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

by Kiki Howell

  “I have a girlfriend.” The Sídhe was shaking her head. Damn, Lori really should have been able to remember her name. “I won’t cheat on her.”

  The haunted look in the woman’s eyes had Lori sinking back into her seat. She didn’t want to sleep with the Sídhe either. It felt...wrong, after being with Conrad. Like she was being disloyal to him.

  He isn’t coming back.

  “You don’t have to,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “Take a seat.”

  Hesitantly, the girl climbed into the booth, next to Lori rather than Mrs. McKenzie.

  “Nora, put your hand out.”

  Nora, that’s it!

  Reluctantly, she stretched out her arm.

  “Laurel, touch her hand.”

  Reaching out her palm, she made contact with the Sídhe. Her skin was cool, but ever-so-soft. Even though the woman was clearly beautiful, and Lori knew she was an amazing kisser, there was no spark there. Nothing. Not even her Succubus senses flared.

  “Now what?” Nora asked.

  Mrs. McKenzie turned to Lori. “Now borrow her power.”

  Lori bit her lip. “Uh, I don’t really know how to do that.”

  The Sheerra pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s your root power. Borrowing other people’s gifts. You’ve done it before, clearly.”

  “Uh, during, uh, sex.”

  Mrs. McKenzie waggled her eyebrows. “When you lose control, it slips your leash.”

  “Right.”

  “So let go.”

  Lori quickly looked around. Let go? Here?

  “Not orgasm, idiot. Let go mentally.”

  Nora squeezed her hand. “I think she means that you are subconsciously holding your power back. Just...relax.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  Mrs. McKenzie sighed. “Okay. Let’s start with breathing...”

  .

  Chapter Thirteen

  “THIS MUST BE HOW IT feels to have sex with me.”

  – Conrad Death

  The County of Tears, the Borderlands

  “The infamous White Death.”

  Conrad kept his face blank as the Count of Tears, Melvyn Paynters, addressed him. They were in the cavernous main hall of the count’s keep, with bluestone walls soaring overhead, and long trestle tables marching down the center of the room. Soldiers stood guard at the doorways.

  While Conrad had been a long-time admirer of the count’s work, there was something about the man himself that had all his hackles rising. Perhaps it was the cold blue eyes that surveyed him from head to toe, or the slight curl of the lip speaking of the count’s contempt.

  “The infamous White Queen’s executioner,” Conrad replied.

  He folded his arms over his chest, flexing his muscles. He was about half a foot taller than the count, who was whipcord-thin. “You forgot ‘former’ in that sentence.” He kept each word precise, clipped.

  “How silly of me.”

  Walker made a slight noise, reminding Conrad of his presence. “Please, let me introduce Farren Walker of New Vegas.”

  “The Walker?”

  “The very one.”

  The Tylwyth Teg gave a tight smile, but didn’t bow or incline his head. Paynters’ irritation at the lack of respect was obvious, but he couldn’t blame the golden-haired fae. The count wasn’t his lord and Landers were fussy about politics.

  “You are most welcome, of course.” There was no sincerity in the count’s words, and he immediately turned and shouted, “Bettina!”

  A few heartbeats later, a young woman hurried into the room. She was wearing a pale blue dress better suited to the Victorian era, and had long brown hair tied back in a braid. As she approached, something in Conrad’s gut clenched. The shape of her face was horribly familiar, although the bright blue eyes were replicas of the count’s.

  “Father?”

  “Please, escort our guest to one of the spare rooms.”

  Bobbing into a short curtsy, the girl met Walker’s eyes briefly, before looking at the ground. The Tylwyth Teg gave her an elegant bow. “My lady.”

  So the guy actually had manners. Huh.

  The fae woman led Walker through the hall and a side door; Conrad took note of which exit they used. He’d already memorized the layout of the castle – despite what Whisky thought, he did read the mission dossiers. Now he just had to work out what room Walker had been taken to. He didn’t like the fact that they’d been separated.

  Alone with Conrad now, Paynters spun on his heel. “Follow me.”

  Considering that he didn’t want to annoy the guy any more than he already had, Conrad trailed after the count through a maze of corridors. Thank the gods he had an excellent sense of direction.

  After a few minutes, they reached a large wooden door, which the count pushed open. Conrad peered inside, quickly taking in the office: two large windows either side of a huge desk, a fireplace, and a bookshelf – which probably had a secret passage behind it. Totally clichéd, but the fae nobility didn’t really get the irony of it. No other visible doors.

  The count indicated for Conrad to take a seat. Picking the one that faced the bookshelf, he smirked as the count made a beeline for the throne-like seat behind the desk. They’d just settled in when there was a knock on the door.

  “Enter!”

  A fullblooded Sídhe strode into the room. His gray hair swept back from his forehead, his skin was youthful and unlined, and he bore a striking resemblance to the count.

  So this is the son. Or a brother or father, but then, the mission statement said nothing about extraneous relatives.

  Conrad reached out with his gift, and came away feeling like he needed to brush his teeth. The guy’s emotional fingerprint was slimy. Pretentious, narcissistic... and there was something else, which Conrad couldn’t quite pinpoint. It made him want to shudder.

  I need to give that guy a new smile.

  One that bleeds a lot.

  “Jayden.” The count’s voice cut through the room. “I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

  “Father, I thought that it was important that I be here for this meeting.”

  “This has nothing to do with you. Leave.”

  A glare from blue eyes, and then the young man spun on his heels and the door slammed shut behind him.

  The count shook his head, irritated. “My son is over-enthusiastic. He needs...maturing.”

  He needed something, but Conrad didn’t think maturity would help much.

  “Now, how can I assist you?”

  “I am sure you are aware of the White Queen’s...desire to locate your missing daughter.”

  “The bastard.”

  Something about the way the count said the word sent rage pulsing through Conrad. So what that the girl had been born to an unknown mother? Who gave a fuck? A child was a child. He should have been happy for the gift, considering how rare fae pregnancies were.

  “Yes.”

  “I am aware the queen wishes her located.” The count steepled his fingers.

  Conrad resisted the urge to shake his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of information to go on. The file says she is half-Sídhe, but lists no other information. What does she look like? What is the other half of her heritage? What are her abilities?”

  “As a child, she had brown hair and orange eyes, the color of peaches, or apricots. She had the look of my Bettina, who you’ve seen.” The count frowned. “She had no magic, at least, not that she indicated to me. And I don’t know what species her mother was. There were a number of candidates.”

  Something like dread was forming in Conrad’s stomach. Bettina’s heart-shaped face had been a little too familiar earlier, and apricot-colored eyes? Half-Sídhe?

  Could be anyone.

  Right. He’d long stopped believing in coincidences.

  “Last place of residence?”

  “I am afraid I can’t say. I have not been tracking her, because of my son’s...interest.”

  “You mean the fact he wants to
kill her?”

  The count’s eye twitched. “Sibling rivalry. It can be difficult to predict. But I cannot be involved in any way.”

  “I’m sure the Transfer Spell has nothing to do with it. Does he realize that even if an ‘accident’ were to happen to your daughter, then you would have to find another willing future-reader to re-do the enchantment?”

  “It is amazing how many people are willing to help, when there is the appropriate incentive.”

  And Conrad could imagine what that ‘incentive’ was. He’d always liked to operate the same way.

  “Do you have any other information?”

  “I have an old photograph.”

  Paynters reached into a drawer and pulled out a worn picture. He pushed it across the shiny stone surface of the desk and Conrad picked it up. A thin, scared girl looked out of the image, cowering next to her sister and brother.

  God, it was a tiny Thorne. The likeness between the three siblings was obvious, as were the finger-shaped bruises on Thorne’s arms.

  Rage built within him, prodding at his ability. He wanted to make the count scream, beg for mercy, like Thorne would have.

  Conrad pushed the image back. “It’s nice to see a child subject to violence memorialized in photographs.”

  “You dare moralize to me?”

  Conrad shifted his gaze to the count. “I’ve killed a lot of people. But the one rule I have? No children. In our line of work, you must have standards. What are yours? Not fucking the corpses after?”

  The count slammed his hand down on the desk. “If you weren’t a favorite of the queen...”

  Conrad smirked. “What? You’d spank me?”

  Paynters took a deep breath and then lifted his hand from the desk. “You know nothing about my family. Just stick to your job, and find my daughter for the queen.”

  Conrad stood, pushing back the chair. “I’d thank you for your time, but really, you’ve barely given me any information at all.”

  Except the photo. It was pretty damning. He knew without a doubt who the missing daughter was, and her unknown species.

  How the fuck am I going to deal with this?

  He’d never failed a mission before, but there was no way he was going to be able to hurt Thorne. He had to think smart.

  Just as Conrad got to the door, the count stood. “I know what you are. But if you do your job...be kind.”

  Gnashing his teeth, barely able to control his anger, Conrad shut the door behind him, not even bothering to acknowledge the statement.

  Kill my kid, but don’t hurt them too much.

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  Clenching his fists, he had to strangle his desire to go back in there and beat the life out of the count. Whisky – and hence the queen – would not be happy with that.

  “What did you talk about?”

  The count’s son was loitering in the hallway. With his gray hair slicked back, the dude just oozed.

  “None of your goddamned business.”

  Jayden approached him, and Conrad was surprised to realize they were the same height. The Sídhe crowded him into the wall; Conrad let him. He was just looking for an excuse to hurt someone.

  “Everything that goes on in this place is my business.”

  “Really? Your father doesn’t seem to think so.”

  A dull flush rose into Jayden’s cheeks. “If you’re here to do what I think, then I will be very grateful.”

  “I don’t give a single fuck about your gratefulness or otherwise.”

  “Really? I’d be a great friend to have.” And he grabbed Conrad’s balls.

  It took all of three seconds for Conrad to overcome his surprise and slam the asshole into the stone wall, snapping his arm out of its socket on the way. The hand-rapist screamed in pain as Conrad used his pent-up ability to shatter every bone from fingertip to shoulder.

  Oh, so it appeared he did have another standard: he couldn’t tolerate rapists. Of any kind.

  “You don’t ever touch anyone without their permission. You get me?”

  The sleaze whimpered.

  Conrad stepped back, just as the door whipped open.

  The count stood framed in the doorway, his dispassionate gaze on his son. “What’s going on?”

  “Your son and I had a slight disagreement about where his hands should go.” A pause while the guy sniveled. “I think we understand each other now.”

  The count said nothing, just glared.

  When Conrad reached the end of the hall, he spotted Bettina hidden in the shadows. He locked eyes with her and fear, worry and a spark of excitement raced back at him. It had him turning to look down the stone passageway, at Jayden.

  Shaking his head, Conrad shuddered. This place was fucked up.

  He had to get back to New Vegas, find Thorne, hide her somewhere, and then tell Whisky that he’d done the job. Or just blatantly refuse, and threaten to kill anyone else sent after the Succubus. Since he was an indentured servant, he wasn’t sure that he could actually do the latter.

  He was royally screwed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “BREATHE? I’LL SHOW you how to mother-fucking breathe.”

  – Lori Hardcastle

  Lori materialized in her father’s castle, in the shadows at the rear of the main hall. She quickly ducked into a squat, peering up and over a raised wooden platform.

  She’d chosen this location to teleport to, in the hope no one would be around. Her father ran the castle with military precision: at this time of day, the servants would be working on the personal suites and drawing rooms, and the guards would be training somewhere else on the estate. When she was a child, the count would have spent these hours locked in his office.

  Instead, there was her father on the small podium at the head of the room, waiting, his posture ramrod straight, and his mouth a thin line. Within a moment, a man strolled onto the podium, from Lori’s left. He was tall, much taller than the count, but just as thin, with slicked-back gunmetal hair. It was the cold blue eyes that told her his identity: Jayden.

  Lori stared at the sibling she hadn’t seen since she was seventeen. His hair had changed, and he’d lost the puppy fat he’d carried; he was now a replica of their father. Looking at his face, she could almost understand how the count might love the children he’d had with his wife more than he could ever love her. He’d known them since birth, after all. But once their personalities had taken shape? Even now, the wrongness that emanated from Jayden was all too clear.

  Mind you, Lori was presuming the count loved any of his children. He probably hated all of them.

  But you’re the only one he wants dead.

  She flinched.

  Lori had only ever tried to be the perfect daughter for the seven years she’d lived with the family. And the only kindness she’d ever received was from Betty. Was she here now? Lori wondered what the risk to her sister’s life was. Or had the old woman thrown her to the wolves?

  Jayden shifted on his feet, clearly irritated at being ignored. “Father.”

  The count turned slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “Jayden.”

  “What did you and the White Death talk about?”

  “Your sister.”

  Betty? Or her?

  You idiot. Of course it’s you.

  The count looked at Jayden’s right arm. “I see your injury has healed already.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “He shattered your entire arm.”

  His entire arm?

  Jayden shrugged. “It takes a lot more than that to defeat my ability.”

  Even as a child, Jayden had been able to heal quickly from physical injuries, Lori recalled. Had the ability increased in strength with age? It would make sense.

  Wait – what had he done to annoy the assassin?

  “Will he kill Laurel?”

  “I wouldn’t know, now, would I? As far as I am aware, he is simply locating her for the White Queen. Perhaps she is interested in the fae who
will inherit all of my magic.”

  So he was pretending ignorance? Puh-lease.

  “I really wish you would keep me involved in these decisions.”

  “Jayden, you may be my heir, but you are barely out of childhood. You will be informed when and if you need to know anything.”

  “I saw how Death stared at Bettina.”

  “It doesn’t matter if he stared at her or not.” Her father’s eyes were calculating. “Although, he would be an excellent match for your sister.”

  Something dark flashed in her brother’s eyes, soon to be replaced with eerie calm. “I thought Bettina was going to stay here.”

  “Your sister does what I tell her. If I say marry, she will marry. That’s the end of it.”

  Jayden stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His arm punched out, aiming for the count’s head, but fast as a whip, their father deflected the strike. There was a flash of metal in Jayden’s other hand, and the count staggered back, a growing patch of red staining his shirt.

  What?

  Lori’s eyes darted to Jayden. He was holding a knife loosely.

  The count quickly covered his stomach, before he dropped to his knees. Fury burst from him in a wave.

  Stabbed. He’d been stabbed.

  The count focused on Jayden, frown lines apparent as he concentrated. Then his eyes went wide with shock.

  Jayden dropped to one knee, so he was face-to-face with the count. A small, triumphant smile lit his face, making it even more sinister. “The knife was coated in a little spell, which temporarily neutralizes fae powers. I had to pay a lot of money for it. But seeing you like this, it was worth it.”

  Then he stabbed the count again, and again. Lori’s father fought back, but the gut wound was already affecting him. Blood spurted, covering Jayden’s hands and clothes. The young man’s eyes were wild, and spittle flew from his mouth. “This is for treating me like a fucking child all these years! This is for keeping me and Bettina apart! No more!”

  He stood, breath heaving in his chest, and dropped the knife. It clattered on the wooden platform.

  A shout: “Father!”

  Jayden spun around. Running footsteps, and Betty was there, scrambling up the side of the podium. But the count didn’t look at her, instead, he turned his head and met Lori’s stare.