“I missed Amy’s bachelorette party,” I say, scrutinizing the label on every bottle, one by one. “It’s a human tradition, basically an excuse to go out and get wasted. I promised Paige I’d be there.”
“McKenzie—”
“I think she’s forgiven me, though,” I continue, refusing to look at him. “She was worried when I didn’t return her calls.”
Kyol moves to sit beside me. I grab an individual-sized bottle of wine, twist the top off, and pour it into a glass. My hand shakes, mostly from the motion of the limo, but partly from nerves. I’m usually more together than this, more in control, but I’m tired of . . . of everything.
Kyol puts his hand over the glass before I raise it to my lips.
“McKenzie.” His edarratae quiver across his skin. “Talk to me. I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Look at me.” He lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his silver eyes.
“Kyol.” I draw in a breath. “I can’t do this. I can’t go back to the way things were, sneaking touches when no one is looking.” I won’t live like that. Not anymore.
“Okay.”
“I know Radath and the king will—What?”
He runs his hands down my arms, then back up, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “These last couple of weeks . . . they’ve been the worst of my life. Jorreb sent a fae with your clothes. They were stained red and . . .” He swallows. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again, and I hated myself for holding back when we were together. I remembered every time I told you no, and all I wanted was the chance to tell you yes. I have that chance now.” His hands tighten on my shoulders. “I’ll talk to Atroth, McKenzie. If you’ll forgive me, if you still want me, I’ll talk to him. I’ll convince him you and I should be together.”
Really? I want to ask, but I can’t form the question. This is what I’ve always wanted, the hope I’ve been clinging to for a decade, and now, I’m terrified I might be trapped in a dream. Maybe Aren killed me when he cut my throat. Something has to be up because this is too simple, too easy, to be real.
“What about you?” I ask when I find my voice. “Won’t Atroth want you to be with someone else? Someone like Jacia?” Even though Lorn said Kyol refused the life-bond, it hurts to say her name.
He frowns. “How . . . Who told you that?”
My lips tighten into a thin, apologetic smile.
“Jorreb,” he says. He lets go of my shoulders. “Atroth wants that—the daughter of Srillan is a good match for me—but I will never make a bond. Never, McKenzie.”
“The king knows why?” If Atroth knows Kyol loves me, why hasn’t he done something? Why hasn’t he changed the law, made an exception to it, or assigned me to another fae?
Kyol lets out a sigh. “I’m sure he suspects it, but if I don’t say anything and there’s no evidence to support it, I think he’ll continue to ignore us.”
But if he does say something . . .
“Will you lose your position?” I ask.
“There is a chance of that. I would like . . .” He stops, closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s an apology there. “I need a few days. You’ll need to tell us what you know about the rebellion. We’ll find its leaders and take them out. When the war is over, Atroth will be more willing to listen. If he doesn’t . . . if he won’t allow us to be together, I’ll leave the Court. I’ll stay with you.”
Everything I want, dangled in front of me like a carrot.
“And if the war doesn’t end?” I ask, my voice quiet.
“If we take out the son of Jorreb, it will.”
I have the means to kill Aren, hanging around my neck. My heart constricts. I love Kyol—always have, always will—but I can still feel Aren’s lips, desperate against mine. I hear his last words to me, making a promise to come for me, a promise that, somehow, I know he would keep. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to get away from him, and now that I’m free . . .
Isn’t this so freaking fantastic? I’ve spent ten years searching for someone to fill the spot in my heart meant for Kyol, and when I finally find a contender, he’s an enemy and he’s fae.
Why the hell can’t I fall in love with a human?
I suck in a breath. No. No way. I don’t love Aren. I can’t because, damn it, I’m not one of those girls, the ones who have two men chasing after them but can’t make up their minds who to choose. If you can’t decide who you love more, you don’t love either of them enough. So I don’t have feelings for Aren. I won’t.
But I don’t want him to die.
I close my eyes. I don’t know which is the bigger betrayal: giving the imprinted necklace to Kyol or keeping it to myself?
“McKenzie?”
“I want this to be over,” I say.
Kyol lets out an audible sigh and tension drains from his shoulders. “I know. Come here, kaesha.”
He sets my glass of wine aside and pulls me into his arms. Edarratae flicker across his skin. His fingertips trace up my back to the nape of my neck. Lightning tickles the tiny hairs there before shimmying down my spine.
“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs. “I didn’t realize how much I would.” His thumbs move to the heartbeat on either side of my throat, and he gives me a rare smile, the one he reserves just for me.
“You should get some rest,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. A chaos luster strikes down the side of my face. His lips trail it, then hover millimeters away from mine.
I won’t be able to sleep, not with this heat pulsing in my veins. I close the distance between us. He doesn’t resist. His lips slant hard across mine, pouring lightning into me. My heart thumps, startled by the intensity of the kiss. I half expect him to stop. This is the point when he usually pulls back, unwilling to get carried away, so I brace myself, waiting for a cold rush of air.
He doesn’t stop. His silver eyes turn stormy, and it sinks in that he really means what he said. When the war’s over, we’ll be together, with the king’s blessing or without it.
Finally.
My dress hikes up to my hips when he pulls me into his lap. I press against him, and his chest rumbles with a low growl. A smile finds its way to my lips. I love him like this, when all his self-control shatters and he becomes vulnerable to my touch.
There’s desperation in his movements when he lays me down on the long bench-seat, capturing me between the soft leather and his hard body. He lowers his mouth to my jaw, guides his lips slowly to my ear. I moan and he moves to the hollow of my throat and—oh, shit. The imprinted necklace. His lips brush over it, then stop, lingering on the scar on the side of my neck. I tense, but he only presses a kiss there. He doesn’t notice the extra heat of the stone.
Slowly, his hand slides down my silk-covered side, over my hip and lower, until he finds my bare thigh. He draws patterns on my skin, tiny circles that send a bolt of edarratae up my leg.
His hands are tantalizingly hot. I kiss him brutally, knowing Naito was right. Being with a human will never compare to this.
Ah, hell.
“Naito.”
Kyol’s hands still, but his chest heaves with his breaths. “What?”
I close my eyes. I’m a friggin’ moron for breaking this moment.
“Naito,” I say, forcing myself to meet Kyol’s gaze. “The shadow-reader you took through the gate in Lyechaban. Is he okay?”
A line creases his brow. “You’re thinking about Naito?”
“No, not really. I just . . . I didn’t see you give him an anchor-stone and, well, I was worried.”
“I gave him an anchor-stone,” he says after a moment, removing his hand from my thigh. “I didn’t know you were there.”
Damn, damn, damn.
“So he’s okay?”
Another long pause, then, “He’s fine.” He smoothes back my hair, plants a kiss on my forehead. “I promise.”
I grimace when he slides away, leaving me to the cold air.
�
��I’m sorry,” I say, sitting up as well.
To my relief, he gives me a small smile. “It’s okay, kaesha. We’re almost to Shane’s.”
Still, I feel like crap—guilty—because I shouldn’t have asked if Naito was okay. The Court fae go out of their way to keep humans safe. They saved me from Thrain ten years ago and have rescued others who were under the control of false-bloods. Aren’s just messed with my mind. Give me a few more hours, and everything will make sense again.
EIGHTEEN
I AWAKEN TO a kiss on my forehead. It’s so tender, and I’m so cozy and comfortable, that I don’t react until lightning skates across my brow.
Panicked, I lurch up and shove at the fae hovering over me.
“Shh, kaesha. You’re safe here.”
Kaesha, not nalkin-shom. If it was the latter, though, I think it would have calmed me just as much. I let out a breath, then sink back into a pillow and focus on Kyol. “What time is it?”
“It’s morning,” he says. “I shouldn’t stay any longer, and I need to speak with Atroth.”
Stay? I scan my surroundings. We’re not in the limo; we’re in a bed. I don’t remember closing my eyes, but I must have and this must be Shane’s house, a guest bedroom by the look of it. Has Kyol been here the whole time? His chaos lusters are agitated, much more than they were on the drive here. Even though the lights are off, electricity runs through the wires in the wall, and there’s likely Wi-Fi or cordless phones around. With the wedding, the limo ride, and this house, he’s been exposed to tech for far too long.
I sit up. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m only a little disoriented,” he says. “I’ll be fine as soon as I return to the Realm.”
I start to peel back the comforter.
“No.” Kyol rests his hand on mine. “Don’t get up. Sleep. I’ll send Taber for you in a few hours.”
He squeezes my hand and then lets it slide through his as he stands. Even if the tech wasn’t bothering him, he’d still have to leave. I’m sure Atroth and Lord General Radath both want a report. They’ll want to talk to me, too.
“Kyol?”
He peers down, waiting, but I don’t know what I wanted to say. Something about Aren? The rebellion? The words that come to mind now all sound like I’m defending what they’ve done. That’s not right, so I settle on, “Thank you.”
The barest of smiles touches his lips as he opens a fissure. “I’ll see you soon.”
He steps into the bright light and disappears. Even in the darkened room, I can see his shadows. I can’t get a precise read on them, though, not without sketching a map, but there’s no paper in sight, just the queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a matching chest of drawers, all red oak in color. Jeans and a gray, long-sleeved shirt are folded on top of the dresser, and a pair of boots—human, not fae-made—rest beside it. Knowing it’s unlikely I’ll be able to go back to sleep, I climb out of bed.
The clothes and boots are the right size. I grab them, walk to the door, and peek out. It’s clear, and the bathroom is right across the hall.
I start the water running, then shed my dress, unfasten my diamond necklace, and lay them both on the counter beside the tub. A few minutes later, I sink into the water and let the heat pull the stiffness from my muscles. Beneath the surface, the twin scars across my stomach wiggle. It’s a good thing Kyol and I didn’t go further last night. If he saw these scars, he’d have felt even worse about my abduction. And he would have learned where Aren’s hands were.
My stomach clenches, remembering Aren’s touch. Frustrated, I suck in a breath and sink beneath the water’s surface. I need to drown out his memory, forget that one kiss. It was just another one of his manipulations. Aren and I are enemies. I know that. He knows that. He should never have given me that damn necklace.
I burst out of the water and suck in air. The diamonds glitter from the edge of the sink, mocking me. I have to hand over the anchor-stone, don’t I? Even though it’ll feel like I’m twisting a knife in Aren’s back?
I run my fingers through my wet hair. I just want this to be over. I want to live a normal, human life. With Kyol.
You could never be a normal human. Aren’s words from the riverbank in Germany. He said them with a smile on his face, as if I was too extraordinary to be normal.
“Damn it.” Before my thoughts settle on his kiss again, I stand, sloshing water over the side of the tub. I towel off, wring the water from my hair, then snatch the diamond necklace off the counter. I don’t want it hanging around my neck, so I wrap it around my wrist a couple times and then fasten the clasp. It actually works as a bracelet, and with the long-sleeved shirt Kyol left for me, no one will see it unless I want them to.
A few minutes later, I’m dressed and exploring the castle. That’s what it feels like, at least. The place is huge, two stories with a theater upstairs and half a dozen closed doors I’m too afraid to open. There had to be some type of party or gettogether here last night. In one of the living areas, red plastic cups and beer bottles are scattered about the room, on the floor and tables, even the pool table, which I’m pretty sure isn’t good for it. And someone’s snoring on the couch. Not wanting to wake him, I tiptoe through the room, find the staircase, and then head down to the first floor, hoping I can find the kitchen.
The size of the house shouldn’t surprise me. A limo picked me up last night. Shane obviously has money. But I can’t help but wonder how he earned it. What does he do for a living? How does he keep a high-paying job? How does he keep the Court from interfering with . . .
I stop, scan the tall walls of the foyer and its arched ceiling. Surely the fae haven’t paid for all of this. I mean, I know the king would give me more money if I asked, but I’m fairly certain they get the bundles of cash by fissuring in and out of bank vaults. I feel guilty for letting them pay for my little apartment—it is stealing, after all—but maybe Shane doesn’t. Maybe he feels this place is his due.
“Lost?”
I turn. Shane—I’m assuming it’s him because he’s standing there like he owns the place—is a few years older than I am. He’s wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and jeans, which are slung low on his hips. His brown hair is mussed up, but he doesn’t look like he’s just woken up. He looks like . . . well, like he’s just attended a party.
“I’m McKenzie,” I say, just in case he thinks I’m some leftover guest from last night.
“I met you a few hours ago.” At my frown, the corner of his mouth tips into a smile. “You were unconscious. Taltrayn carried you upstairs. You a heavy sleeper?”
“Not usually.” It doesn’t surprise me I slept so hard, though. My insomnia issues disappear when I’m with Kyol, and the last three days—hell, the last couple of weeks—haven’t exactly been pleasant.
“He said you had a bad day.” Shane crosses the foyer and then, as he walks past me, he says, “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
I follow him to the kitchen where he starts a pot of coffee and nukes breakfast: frozen waffles from a box big enough to supply a small army. After the microwave dings, he takes the two plates to a table in a separate room. Tall, arched windows curve around the breakfast area, separating it from the terraced backyard.
“Know how long you’ll be staying?” he asks while he floods his waffles with syrup.
It’s a good question, one I’m not sure how to answer. I don’t want to hunt for a new apartment, but I understand why I can’t go home. The rebels traded me for Lena, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want me back. Aren wants me back.
“I’ll leave as soon as I can.”
“No rush,” he says. “I have plenty of room.”
“Yeah. This place”—my eyes take in the view outside, the stone archways inside, and the marble fireplace in the next room—“it’s . . . big.”
“Extravagant, you mean.” His crooked grin says he’s not ashamed of the fact. He cuts into his waffles. “The Court doesn’t care where I live so long as it’s nea
r a gate, so I picked a place that suited me.” At the look on my face, he adds, “What? I risk my life for them. I’ve earned this, especially lately.”
No one needs a place like this, but I don’t open that debate right now. Instead, I focus on the last part of what he said. “What do you mean by ‘lately’?”
Around a mouthful of waffle, he says, “They’ve been keeping me busy these last few weeks.”
“Busier than usual?”
“Yeah. They used to only need me when the rebels attacked, but they’ve started going on the offensive. Have you heard of the Butcher of Brykeld?”
Slowly, I nod.
“He abducted the Court’s best shadow-reader. She’s probably dead, but they stepped up the search for Jorreb a few weeks ago, started hitting every place the rebels are rumored to be, hoping to . . . What?”
I realize I’m scowling, but I assumed Kyol told him who and what I am. Is there a reason he didn’t? He’s always kept my name a secret, but the rebels know it now. I don’t see why it matters anymore.
“I’m not dead,” I tell Shane.
“You’re not . . .” His eyes widen. “Shit. I thought you just had the Sight. I didn’t know you could read shadows. Shit,” he says again. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Uncomfortable, I grab my fork. “Do you have people over here often?”
He doesn’t resist the subject change. With a shrug, he slouches back in his chair. “I have people over all the time. As you said, it’s a big house. It can get lonely.”
“You’re lonely, baby?” a groggy voice asks.
The brunette who enters the breakfast room is tall, modelpretty, and dressed in a black robe with, unfortunately, nothing underneath.
“Not with you here, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to her bare stomach. I stare out the window while he reties her sash.
“Who’s this?” she asks.
“McKenzie.” He loops an arm around her waist. “She’ll be hanging around for a while.”
The girl takes in my long, damp hair, makeup-less face, and plain, long-sleeved T-shirt. “Cousin?” she asks Shane, as if it isn’t possible for him to be interested in someone like me.
The Shadow Reader Page 20
