Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  The human eyed him. “Remember what I said.” Then she left.

  After the door had closed, Conrad eased closer to the bed. The sheets were tangled at one end, and her body was covered in sweat. He carefully sat down next to her prone form, mindful not to accidentally brush against her skin. Any contact would probably feel like razor blades.

  “So, you’re a Succubus.”

  Her eyes slid shut. “Yes.”

  “I thought they were extinct.”

  “So did I, until the ability manifested when I matured.”

  How old had that been? Something dark twisted in his gut, at the thought of her being so vulnerable. So many fae would have loved to take advantage of a beautiful young woman. Long lives led to some serious perversions.

  “How did you steal my ability?” He kept his voice low, soothing.

  Sure, he was annoyed by the theft, but if the power could be returned, no harm done. It was even...nice to have a break from his gift. Especially since he couldn’t get to the County of Tears for another four days. He might – probably would – have felt less magnanimous if Walker had been able to take him today.

  “When I feed.”

  He frowned. “I need a little more information than that.”

  She opened her eyes. “When I feed, I accidentally steal a person’s magical ability, as well as their lifeforce. But the power always returns to its rightful owner, even if the lifeforce stays with me.”

  “But the lifeforce regenerates on its own. Powers don’t.”

  She gave a slight nod, then sighed, heartfelt and weary. “Are you going to kill me?”

  He wanted to run a gentle finger over her forehead, to smooth away the loose strands of hair. But he didn’t want to accidentally cause her pain. “No. You just said the ability returns. Provided it does, we’re good.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “A little.”

  “Only a little?”

  “You fucked my brains out. That’s gotta count for something.”

  A ghost of a smile danced over her face.

  Gods, she’s absolutely lovely.

  Chapter Eight

  “GODDAMNIT. WHO ATE my gummy bears?”

  – Lori Hardcastle

  How could he not be mad at her?

  Yet here her fae lover sat, all kindness. Lori narrowed her eyes. How the hell had he found her? What did he want? His sudden compassion didn’t add up with the killer body and arrogant persona she’d enjoyed the night before. Was it all a façade? Would reality come crashing down on her soon? Would he decide to kill her?

  Too many questions, and she didn’t have any answers. And she didn’t know him well enough to predict his actions. Laying her head back on the mattress, she tried to use the stolen magic to determine his emotions. But there was nothing, like with Carol.

  Why can’t I get a reading on either of these two? What blocks do they have in place?

  Because pretty much everybody had emotions. Oh, she’d read about the human serial killers who supposedly had zero empathy – she’d found the psychology fascinating. But statistically, those kinds of people were few and far between. That her best friend and one-night stand both appeared emotionless to this new talent? Unlikely.

  “I think something went wrong,” Lori blurted into the silence that had become strangely comfortable.

  “What do you mean?” He frowned, and flicked a white-blond lock of hair from his forehead. It had fallen forward, obscuring one pale-gray eye. He was wearing a black turtleneck, a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans, and cowboy boots. Too bad she felt so terrible – he looked delicious enough to eat.

  Down, girl.

  But still. Her heart was beating. And she was a Succubus.

  “The pain. I don’t normally suffer pain when I – uh – borrow an ability. But it’s been horrible. Well, was horrible. It’s still not fun, but it calms a little bit with you in the room.”

  Her limbs were still tingling, and she was feverish, like she’d had a virus, but the stomach cramps, muscle spasms, and electrical shocks had eased.

  Did his gift recognize its owner? Could magic even do that?

  It must, to find its way back.

  Huh.

  He leaned back. “No, the pain is part of the ability.”

  Lori’s jaw dropped in a rather good impersonation of a gaping fish. “What?”

  “The pain is part of the deal.”

  “But...but you’re an empath.”

  “You picked up on that bit, huh?” He gave her a crooked smile. He had dimples. Dimples!

  “I don’t understand.” And she really didn’t.

  “I can feel other people’s emotions, and for some reason, their emotional pain or trauma translates to physical discomfort. For me; they just stay as they are.”

  ‘Discomfort’. Like it was a little niggle, rather than the full-body attack that had debilitated her for the past twelve hours.

  The man was cray cray. Like, knitting-with-one-needle bonkers. “Right.”

  “Eventually, I learned how to channel it, so it was no longer an issue.” He shrugged. Like that explanation had actually explained anything.

  “I have the feeling you’ve skipped a whole bunch of back story there. But first – why don’t I get a really nice physical reaction when folks are happy?” Like an orgasm. “People feel joy, right?”

  His expression grew somber, and he crossed an ankle over a knee, resting a hand on it. “Most people aren’t filled one hundred per cent with joy. They’re also annoyed, frustrated, jealous, tense, anxious, nervous, angry...”

  Lori wanted to argue that she was a happy camper, but in reality, she was far too often plagued with fear. And worry...man, she was just helping his argument.

  “All that emotional angst is transferred into pain when the feelings hit me. I don’t know why.”

  “Then how do you ‘channel’ it, so you can function?”

  “Control.”

  She groaned with frustration. How was this going to help her, for the next day or week or month, or however long it took for the power to return? “You’re talking, but the words don’t make sense.”

  “I eventually learned to redirect the pain. I still feel it, but I’ve turned it into a...tool. I can also project it.”

  Lori blinked. “You make others feel the pain, rather than yourself?”

  “Yes.” His face was utterly calm.

  “So, you torture people?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What do you...do...in that court? Wait, which court do you belong to? What is your name?” Oh gods, she didn’t even know what he was called!

  “My name is Conrad, and I am a cleaner.”

  “But you just said you torture people.”

  “There’s a lot of scope for...movement in my job.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about, but ‘cagey’ appeared to be his default setting. Cleaner, hah!

  “And I work in the Dawn Court.”

  “But you’re unseelie.”

  All fae – even halfbreeds and human-mixed – were categorized as either seelie or unseelie. Light or dark. It wasn’t necessarily something you chose, it just was. And typically, the darker your power, the more likely you were to be unseelie. And that’s where the courts came in. The Day Court was largely populated by seelie, the Dawn Court by a mix that leaned toward seelie, the Dusk Court more unseelie than seelie, and the Night Court... well, it was mostly inhabited by unseelie. She didn’t know how anything other than darkness could survive there.

  Lori was seelie, despite her power-stealing nature.

  Conrad smirked. “Are you sure I’m unseelie?”

  “Your power...”

  “Isn’t all bad. Empathy would generally be considered a seelie ability.”

  “But you make others hurt.”

  “Most empaths can project their ability. They can make people happy, sad, furious, hopeful. I just transfer a slightly different experience.”

  “Man, you a
re king of the understatement, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just humble.”

  Yeah. No. Humble and him were about as compatible as a blizzard and a firestorm.

  And he still hadn’t actually answered her question. She didn’t really know who he was, or what he did – janitor, her ass – but she believed him about the Dawn Court. She’d seen the tattoo of the rising or setting sun on his nape. Had run her tongue all over the design.

  The door burst open, and Carol strolled through, a glass jar of some kind in one hand, the lid in the other. A smell of eucalyptus accompanied her as she paused at the end of the bed and glared the heck out of Conrad, like his presence was offensive.

  Lori frowned. He wasn’t that bad. But maybe her friend sensed something that Lori couldn’t?

  She’s human, she doesn’t have magic.

  Except for the fact that she didn’t age. Just because humans didn’t have abilities, it didn’t mean that they couldn’t buy magic... Carol certainly had money, no matter what The Ocelot looked like.

  Her hostile stare still locked on Conrad, Carol held the jar toward Lori. “Let’s try this.”

  “Uh, I think I will be okay,” she said. Especially after the last ‘medication’ had trapped the pain within her mind. Gods, she’d wanted to scream and scream and scream. Just to release the pressure, but her throat had been locked, and there’d been no way she could force the sound to emerge.

  She shuddered.

  Conrad touched her wild hair gently, and her lingering pain dissipated. How had he done that? He removed his hand, and the pain came back, not as strong as before, but enough for her to shift in discomfort.

  Carol placed a hand on one hip. “You should really give this a go. A Troll promised me it helped take his pain away.”

  “A Troll?” Conrad scoffed.

  “What’s wrong with Trolls?”

  “They turn to stone. And have the brain power to match.”

  Carol took a step forward, her lips thinned. “You bigoted fuck.”

  He shrugged. “What?”

  “How many Trolls have you actually met?” Lori asked.

  He flicked a glance down at her. “One or two.”

  “I’m surprised it’s that many.” Not because Trolls were rare, but because they were classified as lower fae, and tended to live in the Borderlands, away from the courts. The class system was rife in the Hills, so she’d heard. Her father certainly had been like that.

  In fact, being a halfbreed had been worse than being lower fae, in her father’s eyes.

  “Seriously, everyone knows they’re slow,” Conrad said.

  “Only folks in the courts talk like that,” Carol snapped back.

  That seemed to shut him up.

  Carol held the jar out again. The strong scent made Lori gag, so Carol snatched the container back and took a sniff. “What? It’s just menthol or something.”

  Lori waved a hand. “It stinks.”

  “Smells like liniment,” Conrad said. “Not a cure for magical pain. Unless you’ve been working out.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  Lori ignored him.

  Carol held the jar out closer, and Lori pinched her nose. “No. And no to anything else.”

  Reluctantly, her friend replaced the lid on the container. “Maybe the medication did help. You do seem better.”

  “That would be because of me,” Conrad said.

  “You?”

  “He does seem to help,” Lori admitted.

  He touched her hair again, fiddling with the strands. Again, the pain vanished, just like that. “I think my ability recognizes me,” he said.

  “Wait – you did this to her? Knowingly?” Carol pulled out a knife.

  “Carol!”

  Where had the weapon come from? Wait, was that blood on the edge? Lori’s eyes swung toward Conrad, but she couldn’t see any wounds on him.

  “He’s poisoned you.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” It was mine.

  “I told you it was a bad idea!”

  “Look,” Conrad butted in, “I’m not keen on breaking up a lovers’ quarrel, but—”

  “Lovers?” Carol’s blue eyes flared.

  He held out his hands, palms up. “Friends, then.”

  Carol flicked the knife tip towards him. “Get out.”

  “Carol.” Lori raised an arm, and the limb trembled with the effort.

  “Leave!”

  “Carol!”

  “What?”

  Lori took a deep breath. “He’s helping me. If you don’t want him here, that’s okay. But I’ll need to go, too.” Not that she wanted Conrad to come to her home, but she would respect her friend’s desires.

  She tried to sit up, but she was too weak.

  Carol huffed and walked over. She put the jar and knife down, then leaned down to prop Lori up against her pillow. “Who said he was even going to stay?”

  That had Conrad frowning. “She has my magic. I am not letting her out of my sight.”

  For some reason, that didn’t sound as comforting as Lori would have liked.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’M NOT SAYING I INVENTED it. But the martini? Should be called a Contini.”

  – Conrad Death

  “Fine. He can stay. But only because I don’t want you leaving in your condition.” Carol fluffed the pillow behind Thorne’s back.

  The Succubus collapsed weakly against the feathery softness and gave her friend a wan smile. Affection was apparent in those apricot eyes, and a spark of annoyance rose within him. He clenched a fist. What did it matter to him that she cared about a friend?

  Just to annoy Carol, Conrad kicked off his boots and climbed up on the bed next to Thorne, stretching his legs out in front of him. He tucked his hands behind his head, and grinned.

  “Looks like I’ll be staying. Do you do room service?”

  “Only if you don’t care what’s in your food.”

  He might actually start to like the human, if she stopped pulling knives on him, and relaxed about Thorne’s extracurricular activities.

  “Carol.” Thorne frowned.

  “It’s cool. I’ll order take out.”

  “Uh, do you realize you’re in the Borderlands?”

  “What?” Conrad asked. “Take out doesn’t exist here? What kind of place is this? Even the Human World has it!”

  Silence.

  “Look, I’m not saying I could eat right now, but I do like pizza. With lots of cheese, but no pineapple, ‘cos that is just fucking weird. Who puts pineapple on a pizza? And if you say Australians, they don’t really count as people. Have you heard them talk? But getting back to the point: extra cheese. And meat, like, a lot of meat. Man, I think I will die if I don’t eat a pizza right now.”

  Carol and Thorne were staring at him.

  “What?”

  Did they have something against pizza? He gasped. “You guys get pizza here, right?” Even the Hills had it, and they were stuck up snobs who didn’t really like anything from the Human World.

  “Of course we get pizza,” Carol said. “And the portal links straight up to New York right now. But it’s getting through the portal and back again, without something going wrong, that’s the drama.”

  “Wait, you can only get it when the portal’s open?”

  “Eh, Tunts down the road makes it,” Carol said. “But it’s pretty shit. Tastes like glue and despair.”

  “What does despair even taste like?” Lori asked.

  “Your mother. Boom!” Carol laughed.

  “What are you? Five years old?”

  “Look, you tell me who I need to talk to get some decent food around here, and I’ll keep outta your way as much as possible.” Conrad smiled, the charming one that usually had women wet within ten seconds.

  Carol just glared at him. “Fuck off.” And then she left, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Tough cookie.

  Thorne rolled onto her side, cupping her hands under one cheek. “Did you r
eally have to be such a jerk?”

  “A jerk?” Both of his eyebrows rose. “That was me being nice.”

  Thorne chuckled, the sound raspy. Fuck. Her laugh was like an aphrodisiac, going straight to his cock and balls. He shoved one of the pillows over his crotch. Now was not the time to get excited. Even he had his limits, and a pain-wracked Succubus was, surprisingly, one of them.

  Quiet descended, and it was oddly comfortable. When she wasn’t making him as randy as a teenager, she gave him...peace. That was probably because he didn’t have his gift tormenting him, but still. He never really relaxed around anyone. Ever.

  “Can you...touch me?”

  That sent his mind down all kinds of paths. Where would he start? Maybe her face, yeah, cupping her cheeks as he drove his tongue between her lips. Then her breasts. Definitely her breasts. They were perfect handfuls, fucking high and firm, with gorgeous dusky nipples he wanted to suck more.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

  “You sure you want to?” he replied. “My skin used to hurt a lot when I didn’t have control over my ability.”

  “I’m sure.”

  He reached out one of his arms to touch her shoulder – what the hell, Inner Conrad? We decided on her face – but the next thing he knew, she had pressed the entire length of her body up against his side, resting a leg over his belly, a hand over his heart. The tension in her drained away.

  She wanted to cuddle.

  He didn’t do cuddling.

  But his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close, and it felt fucking good. Not as nice as having her mouth wrapped around his cock, but then he hadn’t expected this to feel like it did. Like she was a piece of home.

  Whoa, calm down.

  They were just having a snuggle, it wasn’t like they were going to make a habit of this. I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to. No. Bad. Conrad did not do commitment. And he didn’t do relationships of any kind.

  The closest thing he had to a friend was Whisky, and he tormented her as much as he could for the sheer joy of it.

  You’re one fucked up asshole.

  Yeah, he knew that.

  “How did you learn to control your power?” Her breath fanned across his chest. Cinnamon. “Your parents teach you?”

  He winced, grateful she couldn’t see his expression. “I don’t know who my parents are.”