.
“I know, Love,” he whispers into my hair. “But it’s working. We still have three steps.”
I struggle to straighten, trying to ignore the dizzy spin of the world. Trying to ignore the sudden need I have to hit him or bite him. To draw blood and see flesh.
Pax doesn’t let me leave his arms – probably a good thing, given the roof keeps trying to do battle with the floor – helping me to the end of the bed and letting me collapse onto it. When I look up, all of my guys are in the room. When did they get here?
I would ask, but I’m distracted by a pair of pants falling into my lap. Killian’s way of saying ‘get dressed.’
“We’ve looked everywhere,” Roarke says. “The length of the stream, the perimeter of the domain, the boulders, the path, the damn cliff, everywhere.”
“The tree,” Killian says, which takes me a minute but doesn’t seem to take any of them by surprise.
“Well, we haven’t explored under the tree?”
“Or in it,” Seth adds, which gets him a questioning look from Roarke.
“Fine, it’s coming down,” Pax says.
“Let me Chaos it.”
“You’ll shatter the whole damn forest,” Roarke argues.
Pax waves off the dangers. “Can you stay with her?” he demands of Killian.
Killian’s reply is an untranslatable grunt, but Pax seems to understand it.
“Good. Roarke, find me an answer. Seth, come with me – we’re bringing down that tree.”
The tree or my life? Do I have the energy to care anymore?
“You’re going to try to use Chaos on a tree that big? The thing is as broad as this house. We’re almost better off letting Kitten help Killian put it through the Veil.”
“No,” Killian snaps.
Roarke deflates and echoes, “No, please don’t crush us.” Pax and Seth have already started down the stairs, but Roarke hesitates at the bedroom door, his dark eyes longing and hurting. Adding for me, or rather Killian, “And she needs to eat.”
Then he disappears up the stairs, leaving me on the foot of the bed and Killian less than three steps away.
Killian offers a ‘follow me’ sound, no time for hesitation, then starts walking. I jump to my feet and beeline behind him. First to snatch up my discarded darts and search through the pockets of my dropped clothes for the dagger. The little egg is still in Roarke’s care, and he better be looking after it. I don’t say anything, just let myself be led down the stairs.
The place is empty. The fire still crackles softly, and between the discarded books everywhere, what looks like the leftover mess of Roarke making a potion beside the sink, and part piles of the guys’ clothes, the place also looks like it hosted a tornado’s birthday party.
And I don’t care about any of it.
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This is about as over life as I’ve ever been. Hollow.
Killian tears a chunk of bread off the end of a loaf, sticks his fingers into the middle to make a pocket, then shoves a piece of meat into the middle. And just as roughly holds the thing in my direction.
I lean back against the kitchen bench and accept the food.
“Not tired,” he observes, though his sentence is part question in Killian’s unique way.
I finish my mouthful before replying, “Not really. Just worn out.”
“Keep eating,” he says, then contradicts that by grabbing one of my arms and almost making me drop my food so he can fix the dart cuff to my wrist. “I expect, serving at the White Castle, you’d have spent little time close to the Elite Sabers and lived for years.”
I’m not sure if that’s his way of apologizing or just him channeling some Roarke and stating a fact? He moves on to the cuff for my ankle but leaves the blade in his pocket.
“I blame the potion,” I say once he’s done with my ankle and standing back up.
He rests a hand on my chest, which makes me freeze mid-chew and probably look like an idiot.
“I have my power locked down, and I can still feel it.”
“It what?” I manage. I’m confused by his words, but mostly because I’m completely absorbed by his touch.
“Your tiny little soul.”
Oh, is that all.
I brush his hand aside. “Everyone has a soul.”
Though the part about mine being both tiny and little is a bit insulting.
“Not one that my power wants,” he lets slip, and I know he’s let it slip because his eyes go wide, and he turns suddenly toward the door.
My wall makes sure I follow, out of the cottage and on a straight line toward the open field.
“Good Shadow,” he mutters.
I bite, chew, and let myself get lost in his words.
He whacks his shoulder, then tugs at his collar as if dislodging a bug.
Or not.
“Was that your shadow?” I ask, and he stops, poised and ready to leap across the stream.
“No.”
I shrug. “I can’t see it anymore.”
He straightens away from the stream and turns to face me. The brewing winter weather blows icicles across my cheeks and plays at the tips of his hair. My bare toes are chuckin’ freezing. Has it always been this cold?
It’s not a bad cold – more exhilarating.
He raises his right hand purposefully, palm up, and motions for me to do the same. The tips of my fingers touch the tips of his, like both of us are waiting to catch raindrops.
I can’t see anything, no change at all, but I feel the slide and pool of something cold and smooth as silk.
My wide eyes lock on the gentle emerald of Killian’s. No black, just green. Vibrant.
I try to pat the sensation, but it’s like trying to pat water, and considering it looks like I’m patting empty air, I’m waiting for Seth to jump out from behind the bushes, laughing.
“It’s from the Veil. I’ve only been there once, and it came back out with me.”
“Why don’t you send it back?” I ask, realizing I’ve begun to cradle the thing close to my chest like a kitten.
His lips pull across in an attempt not to smile at me. “It doesn’t want to go back.”
“Then why do you keep hitting it? It is a horrible thing to call it – what’s its name?”
“It is as annoying as chu –” he stops to growl, then tries again. “Fuck. It’s annoying as fuck, and it doesn’t have a name.”
“You were going to say chuck, weren’t you?”
I step closer and push myself up onto the tips of my toes. But even making myself as tall as I possibly can, I still have to tip my head back a little to look him in the eye.
“You were going to say chuck.”
“No.”
I just smile at him; he can’t fool me.
I feel the cold creature slip from my hands, and Killian’s shoulder twitch hints that the thing just slid underneath his shirt collar.
“What about Silk?”
“What?”
“Silk, that’s its name. Silk, because it feels like cold silk.”
“Like chuck,” he says, turning and marching away. “If it gets a name, I’ll pick what it is.”
Playfully, I bump him with my shoulder, managing to tread in the water instead of on the stepping stones.
The cold is worse than before. How did Killian dunk me under in this and not kill me? Clearly, I’ve been stealing other parts of their Saber-ness.
“You just said chuck,” I whisper.
“To stop you naming this thing.” He grunt-chuckles.
I smile. “Let’s call it Chuck.”
“No.”
Which makes me snort. Poking Killian is fun.
We keep walking to the back of the cleared space that’s been claimed for sparring and drawing blood.
“So, what are we doing?” I ask, shaking the water from my pants leg.
“Training.”
I rub my hands together in mock excitement. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
He looks down at me, still setting a cracking pace towards the tree line. “Liar.”
“Nope.”
“I’m not training with you,” Killian says.
“I’m not giving you a choice,” I bite back.
“Good.”
Sometimes he’s more painful to talk to than Seth – and that’s saying something.
He leads me all the way to the far side of the grassy space that used to be a crop of some kind. Maybe wheat so she could make her own flour. Or maybe a mixture of things like wheat and corn. There’s no sign of what it was now, and being winter it was probably harvested long ago. In its place grass has grown quickly, thick and lush and alive like a carpet under my feet, fueled by magic.
He draws a blade into each hand, one of which is mine, and he swivels it for me to take.
“Close combat,” he says.
“What happened to self-defense?”
He smiles wickedly. “Defend yourself against me in close combat. If you can’t use our powers, then you must focus on speed and instinct.”
He begins to stretch, and I become his mirror, pushing my body to the limits and finding all the places that pull pleasant pain from my muscles.
“Ready?” he asks.
I don’t get to answer before he attacks. I don’t even have a chance to get up off the ground. He lunges right, and I snatch the blade from next to me and try to dodge left. But he’s already there. I jump back, barely seeing his kick in time to correct myself. Then his punch in time to duck and roll.
The wall is a constant fear.
Don’t knock myself out. Don’t knock myself out.
But holding a hand up to feel for it seems like the perfect way to invite Killian to try and cut the thing off. When I feel it with my feet, I instinctively propel backwards. I don’t trip, don’t fall, or hurt myself in any way. Excitement bursts inside of me. I have an advantage.
My only advantage.
I dodge again, this time using the blade to block. He flicks my weapon to the side, coming in fast with a flash of cold steel that nicks through the fabric on my stomach.
I jump back, gasping and heart pounding and already sweating. The shirt’s ripped, but there’s no pain, no blood.
Disappointment drops to the pit of my stomach.
He’s going easy on me – which breaks my Killian mold. He can’t change now; I won’t let him.
His blade swings towards my right shoulder. Trying to force me further back from my weapon in the grass. I let him, running in the wrong direction – hard and straight at the wall. Guessing where it should be, launching myself in the air and using the solid surface to flip me up and over his head. My flip’s good. Bending my knees as I land and barely containing my whoop of triumph – because right beside my foot is my weapon.
Yes!
His smile,
pure joy and just a little impressed, is more disarming than the man charging at me. I almost don’t get out of the way of his boot in time, dodging left and popping up behind him.
But before he can turn to mount his next attack, I thrust out and up, feeling resistance for the barest second.
Feeling my blade nick shirt and arm.
He cocks his head to the side, inspecting the tiny cut I just put into his bicep.
“Not sorry,” I say. “You fight like a toddler.”
His lips pull into a smile, his body moving into a fighter’s crouch, and the green in his eyes pierces right into me. Pure joy. No Darkness. No power. Just Killian and me and challenge.
I’m challenging him.
For once I don’t care if I get hurt – I may even want to get hurt. And I don’t care if I hurt him either, because if I feel like this, then there’s no reason why he shouldn’t join me.
The notion is like a shot of adrenaline on its own.
I take the bait. Lunge in close with my blade raised but instead land a punch to his jaw.
Where the chuck did that move come from?
Pain streaks across my knuckles, and I grimace, gasp, and enjoy it.
I don’t stop – he doesn’t stop. Sweeping me off my feet then kicking my hip while I’m still in midair. I smack into the wall, then the ground, and damn, that hurts good. He charges, I roll, find my feet, and thrash upwards – cutting through his pants and drawing blood on his ass.
I snort. “Still not sorry.”
He doesn’t even stop to inspect the damage, which is a little disappointing. “Again,” he orders.
“My pleasure,” I counter.
The dance between us continues. Each block or hit, each cut I take or make, makes me feel more connected to my own soul than I possibly can be at the moment, and to him. Just Killian and me and no other existence in this whole entire world.
So I thrust again, a delicious sting drawing my mind away from useless thoughts. Clearing it. Emptying it. Focusing it.
I’m sure I’m puffing and panting, stumbling, and all of those other things I was doing last time Killian left cuts in my flesh. But I don’t feel the same. Like a fish who’s been left out of the water and accepts the struggle to survive – then discovers the rain. This is my rain.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 113
