by Hotter Edge
First the old biddy sat in Dad’s chair, now she gave orders? Last time Kaye checked, this was Brand house. Kaye swatted behind her, and the door shut just shy of a slam.
“Kaye,” her father said smoothly, but she got the warning to behave, “Zelda and I were just discussing the continuation of your studies.”
Zelda. That’s what the old lady’s name was. A couple of weeks ago, Kaye would have been required to call her Ms. Grey or ma’am. Now it was Zelda. The perks of being suddenly all grown up.
The wraith leaned down to the grand madam’s ear, whispering.
None of this boded well. Kaye was supposed to marry Ferrol tomorrow, but Zelda was the first Grey she’d ever met. And if the old lady was a crypt keeper, how old would that make her brother, Kaye’s soon-to-be husband? Old. Which was probably why they weren’t letting her meet him.
Wasn’t fair, no matter how generous the marriage contract might be. She should just say no. It was now or never.
Zelda twitched her black eyeballs back to Kaye. “My companion says your smell is off.”
As if the monster could talk.
“I was in the kitchen,” Kaye explained. “They’re cooking fish.” She hoped it wasn’t the kind where they left the inside raw. What was his excuse?
“Not that smell,” Zelda said.
Silence in the office. The fire snapped, Shadows flickering. Dad paused, midmotion. Zelda’s eyes glinted. The wraith looked meaner.
Anxiety tickled Kaye. The old lady knew something.
Zelda leaned forward slightly, pinning her. “You’ve been in the cellar.”
Wraiths were known for their sharp senses as well as their hunger for human souls. He had to have sniffed the musty, sour body smell from downstairs. She must have worn it into the room. Heels. Little black dress. Eau de Dying Man.
She was caught. Her heart sucked in so much blood that the edges of the room dimmed. She looked at her father, expecting wrath. She braced to take it.
But her dad casually sipped from his glass. “And how is our friend in the cellar doing?”
Not the reaction she expected.
“You knew about this?” Zelda asked.
“I gave her the keys,” he answered. To Kaye, he asked, “How is he looking today?”
Another pounding second passed before Kaye realized that her dad was trying to make it seem like he was okay with her going down there. Because there was no way that he was.
In weirdly numb slow motion, Kaye held out the keys to him. She was caught anyway, so why not? They’d gotten so heavy, it was a relief when her father took them.
She had no idea what to answer about the chained man, because she didn’t know why he was there in the first place. “He’s…” She went for the obvious. “…a little pasty.”
Dad let out an odd, sharp laugh and drained his glass. Dad never laughed.
He was going to lock her up for sure. Take away her laptop, take away everything. No continuation of studies. Just Ferrol Grey’s bride.
Kaye’s brain filled with I’m-sorrys and excuses, but she held them back. It wouldn’t matter if she was sorry. And she wasn’t.
The old lady slid her beady gaze over to Dad. “I wasn’t aware Kaye knew about the angel.”
Angel. The beautiful man was an angel.
Kaye felt so stupid—she should have figured that much out on her own, what with the way he seemed to shine. And his imprisonment finally made sense: Angels were supposed to hate the mage families. Light against Shadow. They were supposed to kill mages whenever they could. She’d just never seen one before.
If she’d set him free, she might be dead by now.
“They will hurt you,” the angel had warned not five minutes ago.
Ironic. He was the one who’d have done the hurting. And how dumb was he that he hadn’t let her undo his chains? Angels were supposed to be crazy strong. He could have fought his way out.
Wait. Then why hadn’t he let her undo his chains?
Dad returned to the drink cart. “Kaye is a Brand,” he said. “She can keep her own counsel about family matters.” He shot her a look. “A glass of wine, honey?”
He never called her honey. He never offered her a drink, much less alcohol.
“Okay,” she answered lamely. The yellow stuff was better than most of the other drinks on the cart.
Zelda handed her martini to the wraith, who set it aside on a bookshelf. “Ferro will be displeased.”
Ferro, her soon-to-be’s nickname. Kaye knew his name meant iron, like hers did fire, but this sounded like pharaoh to her. King of the world. Very magey.
Kaye took Dad’s outstretched wineglass. His gaze bored into hers, full of meaning. She had no idea what he wanted.
She gulped without raising the glass. Umm…“Ferro won’t like my groom’s gift?”
Dad gave a shallow nod of approval, though his skin had gone blotchy, which made Kaye shake deep inside. His anger was usually cold and pale. This was different. Something was going on.
“You were given specific instructions,” the old lady admonished her father.
“She’s his bride,” he answered back.
“Run!” the angel had said.
“You are not free to amend the dictates of Ferrol Grey, whether he marries your daughter or not.”
“Whether he…” Dad puffed.
If Kaye had her way, she’d prefer not. Speak now? Or forever hold her peace?
“This is a delicate matter,” Zelda continued, “one beyond your narrow understanding, and certainly beyond hers.”
Zelda’s condescending tone made Kaye burn all the way down to her toes. A log crackled in the fire like a gunshot.
There was no way Kaye was going to live with that old hag the rest of her life, no matter how generous Ferrol was, no matter how much the union would help the Brand family. She was going from one keeper to the next, and all because she couldn’t set anything on fire. Well, her dad couldn’t either, so who was he to sell her off to the highest bidder? And who was Mr. Grey, who had bought her without meeting her, who had sent this mean old woman to sit in her dad’s chair? Shadow was the only important thing—who had it and who could control it.
“This life is not for you,” the angel had said.
The angel might have been dangerous, but he was the only one who had seemed to know the difference between Kaye and Brand.
Family. Politics. More like control.
“No,” she blurted out.
“Quiet,” her father said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
But the word was out, finally out. It had been much easier to say to the old lady than to her dad.
“I don’t want to marry Mr. Grey,” Kaye said to Zelda.
Her dad’s skin got that strange mottled look again. “Kaye doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he said. “You goaded her, and her temper flared. Just look at the fire. That’s the Brand promise—Shadow is thick in our blood.”
Sounded like a sales pitch to Kaye, but she was taking herself off the market. “I won’t marry your brother.”
A bright burst of light, and Kaye fell to the floor, her jaw throbbing, the room tilting at an odd angle. The wineglass lay broken, its contents soaking the rug, its fruity smell in her nose. Her father stood over her, so he must have been the one who hit her, another thing he’d never done before.
“She’ll comply,” he said. “She can be made to cooperate. She can be made to understand.”
Before, he’d only taken away privileges, only isolated her. Kaye looked up at her father, through her tears, with all the hate and hurt she could. Daddy?
Her dad wiped sweat from his forehead. His hand was shaking.
She’d never seen him shake. Never seen him look like this. He’d never struck her. Why was he being like this?
Then it clicked. Her dad wasn’t angry. He was scared.
The realization made the pulsing ache in her jaw worse, her heart thudding as she took on his fear.
“And this
is the young woman you allowed down into the cellar, into our affairs?” Zelda lifted a brow. “I think not.”
Kaye crawled to standing. She’d lost a shoe, and stepped out of the other instead of searching for the first. A kid again. She swiped at her mouth with her wrist and it came away with a smear of spit and blood.
The old lady lifted her hand, a finger raised to signal the wraith. Sighing, she said, “You may have her.”
Kaye didn’t understand.
But her dad lunged, shoving her backward hard, as the wraith vaulted over the desk.
Kaye hit the fireplace—the stone scraped, but the flames never burned—as the wraith pushed her father out of his way, a bony hand to her dad’s face.
Dad fell back. The wraith advanced, his monster teeth extending in his mouth, which made no sense whatsoever. Wraiths fed on souls. Mages didn’t have them.
What could he want from her?
“Run!” the angel’s voice echoed in her memory.
Kaye flung open the door. To her left the hallway led to the warren of kitchen and pantry back rooms. Right led to the entrance foyer and guarded front door.
She took the hallway. Shouldered past the help, dodged around a corner. The wraith was after her.
Her father’s voice rose in a shout behind her, but she didn’t understand and wasn’t about to stop now.
“And keep running.”
She skittered through the kitchen and burst out of the pantry door onto the wet ice-slick of a brick walkway. The evening air was sharp, bitter, cold. The world gold and white as the sun fell.
A crash behind her. A woman shrieked, and then the sound was cut off abruptly.
Kaye took off toward the trees. Her flight was just like it would have been for that angel—nowhere to go. Nothing nearby.
Just running. Running. The cold stung her exposed skin while inside her blood pumped hot. Her feet skittered across the lawn and through the frozen brush. Scraping and cutting. Daddy! I didn’t mean it!
The shadow gained, silent and quick.
Running. The winter woods went black, sunset turning the sky from gold to licking red. The trees were solemn black spears, stuck into the ground like the picture of the afterdeath of the great ancient battle in her childhood storybook—angels against mages.
Her breath smoked the air in broken gasps. She strained to see over her shoulder.
There. Close. Jaw hanging low. Teeth glittering.
He had to know she didn’t have what he wanted.
If he worked for the Greys, he had to know. . . .
She leaned into her run, but a jerk on her arm abruptly whipped her around, crashing her into a tree and sending her into the winter-sharp growth. Pain came from everywhere, but her fear was bigger as she rolled to face the wraith.
He loomed above, monstrous, feral, his suit a strange contradiction to the devolution of his facial features.
She slapped and kicked upward, to no effect. Rocks and branches scored her back as she used her weight for strength.
“Daddy!”
But the wraith was unfazed. He took her by the head, one hand at each side of her face, and lifted her up. Her neck hurt, so she had to hold on to her attacker. His grip had closed her ears so all she could hear was the rhythmic rushing of her blood and her sobs echoing around in her brain.
“No soul!” she screamed, clawing at his hands. “No soul!”
Her feet kicked empty air as his maw opened. He tilted his face to get the kiss right, when it could never be right. She had nothing to give him.
“Please!” she shrieked. “Daddy!”
The wraith’s bite clamped down on her face, his teeth spearing into the flesh and bone at her jaw. His hands at her ears kept her trapped in his grasp. Pain sharpened the moment. She was enveloped in his rank smell, yet unable to retch. The world became he and she, sharing her first-ever French kiss.
Should’ve been that angel. She could have kissed him forever. But she’d left him behind. Why did she leave him?
A ripple went through the wraith and his mouth flexed on hers. It was a drawing motion, a suck, a slurp, that sought deep within for what she’d already told him she didn’t have.
What the old lady had to know she didn’t have.
A second wave took the wraith’s body, as he pulled harder at her, blistering whatever skin she had left intact.
The pain of the motion made stars prick into the gray of her vision. Warm fluid ran freely down her neck. His teeth became the nails holding her bones together. Without him, she was broken. Broken like that angel.
She didn’t want to die.
She hadn’t yet lived.
The kiss sent her down into herself, down down down, away from the smell and the pain and the fear. Away from the moment when the wraith would wrench himself from her lips and she would fall apart, left in the cold.
She went down into the deep of her core and found her umbra, her Shadow within, at last. It churned with darkness and beat with drums. And in the primordial depths, obscured by the circling pitch of magic, was the plume of a flame, its source, her blood, her heritage.
Brand.
She reached out to it with everything she was, with all the screams trapped in her mind, the hopes crushed by the marriage contract, the rage that her life should end now, this way. It wasn’t fair! She reached to fight back.
And the flame obeyed.
It stretched up in a pillar of light, but she wanted more, demanded more. Now!
And the flame erupted within her, heating her twitching limbs like a volcano awakening. Like lava, the fire coursed through her veins. She was alive with it, a shimmering conflagration, a human torch.
The wraith released his kiss, flinging her away. She seemed to fall for ages, then jarred on the ground and lay slack, ravaged, blood flowing down her neck from her wounds and ears. But in her dimming vision, the wraith thrashed against her fire. He went up as if doused with accelerant and screamed his own pain as he convulsed, charring. Then he dropped into a folded heap of blackened bones.
His fire smothered quickly, and she found herself in the dark, her inner flame dimming to a flicker. The black trees blended with the night sky. The cold crept over her, and she sank, her breath shallow, toward sleep or death.
After what seemed a very long time, the world went utterly dark. Inside the blackness, there was no time. Just cold.
Until she felt herself lifted against a warm, strong chest. Felt a rolling movement like a swift stride. Someone cradling her.
See, Daddy, she thought from within the void, I can call fire.
Want to read more? Order FIRE KISSED from any of the retailers on the next page!
“Equal parts mystery, sexy romance, scary drama and fairy tale, [Shadowman] is guaranteed to thrill and chill. A unique view of the paranormal isn't easy to find, but this story is unlike anything you've read before."
– RT Book Reviews, review of Shadowman
"SHADOW BOUND is unlike any other reading experience I've had to date. Its a fast paced, heart pounding, gut wrenching, nail biting, awe inspiring thrill ride that will leave you begging for more and more." Grade: A
– Lovin' Me Some Romance, review of Shadow Bound
About Erin Kellison
Erin Kellison is the author of the dark fantasy romance Shadow, Shadow Touch, and Shadow Kissed series. She has a decades-running space opera going on in her head, so if she's not hanging out with her family or writing for a deadline, she's probably adventuring off-world. You can find her at:
Website: www.ErinKellison.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/erinkellisonauthor
Twitter: www.twitter.com/ekellison
Pinterest: www.Pinterest.com/ErinKellison
Goodreads: www.Goodreads.com/ErinKellison
For the latest news on upcoming releases, subscribe to Erin’s newsletter.
Shadow Series
Shadow Kissed Series
Shadow Touch Novella Series
Read excerpts fr
om all the Shadow Series novels at ErinKellison.com
Erin Kellison's books are available at:
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Powell’s Books
Indigo Books
Book Depository
Books-A-Million
Indie Bound
Read more from KC Klein
Want more books by KC Klein? Read on to find out how it all began in the first book of the series, DARK FUTURE (on sale now at Amazon.)
Awakened in the middle of the night by a future version of herself, Kris Davenport is given a mission: go forward in time to save the world—and His life. Of course, her future self doesn't tell her who he is, just sends her into an abyss and straight into an alien invasion.
He turns out to be ConRad Smith, the callous, untrusting Commander of Earth’s army and the world’s last defense. There’s only one way to know for sure if this strange woman is an alien spy—slice her throat. Except, he didn’t anticipate the heat he would feel as he interrogates the hot-tempered, warm-blooded woman. For a man whose sole focus has been survival, she's more temptation than he can handle. But a world on the brink of destruction leaves no room for love…and time is running out.
EXCERPT
“Mmm, you taste human. Like salt or more like … warm sunshine?” He pinned me with his gaze. His eyes spoke a primal language. Desire warred with anger; need against punishment.
I looked away. Embarrassed. Violated. His body crushed mine, suffocating in its nearness. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe without crushing my breasts against him. I always considered myself strong and physically fit, but he subdued me with barely any effort. Heart racing, I panicked.
The feeling of no control would break me—complete powerlessness always did. I used whatever weapon was available; whatever maneuvers would give me a fighting chance. This was no different. I turned my head, opened my mouth against his neck, and … sunk my teeth in.
He cursed. Grabbed hold of my shirt, picked me up, and slammed me back against the wall.
