The Hidden (Shadowed Wings Book 1)

by Ivy Asher

  Kit Duhamel drops his eyes from mine and dips them down my body. I can feel his warm honey-like gaze dripping down my exposed skin, and I fight a shiver of sudden need that runs up my spine. I battle the corners of my mouth as they try to tilt up in a satisfied smirk. I may not know much about whatever this group of shifters is, but when it comes to the shifters I do know about, dropping your gaze while in a staring contest means submission. I don’t know who honey eyes is, but he looks pretty head honcho to me.

  His eyes snap up to meet mine, and the fury reflecting back at me smothers the self-satisfaction that was just floating through my chest. The doors behind me open, and I turn to see the blond guard who led me here, guiding a young man into the room. He looks like a teenager, one that’s just on the cusp of puberty, and he moves to stand next to me and bows deeply at the waist in the direction of the people seated at the table.

  “Yes, Syta?” he asks as he straightens up, and the honey-eyed sky shadow gives him a nod.

  “Ami, please assess the proceedings from this point forward,” he directs, and the Ami kid moves over to the side of the room and leans back against the wall.

  I stare at him and wonder exactly what he’s here to do when, out of nowhere, his brown irises and black pupils disappear, and his eyes turn entirely white.

  “Holy shit,” I gasp, unable to help it, and I study him even harder.

  “Name and Clan?” Gray Eyes barks at me, and my curiosity flees like a bunny from a fox as I look toward the table of doom.

  “Falon,” I snap back, leaving my middle and last name off this time.

  Movement to my right has me looking back at the white-eyed kid, and I just catch what looks like the tail end of a nod. A man with no beard and long straight brown hair knocks on the heavy table once. I’m not sure what that means, but I’m not given much time to process it before Gray Eyes is snapping at me again.

  “Clan?”

  I stare at his stormy gaze for a second, not sure what the hell to say. “I don’t know exactly what that means, like my last name?” I inquire, uncertain. “It’s Umbra. Which I already told you. If you’re asking where I’m from, the answer is Colorado.”

  A knock raps on the table, and Gray Eyes’ eyebrows drop slightly. "Colow-rah-down?” he asks, butchering the name of the state.

  “Yeah, you know, America. The United States of America, to be exact,” I elaborate, but he only looks more perplexed.

  Another knock on the table echoes around the room, and the large bodies at the table shift with discomfort.

  I can tell by all of their faces that they have no idea what I’m talking about. “What country am I in?” I ask, not able to help myself. I mean, I’m aware that Americans are known to have a bit of an ego about where we come from, but how have none of them heard of it? What kind of cut-off, hillbilly, mountain town am I in?

  “You are in the Eyrie of the Hidden,” the sky shadow grumbles at me, and he stares at me with a knowing look, like he expects me to recognize this place.

  I quickly flick through all the world geography that I know, but nope, the Eyrie of the Hidden is not ringing any bells. “Where the hell is that?” I ask. Last I remember, I was just over the border in Alberta. Maybe this is a random Canadian town I’ve never heard of?

  A knock slams against the table, and each of them suddenly looks as confused as I feel.

  “Could that explain why she didn’t carry the vow but none of us know her either?” Gray Eyes turns to his left and asks Kit Duhamel.

  “Where did you find her again?” the red-bearded man on the end asks.

  “The Amaranthine Mountains,” Kit Duhamel mutters, and his hard stare fixes on me again, but I see a hint of curiosity in it now.

  “Syta, you should never have gone out that far on your own,” a dark-haired woman, who is sitting next to the blond evil laugher, speaks. I’m shocked for a minute because I thought she was a man too, but her voice is distinctly feminine even if her bulk and muscles aren’t.

  “That’s not important,” honey eyes snaps, and she immediately closes her mouth and gives an apologetic nod.

  “There used to be a gate in those parts the Ouphe of old used to use,” the long brown haired table knocker offers, and I realize that he’s a woman too. They’re both so thick and angular, I just assumed they were men, but now I’m thinking anyone with a beard or scruff is male, and anyone without facial hair might not be.

  “Do you know what you are?” the blond man with the pain-promising laugh asks me.

  “No,” I tell him again, my own anger seeping out into the word.

  I wait for the knock that proves to them I’m not lying. When it comes, they all start talking over each other in shock. I release a huff and look over at Ami. I’ve pieced together what he’s here for, but I’m infinitely curious about how it works. Based on the state of his eyes, I’d guess it’s something he can physically see. He stares at me unblinking, but the hint of a friendly smile peeks out of one corner of his mouth. I give him one back and then turn to focus on the cacophony in front of me.

  “She’s obviously highblood; just look at her,” the blond man says.

  “Maybe, but she carries no vow. Zeph confirmed it,” the woman with the straight brown hair argues.

  “What color was her gryphon? Maybe her natural markings mask it somehow?” the dark-haired woman counters.

  “Force her to change. We can inspect her more thoroughly,” someone else demands, but I’m lost to my own swirling thoughts and no longer able to track what they’re saying.

  Gryphon?

  The name bounces around in my mind, and it conjures up images of a shit ton of English heraldry. I try to think past what I may have seen on coats of arms and connect the mythological name with what I saw in the reflection of the lake as I flew over it. Gryphons are half bird, half lion? Or maybe it can be any big cat, because the sky shadow’s ass was definitely black. And mine was definitely white. I did have a tail. I remember trying to beat the shit out of Kit Duhamel, the honey-eyed sky shadow, when he attacked me. My face was very eagle like, with the exception of the long black, back-facing ears.

  “Gryphon,” I whisper, trying the name on to see how it feels around my body. A knowing warmth fills me, and I look down at my palms in awe.

  I’m a fucking gryphon!

  The air in front of me shifts, and I look up with alarm, reminded of what it felt like to get attacked in the air. Like some fucked up flashback, the sky shadow—who I’m pretty sure is the guy, Zeph, Gray Eyes was talking about—is stomping toward me, hate radiating from his eyes. I have no idea what to do. He’s massive, easily seven and a half feet tall, and he looks like he wants to crush me...again.

  He stops just shy of me, his chest shoving against mine slightly, and I have to fight to keep my footing and not take a step back to make room for him. I lean into him, refusing to give him my space, and my traitorous body responds to his proximity. My nipples harden against him, and just the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, sends a zing of anticipation and pleasure straight to my clit.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to find out. If Lazza thinks I can be fooled by a counterfeit call and a pair of tits, he has another thing coming.”

  I stare up at the abhorrence pouring out of his eyes, and I bristle. I have no idea what he just said, but the tone is clear. Anger takes over, and I fist bump the death wish that just showed up inside of me. I lift my hands and push the massive fucker doing his best to intimidate me. He takes a couple steps back, and I don’t know who’s more shocked by that, me or him.

  “Fuck you,” I spit venomously at him, and the shock sluffs off his face as he charges me. He slams up against me again, and it’s like he hits a barrier right where I begin. I’m ready for him this time, and I cheer loudly inside when I once again hold my ground. I’m not sure what he’s going to do to me, but I know it’s not going to be good. I can feel his fisted hands at his side and the rage pouring out of every pore.

/>   He roars in my face, and I jump with surprise as the angry sound assaults me. I flinch, not able to help it, and then tense, knowing at any second the vicious sound pouring out of him will be followed by a beating. I stare at him in challenge. He’s going to fucking annihilate me, but that doesn’t make him the tough asshole he clearly thinks he is. He can stare into my eyes and see just how little I think of him as his fists connect with my body.

  I breathe heavily, adrenaline, fear, and anger pumping through me. Shock suddenly drowns out all my other emotions as a flash of pain runs up my back. The next thing I know, a pair of large ebony-feathered wings rip out of my back. I keep my face blank in spite of what I’m feeling inside.

  Well, that’s fucking new.

  Based on the surprised look that Zeph is now wearing, it’s not only new, but apparently a pretty kick ass trick at that. I’ll take it.

  4

  Gasps fill the room, and I whimper, wavering slightly when my wings spread to almost twice my size. They’re not nearly as massive as they were when I was a gryphon though, and I wonder if they adjust in size to my different forms. Zeph stops roaring immediately, like my wings just reached out and bitch slapped him silent. I expect the new black feathered appendages to feel heavy or force me to topple over on my back like an upturned turtle, but the opposite is true. They feel like they’re a part of my body just like my arms and legs do. They feel like they’ve always been there and my body has always accommodated them.

  Zeph’s honey gaze traces the top curve of my feathers, and he rolls his shoulders as if the appearance of my wings is somehow calling to his own. The ability to partial shift is rare back in the shifter world I grew up knowing about. Judging by the reaction currently circulating through this room, I’d guess the same is true here. Zeph closes his shocked mouth, and next thing I know, he’s stomping out of the room and slamming the large intricately carved doors behind him.

  I turn back to the others, feeling helpless, frustrated, and fighting against the adrenaline currently slamming through my system. My stare lands on Gray Eyes’ stormy gaze, and suddenly white and gray wings thrust out of his back. We both give a sharp inhale of surprise. He flexes them out behind him, his rain-cloud gray gaze never leaving mine. He gives his massive wings a quick flap, and the air stirs and whips around the room.

  My wings itch to do the same thing, but I keep them tightly locked together at my back. It’s clear that, for whatever reason, Zeph thinks I’m a threat despite the teenage lie detector test still leaning casually against the wall. Gray Eyes’ contempt-filled stare tells me that he’s feeling the same way. The last thing I need to do is get torn apart because I flapped my wings and they deciphered that as an act of aggression instead of me just stretching.

  Gray Eyes pulls his wings back inside of him, and I stare at where they used to be over his shoulder. He just did that like it was as easy as breathing, and it makes envy and wonder flash through me. I take a deep breath and try to coax mine back inside, but nothing happens.

  “She needs to be cleansed before we go any further,” Gray Eyes declares.

  The dark-haired woman gives a small nod. “Yes, Ryn. I mean, Altern,” she quickly corrects when Gray Eyes—who’s apparently named Ryn—narrows his eyes at her.

  The way people here use Syta and Altern makes it clear that they’re titles of some sort. They’re said with reverence and respect and mark Zeph and Ryn as leaders or commanders maybe. It also seems anyone with a title is a raging douche bag.

  “I want her doused in the tears of clarity and anything else we have that will combat any of the old magics. Let’s make sure we’re not up against any unforeseen variables, and then we’ll see what her truth really looks like.”

  Ryn storms out, his order hanging in the air, and all but the dark-haired woman follow him. We watch each other for a moment before she steps out from behind the heavy wood table and makes her way slowly toward me. I tense as she approaches, and her critical eyes roam over every sheet clad inch of me.

  “If you think I’m going to let you scrub me down, you’ve got another thing coming,” I warn her. She just stares at me for a couple of awkward seconds before she gives me a slight nod.

  “Follow me, please,” she tells me, and she starts walking toward the door.

  She’s taller than me by probably six inches and thicker in every way. She’s not as big as the males that were at the table, but she’s massive by human standards. She’s the biggest woman I’ve ever encountered, and she moves with a grace that stuns me. I can’t take my eyes off of her as she practically floats over the ground. Even just her hands swaying at her sides as she walks reminds me of the time I saw this beautiful hula dance at school.

  I gasp, surprised, when my wings are suddenly pulled into my back. I spin like a dog chasing its tail as I try to deduce what made them snap out and then disappear just as mysteriously. My guide doesn’t even pause, and I have to shove my curiosity away and rush to catch up.

  I follow her through more winding hallways until I find myself back in the room with the balcony and large bed that’s missing a yellow sheet. She walks right past everything and through another doorway that looked like it was just part of the wall. I walk closer to where she disappeared through, wondering if it’s some kind of magic, but as I get closer, I realize that the back part of the entryway blends really well and makes it look like a solid wall when it’s actually recessed.

  “What’s your name?” I ask as I step through the hidden doorway and into a massive bathroom.

  “Loa,” she answers simply, not looking at me. She pulls a lever, and steaming water pours from the ceiling into a huge empty bath that’s been dug into the floor of the room.

  A large window-like cutout on the back wall allows natural light to illuminate the stone room, and I take it all in. Steam, and a deep musky scent I can’t place, start to fill the space. It coaxes out some of the tension that’s locking up my muscles, and I exhale a small sigh of relief. Loa presses another lever, but I don’t notice what it does as I catch the reflection of her back in the large veined mirror she just walked in front of. She steps back to the large tub that’s still filling, and I’m left staring at a shell-shocked stranger.

  I know the reflection is mine because it’s wrapped up in a butter-yellow sheet. It also mirrors my movements exactly when I bring my hand up and run it over my hair. I’m stunned beyond words to find that my dark brown tresses have somehow been stripped of all color. I walk closer to the mirror and reach over my shoulder to grab the tail of the tight braid I always wear when I ride my motorcycle. It’s looser and a bit disheveled, but the braid is hanging in there through all the shit that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. Crap, has it even been twenty-four hours, or has it been longer? I run my fingers through the end of the braid and try to work the tangles out that are keeping it from unraveling.

  What the hell?

  The ends of my hair are completely white, and it darkens to the faintest of grays at my roots. I stare at the wavy kink left behind by the braid and don’t even know what to think. I pull my eyes from my ghostly tresses and freeze when my gaze lands on light purple irises instead of the dark brown I’ve spent my life looking into. I poke at my cheek just to be sure that this is, in fact, me. The stranger in the mirror does the same. The tan skin tone I’ve always had is reflected back at me. My eyebrows are still dark, and long black lashes continue to frame my eyes, but my new white hair and lavender stare make me look so completely alien.

  I turn to Loa. “What happened?” I ask, holding out a chunk of my now pigment challenged tresses. She looks at me like she doesn’t understand the question. “My hair and eyes used to be dark like yours,” I explain, but she just looks even more confused. A flash of my mother’s ring, cracked and crumbling on my hand, streaks through my mind, and a growl of frustration bubbles up in my chest.

  A woman walks into the bathroom at that moment and goes still. Our eyes lock onto each other in the mirror, and she star
es at me open-mouthed.

  “Tysa, lift your jaw off the ground and bring me the tears of clarity, verity moss, and a bottle of crushed pietersite,” Loa commands.

  Tysa gives a small curtsey and rushes out of the room. Loa turns back to me, and her dark judgmental gaze runs over my white hair.

  “Whatever magic you were using to change your appearance must have worn off,” she accuses, her nose scrunched up like she’s smelled something foul.

  I open my mouth to argue that it wasn’t magic, but I pause. Shit, was it magic? Did the ring keep me from knowing what I was and also mask what I really looked like? Have I been this purple-eyed, milky-haired, gryphon girl inside this whole time? I’ve been so irritated that my gran kept all of this from me that I haven’t spent much time focusing on the why of it all. I turn away from Loa and take in my reflection again. My coloring is incredibly unusual, and I would have stuck out like a sore thumb back home.

  Loa indicates that the bath is ready, and I untie the sheet corners from around my neck and step out of the fabric. Lost in my efforts to try and piece things together, I sift through my thoughts as I step down into the bath. My skin stings when it comes into contact with the hot water, but I ignore it and step all the way in until it laps just below my breasts. There’s a shelf built into the side where I can sit, and I plop down absently as I run through everything I thought I knew about my mother, father, and grandmother.

  A hand grips the wet hair hanging on my back, and I flinch away from the touch. Loa narrows her eyes at me, and I mirror her irritated expression.

  “I was ordered to cleanse you,” she tells me, like that solves any issues I might have with her touching me.

  “I can cleanse myself,” I counter, taking another step further out of her reach.

  “That’s not how this works. We need to ensure you’re free of any illusions or magic.”

  “By what, scrubbing my ass crack and armpits?” I interject. “Not a chance in hell that’s happening.”