Shadow's Edge

by Jami Gray

  Shadow’s Edge

  Kyn Kronicles Book 1

  Jami Gray

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Submerged in Shadows

  Shadow’s Soul

  Also by Jami Gray

  About the Author

  For my mom and dad, who spent years not minding the typewriter on the table at dinnertime and never said I couldn’t do it.

  For the 7 Evil Dwarves, without who this story would’ve never seen the light of day.

  To Ben and my boys—I thank God every day you chose me. There is no way I could do this without you—and Pizza Hut.

  Chapter One

  With a quick twist of her wrist, Raine slipped the blade between Quinn’s ribs. His heart gave one last desperate beat, then fell silent. He slid slowly down her body to his knees, ending up in a strange, lover-like tableau.

  Wrenching her blade out with a soft grunt, she held him in a gentle grasp, carefully lowering his lifeless body to the cracked concrete floor of the deserted warehouse. She closed his now dull brown eyes, knowing they would join the handful of others haunting her dreams.

  As she knelt to wipe her blade clean on his shirt, her hands shook slightly. Shaking hands were good. It was a sign she hadn’t yet slipped off the crumbling edge into the same deep hole holding the monsters she hunted. A small comfort, but a comfort all the same.

  She was careful to keep her knees away from the creeping trickle of blood inching outward. Standing, she caught her breath in a near-silent hiss of pain. A reminder of a stupid mistake on her part. She knew better. Every time she thought she’d seen it all, something came along and bit her in the ass. Or, in this case, distracted her enough to get past her guard. The four-inch gash along her ribs was a small price to pay for her inattention. The illusion Quinn had used was good, damn good. Almost good enough to save his life.

  She slipped her knife back in its wrist sheath, careful not to touch the iron blade. Not wanting to leave a blood trail, she stripped off her coat and long sleeve shirt, leaving her pale skin covered in a simple black tee. She tore the sleeves from the shirt creating a primitive binding for her ribs. Resettling her trench coat, she moved out into the night-shrouded streets of downtown Portland.

  Although her mixed heritage helped her heal faster than a normal human, she needed to get home and clean out the wound. Thanks to the spell Quinn had so thoughtfully wrought on his own weapon, it would probably need mending. Damn, how she detested needles and the feel of them piercing her skin. It always brought back the sick helplessness of being a living pincushion for a demented scientist and his distorted visions of grandeur.

  Destructive memories rose causing her steps to falter. Wresting her personal demons back into their cell, she blew out her breath in a deep sigh, her long strides making quick work of the winding streets in the deserted neighborhood. In seconds, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the hazy-yellow streetlights shining feebly through the misty fog.

  A few blocks later, just as a soft rain began to fall, she opened the door to her dark-green SUV and climbed in. The Northwest was a great place to live, so long as you didn’t mind being wet and growing mold.

  She did a fast scan of the deserted parking lot before turning the key in the ignition. It would just complete her night to finish this assignment by getting car jacked by some tanked-up group of mortal teenagers or a pack of hormonal shifters. One look at her five-foot-five frame—okay five-foot-seven with her thick-soled boots—and they’d think easy mark. A mistake people rarely made twice. Even Quinn knew better.

  A glance at the dashboard clock showed it was past three in the morning. She grabbed the cell phone from the glove compartment and hit a programmed number. It rang once before being picked up.

  She didn’t wait for a greeting. “This is McCord, the job’s done.”

  Silence answered. Not surprised, she hit disconnect and tossed the phone into the center console. Flicking the stereo on, she let the throbbing bass and heavy guitars pound through the speakers as she turned out of the lot and headed home.

  Spending the money on the protection spell for her leather trench coat was definitely a good investment. Without it, Quinn’s attack would’ve left her bleeding out before too long. In her line of work, protection spells were as important as a finely sharpened blade. Costly, but well worth it.

  Her well-funded bank account bore testimony to the generosity of her employer, Taliesin Security. However, even as the top security company in the U.S., they were now down one employee. Quinn wouldn’t be reporting in anytime soon. Truth was, she liked Quinn. Liked him enough, she had tried to bring him in alive. Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt accommodating.

  Maybe it was the thought of facing her boss, Ryan Mulcahy, which made Quinn attack tonight. From personal experience, she got it. Dealing with Mulcahy created a tendency toward violence.

  The man was a master artesian when it came to manipulation and control. It always left her wondering if those two characteristics had been listed as requirements on his job application. “Wanted: one powerful, arrogant, type-A, control freak to head up the Fey population in the Northwest.”

  She snorted. It wouldn’t surprise her.

  The SUV hit a pothole, making her wince and dragging her thoughts back to Quinn. His name had been linked to the disappearance and bloody murders of two college students. While the deaths would have caused a small ripple in the human world, if one of the few government agencies who knew about the Kyn linked Quinn’s name to the crime before Taliesin Security—well, the ripple would have turned into a tsunami. Quinn’s actions created a potentially cataclysmic threat to the magical community, so Mulcahy sent Raine, one of his specially trained Security Officers, to bring Quinn in.

  Who knew why he killed those girls, but Raine had a few hunches. One of Quinn’s weaknesses was an addiction to power. Wanting what he couldn’t have, hating those who had it, and doing whatever necessary to obtain it. Whatever it was, it caused him to break the unbreakable rule—never take out the innocents, especially if they’re human—it was bad for business. Taliesin followed a very literal termination policy for those who broke this particular rule, one that included a permanent demotion to a lovely, airless box six feet under.

  Hell, no matter how you looked at it, Quinn’s decision had been just plain stupid.

  Sirens jerked her attention back to the wet road in front of her. Glancing in her rearview mirrors, she found flashing red and blue lights streaking toward her. Her fingers whitened on the steering wheel. She couldn’t afford to be pulled over right now. There were too many hidden weapons on her person and in her vehicle to get out of this with a simple ticket. She checked her speed. Nope, she wasn’t speeding. The blare of the siren rose above the pulsa
ting music, and the spasmodic lights filled up the side mirror.

  Muttering a string of epitaphs under her breath, she began to slow, pulling her SUV over to the shoulder, while frantically trying to piece together a believable story. Before she came to a complete stop, the siren and lights blasted by her, spraying a fine mist of grit and water across her windshield. Relief swept through her and she slumped against the steering wheel, watching the small, red brake lights fade into the night.

  A shaky sounding laugh escaped as her adrenaline level dropped. It would suck to get stopped for speeding, only to be arrested for the small arsenal she was transporting. Not to mention the additional headache of answering the question of whose blood stained the metal of the knife strapped to her body. It wouldn’t take much to match the unusual blood on her blades to the corpse that would soon be found. Even humans could connect the dots if given enough clues.

  The Kyn had managed to keep their existence quiet for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, the advent of modern technology made blending into the shadows difficult. Decades ago, some of the human governments, various high level military personnel, and a select handful of others became privy to the Kyn’s existence. A decision was made to keep the presence of creatures, that humans believed were only fantastic stories, a closely guarded secret. The humans in power didn’t want to scare the general population, and the Kyn, secretive by nature, didn’t argue.

  Raine pulled back out onto the freeway, and finished her drive without enduring further heart attack inducing moments. Approaching the turn off the highway, she slowed and a quiet sigh escaped. Tires crunched onto a gravel road heading into the mountains. Home wasn’t far now, and she looked forward to a warm shower and a cup of hot tea.

  The SUV bumped over the bridge spanning the dried-up streambed. When the tires touched the other side, the steady vibrations of her primary wards, which served as a basic magical warning system surrounding her land, seeped into her bones. Their strength was a surprise, since warding magic wasn’t her greatest skill. Still she knew enough to avoid spending money on a professional Warder. The wards seemed undisturbed, and her remaining tension from tonight’s activities slipped away. She loved living out in the middle of nowhere. It was her haven, her refuge.

  Parking the SUV in the detached garage, she opened her door. As soon as her foot touched the ground, the disturbance of her inner wards focused on the inside her house scratched over her nerves. Something, or someone had breached them. A powerful someone or something, since the outer wards hadn’t been tripped. Muttering a brief oath, she caught the edge of the car door before it slammed shut. It may be too little, too late since her headlights were hard to miss in the inky darkness. It shot her element of surprise all to hell.

  Easing the door until the interior light clicked off, she stood by the SUV, an unmoving shadow. Within a breath, she slipped away. The soft rhythm of falling rain and the slight rustling of the breeze running through the dense tree leaves gave cover to her movements.

  Keeping to the darkness of the garage, she scanned her front and side yards. The lights were unlit, none of the small bushes were mangled, and there were no strange cars visible. Whoever it was either flew in, or parked somewhere out in the surrounding woods. Sending out a flicker of energy she read the house wards. Crouching down, she moved silently toward the wrap-around porch. The wards didn’t offer much help. All she could sense was one intruder.

  One trespasser versus her and her knives? Easy odds.

  She slipped over the porch railing, and dropped softly to the deck. Moving toward the door from the left side, she avoided the windows and kept her back to the wall. She came in low, in case whoever or whatever was inside took a shot. The hope being their shot would go over her head. No sense in creating an easy target. With a flick of her wrist, her blade dropped out of its sheath into her right palm. Her left hand twisted the doorknob and began inching the door open.

  “Raine, its Gavin.” The deep voice emerged from the darkened interior, freezing her in place. “I have a message for you.”

  Far from being reassured, she pushed the door wide, staying low. Her night vision functioned perfectly as her eyes swept the entrance hall. Sure enough, a large man, his dark form outlined in a reddish-orange glow, was sprawled in her favorite cushy chair. She caught his movement as he reached for the switch on the wall and blinked in preparation as the soft light flicked on, her vision adjusting rapidly back to normal. As she rose to her feet, she moved her knife down to her side. Out, but not readily visible.

  Gavin Durand made her uneasy, itchy. She wasn’t the only one. More than a few female conversations at the office focused on his exotic looks. Something about his golden skin, lean muscles, and long legs sent the women all drooling. If she was honest, she’d have to admit to drooling—once or twice—herself. That well-hidden flaw created a crack in her hard-won control, making her resent him. All enticing six-feet-four inches of him, to be exact.

  “Deliver it and leave, Gavin.” Her voice quiet, she stepped fully inside, closing the door. Her eyes never left the man in front of her.

  “Could I get a cup of tea, at least?” His green eyes regarded her steadily.

  Watching him warily, she moved down the hall to the closet. They had worked together before on a few assignments for Taliesin, and her cautious reaction to him seemed to provide him endless amusement.

  He leaned a shoulder against the entryway between the front room and the hall, his stance relaxed, with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His empty hands a clear message he wasn’t armed.

  She took his silent message at face value, deciding he was probably here to irritate. Ignoring the weight of his gaze, she gave him her back, and slid the knife into its sheath as she aimed for the hall closet.

  Gavin set her nerves on edge, even here in her home, which served to piss her off. Nerves were a sign of weakness, not desire. Her inner voice scoffed in disbelief as she stopped at the hall closet and turned to find him uncomfortably close. A soft, frustrated snarl escaped. It ended in a slight hiss of pain when she yanked her coat off, pulling at the wound marring her side.

  From his position, Gavin watched her, his thoughts hidden by a mask of mild amusement. She hated that particular expression as much as she disliked the tumultuous feelings he always managed to invoke. He rubbed her metaphoric fur the wrong way.

  Damn it, Gavin was an attractive pain in the ass.

  “If you want tea, there’s the kitchen.” She was proud of how level her voice sounded. “Go put the water on.” She grabbed a hanger, hung up her coat, and gently closed the closet door. Stepping by him, she headed to the kitchen, deliberately keeping herself just out of his reach.

  “Hurt?” His dark voice tumbled down her spine, spreading unexpected chills.

  She whirled, and in an effort to avoid touching him, her back hit the hall wall. She sucked in a sharp breath. The damn man moved quieter than a cat. “It’s just a scratch.” Her jaw tightened with frustration and the unwanted awareness she couldn’t hide as she met his brilliant green eyes. “I need to clean it up.”

  Unwilling to stand there like some girly-girl, and let him crowd her, she put her palm on his broad chest and pushed him away. Surreptitiously wiping her tingling palm on her jeans, she moved warily around him, trying not to breathe in his woodsy scent as she continued to the kitchen. Her body was hyper aware of the man pacing behind her. She wasn’t used to having people in her house, especially a male who watched every move she made.

  Screw it, it was her house, and Gavin wasn’t here on her invite.

  Unsettled and off-balance, anger flickered and her pulse accelerated. Gavin being here meant something was up, something serious. Not only was he a fellow Security Officer for Taliesin but, like her, he was also part of the Wraiths.

  And Wraiths did not visit other Wraiths in the dead of the morning for tea.

  Since human justice didn’t work well on the Kyn, they had their own version of the police. The Wraiths were a t
welve member, highly skilled and specialized group, operating in similar fashion to a human military black-ops group. They were not publicly acknowledged, even within the Kyn society, and provided the last line of defense for the supernatural community.

  Wraiths were essential in keeping the monsters at bay and holding the fragile peace between Kyn and humans. They held the authority to use whatever powers and skills necessary to get the job done.

  They didn’t fail. They couldn’t afford to.

  Moving around the kitchen, she grabbed the bottom of her black T-shirt and pulled it off, throwing it in the trash as she headed to the sink. Tattered and bloody, the T-shirt was a loss, so was the torn black tank underneath thanks to the blood seeping through the rough binding. She removed both wrist sheaths, revealing old scars that traced patterns on her arms. Her wrists held a matching set of scars, circling them like bracelets. A lasting impression left from an old nightmare.

  She laid the wrist blades on the counter to clean later. If Gavin chose to start something, he would at least play fair and give her a chance to grab them. Besides, she still had the two in her boots. She started to unravel the makeshift bandage from her ribs.

  He reached around her with the teakettle from the stove, flicking on the faucet and filling it. Intent on ignoring him, she pulled up her tank top, flashing a colorful glimpse of the delicate Celtic artwork of intertwining lines and lithe cats cradling her lower back as she made a closer inspection of the wound. She opened the drawer next to the sink, grabbed the first aid kit—gritting her teeth against the pain dancing across her ribs—and cleaned and disinfected the cut.