Shades of Wicked

by Jeaniene Frost

  The feel of cold, hard stone beneath me.

  I must be on the ground. Sprawled out, judging from the chilliness against my arms, legs, and torso. I must have been like this the whole time, considering how cold my limbs felt. Oh, what a clever spell! If I could, I’d congratulate the person who’d created it. Like quicksand, the more I’d struggled to escape it, the deeper I’d sunk into it. This spell could be useful in my attempt to bring Dagon down while trying to ensure that both Ian and I survived.

  And if I could breathe, then I could move. If I could move, I could reach my silver knife for real this time. No matter how ancient or powerful, all spells ceased in one of three ways: when they were finished, when they were beaten, or when the bespelled person died.

  I just needed to intensify my focus first. I concentrated on my breathing until nothing else existed and nothing else mattered. Then, when I was hovering between that perfect state of complete self-awareness and complete oblivion, I reached down and pulled my silver knife from my boot.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  Ian’s muttered curse broke through my concentration, but it was confirmation that I’d succeeded in actually getting the knife this time. I trusted his reaction more than I did the feel of smooth silver in my hand. I’d been fooled by my senses before with this spell.

  It took another few minutes before I could will myself back to where I was able to move the knife again. This time, I brought it to my chest—and instantly felt an unseen force seize my hand.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Ian sounded as if he was snarling the words into my ear, but when I opened my eyes, I saw nothing except mirrors. I couldn’t see his hand on mine, and now, I could no longer feel it, but I knew he was still gripping my wrist.

  What was I doing? I was making sure that I could do what was necessary to end this spell. This spell might be useful in our trap for Dagon, but the demon was far more powerful than I. If I’d figured out a way out of this, he would, too. It had taken me the better part of three hours; I didn’t dare to hope it would take Dagon that long. He wasn’t just more powerful than me; he was also eons older. For all I knew, he’d been the creator of this spell, for all magic had its origin in demons.

  Besides, if I did what was necessary to defeat this spell in front of Ian, he would figure out what I was. I couldn’t let that happen, since I didn’t want to kill Ian. Surprisingly, that wasn’t out of fear for what Mencheres would do. No, it was Ian’s devotion to his sire that had changed my mind. The kind of loyalty that looked hell in the eye and told it to do its worst because nothing would make you endanger the person you loved . . . That was rare. Well deserving of protection. The bruise to my ego was a small price to pay.

  Better to have Ian think he’d used a spell on me I couldn’t defeat. Let him revel in his supposed win. It might be best to let Ian take the lead on choosing the hotspots, anyway. Had it really been ninety years since I’d gone out for some fun? How embarrassing.

  And if I did strongly disagree about Ian’s methods, I could wait until I was out of his eyesight, then extract myself from this spell. Ian would never even know I’d done it.

  Decision made, I opened my eyes, seeing only never-ending reflections of myself in the countless mirrors. “You win.”

  “Come again?” Ian said, sounding surprised.

  “You win,” I repeated. “I can’t break the spell and my time is almost up, isn’t it?”

  “Five more minutes.” He still sounded much closer. “Why do I have the distinct impression that you haven’t truly given up? I don’t know what you intended before, but you damn near stabbed yourself in the heart, so I’m not letting go of your wrist.”

  I couldn’t tell if I smiled for real or if the spell only tricked me into believing it. “And you saved me. My hero.”

  “My arse,” he responded at once. “Somehow, you’re playing me. I can feel it.”

  He had good instincts. It’s probably what had kept him alive when one of the underworld’s most powerful demons had been after him for decades. But there was a time-tested truism on my side: Men always wanted to believe they’d won a match of wits against a woman, even if their instincts told them otherwise.

  “How many different ways do you want to hear me say you won?” I asked in a faux exasperated tone. “Very well, I concede, I surrender, I hand over my sword, I wave the white flag—”

  “Enough.” His voice changed. Suspicion gave way to the steel of resolve. “As I’ve told you before, I can wait to find out what you’re hiding from me, but make no mistake—I will find out. What’s more”—now silkiness replaced that steel—“you’ll tell me willingly, little Guardian.”

  It had to be the spell that caused me to feel as if his words danced along my nerve endings. Yes, that’s what it was, I told myself firmly. The spell.

  “If I had a secret as big as you’re implying,” I replied, “I’d never share it with you.”

  He laughed, low, sensual, and oh so enticingly confident. “Now that is a wager you will lose. Count on it.”

  Chapter 11

  The entrance to our hotel had been swept clean, but the rest of Times Square was still coated with streamers, confetti and other remnants from celebrations the night before. Seeing it, I wasn’t sorry we’d spent New Year’s Eve over the border in Canada. Not that I had anything against confetti or streamers; it was the crushing crowds I wasn’t fond of. Times Square on New Year’s Eve was the epitome of that.

  When we exited the hotel, the bellhop offered to hail a cab for us. Ian turned to me. “Up for a walk instead?”

  “Sure.” My ice-blue dress might be formal, but it didn’t restrict my stride, and since I was a vampire, I couldn’t get blisters despite today’s foot-contorting high heels.

  Ian offered me his arm, which I took after a brief arch of my brow. “Careful, someone might mistake you for a gentleman.”

  He flashed a grin at me. “Anyone who’d make such a mistake deserves what they get.”

  His smile made his looks even more distracting, and that was quite an accomplishment. Once again, we’d gotten a suite with two bedrooms, so we’d had privacy while readying ourselves for tonight. When Ian had come out of his room with his auburn hair slicked back so his impossibly beautiful features were highlighted for maximum effect, wearing a tuxedo that draped his tall, muscled form as if the tailor who’d fit him for it had been in love . . . I’d had to look away before I did something ridiculous. Like proposition him on the spot.

  I don’t know why I was having such a strong reaction to him. A week ago, I’d seen him naked and felt less affected. But I hadn’t really seen Ian as a man then. I’d seen him as a necessary burden that might end up stabbing me in the back. Now, I knew Ian was dangerously smart, complicated, loyal, powerful, lethal, sexy . . . and arrogant. Proudly so.

  He took every second and third glance from the normally jaded New Yorkers as his due. He even flashed pitying looks at the people who abruptly turned and began to follow him, glancing at me before raising a brow at them as if to say, “Sorry, I’m hers tonight, and yes, that is your loss.”

  After several instances of this, I was getting irritated. These people could clearly see my arm folded in his. Did I need to take more drastic measures to show that he was not available for their pleasure? Perhaps I’d feed from the next person who spun around and began to follow him like an animal catching an irresistible scent . . .

  “Gods,” I muttered out loud. What was wrong with me?

  Ian glanced at me. “Something amiss?”

  “No,” I said while thinking yes!

  Nearly all vampires were possessive over their personal food sources, their offspring and their lovers, yet Ian was none of those to me. I’d never turned a human into a vampire, so I couldn’t speak for offspring, but I’d never experienced that trademark surge of territoriality with any of my former lovers. Or the humans I’d put under my protection. For the past four thousand years, I’d bee
n glad to find myself above such pettiness. So why was I now fantasizing about biting every male and female who had done nothing more than make their interest in Ian known?

  Lack of control, I decided in a grab for an excuse. I was in the very unfamiliar position of being spellbound into following Ian’s lead tonight. I must be trying to distract myself from that by inventing a possessiveness I didn’t really feel.

  Yes. That had to be it.

  “Which act would you prefer for tonight?”

  His questions broke through my musings. I was all too glad for the interruption. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “There’s the new lovers act, the friends-who-fuck act, the swingers act, the gold-digger and sugar-daddy act, the fighting couple act—”

  “What about a platonic friendship act?” I interrupted.

  He looked at me as if I’d finally spoken a language he couldn’t understand. “Is that a joke?”

  “Hardly. You might be attractive, but not everyone wants to have sex with you.” As soon as I said it, I cringed. Did that sound as overly defensive as I felt?

  “No, some people also want to kill me,” he said at once. “Some want me to turn them into a vampire, some want my money, some want me for my rare artifacts, some for my fighting skills, and one wants to dangle me out as bait for a demon she’s trying to kill. See? No one is with me simply to be with me.”

  Guilt pricked me, followed by a rush of empathy. I knew what it was like to be considered an object first and a person last. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time someone had been with me just to be with me, either. Wait . . . yes, I could. Tenoch.

  Loneliness and a far deeper wave of guilt swelled, followed as always by pain. How could I have not known what Tenoch was trying to tell me the last time we were together? How could I have been so blind as to miss that he’d been saying good-bye?

  As much as I wanted to, I could do nothing for Tenoch. But I could do something for the man next to me, if Ian allowed himself to accept it.

  “I might be with you for ulterior reasons now, but it’s well established that it’s been a while since I’ve gone out for fun,” I said in a carefully nonchalant tone. “And whatever else you are, you are fun, Ian. So, assuming we’re both still alive when this is over, would you accompany me for an evening out?”

  He looked at me in amazement. Then he began to laugh. “Offering me a pity date? Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “It’s not pity and it’s not a date,” I said, a testier note creeping into my tone when he continued to laugh as if I’d told the funniest joke ever. “Since you’ve never gone out with someone just as a friend, and I’m in clear need of an update on places to have a good time, I thought . . . oh, never mind, if you can’t stop laughing at me!”

  “My apologies,” he said, still chuckling. “It’s only that I can’t decide which is funnier—my being pitied for an assumed lack of companionship, or the look on people’s faces if they saw you, a venerated Law Guardian, out with an infamous, law-scorning rakehell like me.”

  He was right that I’d hear no less than a decade’s worth of snide remarks from some of the more sexist council members, not to mention a few from my fellow Law Guardians, too. But that didn’t matter. “Long ago, I decided I wouldn’t let other people’s disapproval dictate my actions, so as the saying goes, I can handle it if you can.”

  His laughter stopped and something flashed over his face, too quick for me pinpoint what it was before it was gone. “If you hadn’t played a part in the execution of my friend’s child, I think I would very much like you, Veritas.”

  She’s still alive.

  I couldn’t say that out loud without endangering her, and I wouldn’t do that despite the surprisingly strong urge I had to redeem myself in Ian’s eyes. On that awful day, I’d been close enough to the “little girl” to know she wasn’t the real human/vampire/ghoul hybrid who’d been sentenced to death. She was a demon-branded shape-shifter disguised to look like her. Thankfully, the council members and other Law Guardians hadn’t noticed. They couldn’t sense demons the way I could. When I realized the switch had been made, I knew I didn’t have to freeze time to save her, which was what I’d intended.

  I told Ian none of that. All I said was, “You’ll never forgive me for her death, will you?” As if there were any doubt. His calling me by my name instead of his usual moniker of “little Guardian” had been enough to tell me how serious he was.

  “No, I won’t,” he said in a low, steady tone.

  I met his eyes and held them. “Good. Some things should remain unforgiveable.” I’d never forgive Dagon for what he’d done. Every once in a while, I still woke up screaming from the memories. Unlike the popular saying, time did not heal all wounds.

  In truth, I was grateful for Ian’s reminder of how he saw me—as another merciless player in the execution of a child whose only crime was frightening the bigoted because she’d been born different. Now, I could stop with these ridiculous thoughts and feelings about Ian. They were a waste of time and more importantly, a waste of energy. Nothing mattered except bringing Dagon down. Tonight was one more step toward accomplishing that.

  “Pick whatever act you want,” I said, and stared straight ahead for the rest of the walk.

  Chapter 12

  Central Park was bathed in a blanket of white. Lights from the surrounding buildings reflected off the snow and made it appear to glimmer. New York was the city that never slept, but at midnight at the famous park located in the heart of the city, things appeared to be winding down.

  I’d been to New York City many times for business, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d strolled through Central Park. A few decades? Longer? Many things appeared new, such as the Alice in Wonderland sculpture and the ice-skating rink. I had seen Belvedere Castle before, but back then, it had been in a state of disrepair. Now, the faux castle looked fully renovated. It was also the location of exhibit rooms, an observation deck and the local weather station, according to a sign we passed.

  Ian took us around the main entrance of the castle to the back side of it. There, on the rocky foundation that faced a small pond, he stopped and gave me a serious look.

  “I’ve been asking your preference on things because I don’t want the spell to force you into acting against your will. But I don’t trust you not to return here in your official capacity later. That’s why I’m claiming one of my acts of obedience. By the spell that binds us, Veritas, I command that you will never prosecute anyone for their magical actions tonight, and you will also never tell other Guardians, Enforcers, the council, or other law-worshipping vampires about this place.”

  I felt the spell responding to his words, tightening around me until they were part of me. At the same time, it was all I could do not to whoop in relief. This is what he was spending one of his acts of unquestionable obedience on? When he said “I command” I’d almost whipped out my silver knife in fear that it would be something I couldn’t tolerate. But I never would have told anyone about this place. I only prosecuted people for magic when that magic harmed others.

  Not that the council or anyone else knew that about me. If they did, I wouldn’t be a Law Guardian. “Done,” I said at once.

  My breezy tone caused his gaze to narrow, as if he just realized he might have wasted one of his commands. I smiled innocently while on the inside, I was chuckling. One down, two to go. If the rest were anything like this, I wouldn’t need to bother with the effort to get out of this spell.

  A gust of frigid wind caused me to tighten my coat. The wind had been picking up, but we must have been near the place, or Ian wouldn’t have forced an unnecessary vow out of me.

  “I’m going to glamour myself now,” I said, taking a pouch from my coat. Then I sprinkled the contents over my head while saying a few words he shouldn’t be able to translate.

  Both auburn brows rose. “The fictional Elvish from The Lord of the Rings? What sort of spell uses a fictional language?” />
  Dammit, dammit, dammit! “When did you have time to learn every language ever spoken?” I demanded. “From what I know about you, you should have been too busy fucking everyone near you to bother with that kind of extensive linguistic study!”

  His laughter rolled over me. “Know the best thing about being dismissed as an insatiable whore? People don’t mind their tongues around you. I’ve learned more information eavesdropping while I was mid-orgy than I have from spying on G7 summits, but that’s off topic. What’s on topic is that thus far, none of the spells you’ve uttered have made any sense. They seem to be only a collection of random words.”

  I stopped before I took an instinctive step backward. Oh, no. If he tried to command the truth out of me . . .

  He caught my flinch and moved closer. “Know what I think?” he asked in that deceptively smooth tone. “They’re not real spells at all. They’re camouflage to mask how powerful you are.”

  Dammit times a hundred! But I couldn’t let him see that he’d scored a hit. That’s why I straightened my spine.

  “How flattering, but if you live to be my age, you’ll realize only certain words have power. The rest have only been added by the uninitiated in order to make the spell sound better.”

  “Bollocks,” he said in that same silky tone. “I yanked the guts out of a thousand-year-old necromancer to read his entrails for information recently. He never once flinched, know why?” Now he was only centimeters away. “He was trapped inside the mirror spell. It froze him in place as if time itself had stopped. But when I used that same spell on you, you were grabbing weapons without an ounce of pain as motivation. Explain that.”

  I couldn’t let him force the truth out of me. I couldn’t. I braced, ready to freeze him in a time trap if he even started to say the words “I command you.”