Ana’s lips twitched at the memory of achieving that, of looking up into Cade’s solemn face with a glowing smile, only to hear him say, “Again.”
So, yes, he’d been hard on her when she’d needed somebody to be, but he’d also been understanding in a way few would’ve been to a phoenix princess so contrary to what a princess should be.
Not poised enough, not elegant enough, not dainty enough.
Too rough, too boisterous, too loud.
Whenever her parents had bludgeoned her pride for the gazillionth time, summoning her before their gleaming opal thrones to deliver yet another diatribe on how wrong she was, he’d always been a silent shoulder.
He claimed she’d never cared for him. He thought she’d been after a man to introduce her to sex, a commoner for extra spice. That he’d been beneath her.
Bullshit.
Her fire roared like an alpha lion, furious at being unable to leap from her body. It hunkered down inside her, sparking tendrils of livid flame to stroke the underside of her skin.
Ana cursed under her breath and jerked on her chains in frustration.
The bastard. He had to have used iron. The one metal she couldn’t melt, that hurt her. Though, it grated to admit, he had cushioned them so the iron didn’t sear her skin. Not that she let that soften her. He’d admitted the chains had been mystically reinforced. That meant she wasn’t getting out of here until either Cade released her or Trick rode up on his white steed to play gallant knight to her damsel in distress.
Trick would never let her live that down. She’d have to find another way out.
Ana shifted, grumbling as the sheets twisted underneath her. Her shirt had ridden up, the claw marks carved into her stomach smarting now the paralytic had worn off. If she’d been free to, she’d have already smeared some of the dreaded antibac on. As it was, she’d heal, but slower than a man’s apology.
Bastard.
Flames flickered, simmered. Stewed.
He must’ve been thanking his lucky charms when he’d stumbled upon her paralyzed body. He’d been shit-happy when he’d scooped her up, yammering on the entire time. All that trash about how she hadn’t changed. In no way did she resemble that pathetic, insecure girl who’d accepted his rejection with tears.
If a man rejected her now? Hello, Mr. Blade, meet Mr. Testicles.
When the shifter himself strode in, all manly and disheveled and damn sexy, Ana spat at him in self-defense. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Giving you some stewing time.” The corner of his mouth quirked. He jerked his chin toward the window, at the sun. “Your vampire won’t be searching for a few more hours?” He left the question hanging, raising his eyebrows as if he expected her to fill in the blank.
She would never betray her gang, and especially not Trick.
When she remained mute, Cade released a heavy sigh. The kind that’d made her teeth automatically clench when she’d been a teen. His hair fell forward to cloak his face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Alana.”
His use of her given name made her flinch. At least he hadn’t called her by the nickname he’d once whispered with passion, the one she’d adopted for her new identity, Ana.
“Well, that’s where we clash.” She bared her teeth, firmly setting the past in the past. “I am longing to lay some hurt on your ass.”
“Spanking? Kinky.”
As heat flushed her at his deliberate misinterpretation, Cade reached into his trouser pocket and removed a familiar blue-and-white-striped packet. He tapped out a stick of gum that wafted mint over to her. Memories of that scent, in the dining hall, the throne room, her bedchamber, had pain oozing from her heart in a slow leak.
Ignoring her stumble down memory lane, he chewed on his gum, almost contemplatively. He replaced the packet, where he hooked a casual thumb on the pocket lining. “Alana, we can’t spend the rest of our lives in this room. You’re going to have to talk to me.”
“Or what?”
“There is no ‘or what’,” he answered with some irritation. “You’ll do what I say and answer whatever questions I have.” Tension clawed through the room. “Remember who holds you.”
“Listen, you dick.” Ana jerked her chains, ignoring the clank of iron. Her temper flared, fire spitting like a rattlesnake, hissing through her skin at the enemy. Her blood pressure spiked. “I will never help you. You’ll have to kill me first.”
“Don’t be dramatic. Now,” Cade said. Strong white teeth closed on the gum as he rolled it around. “Liberty. Why you’re working with her, what you’re doing. Why she wants Edward dead.” His tone smacked of command, of expectation to be obeyed.
Her response was simple.
“Fuck you.”
“Thank you, Joel.” Trick tried a tight smile as he passed their most trusted runner the alert he’d penned. The twenty-one-year-old human was eager, loyal to the cause and willing to run vital, secret information through the Maze, as well as the rest of the capital city.
Joel shuffled his feet, dressed simply in jeans that drowned his skinny frame and a black hooded sweater. The wide pocket at the front of the hoodie swallowed the crisp white notice of Ana’s disappearance, as Joel slipped it away. The human moistened his lips. “I’m sorry about Ana, Trick.” His soft gray eyes held a worried gleam, even though he and Ana were only acquainted through the rebellion.
Trick didn’t say anything in response to Joel’s sympathy, giving a clipped nod.
Joel hesitated but pressed his lips together. He cleared his throat, shifting to his back foot. Mud-brown hair, left uncut to his shoulders, swung limply over his face, hiding fine baby features that would have got him killed in his profession, were it not for the human’s proficiency with sneaking.
He patted the front of his sweater. “I’ll get this to Mikhel,” he said, naming the enigmatic informant the Hoods sometimes contracted. “If Shade takes one step out on the surface, we’ll know.” He waited, then bowed his head, though Trick had told him a thousand times he needn’t. “I’ll be in touch if I hear any new info about labs.”
“I appreciate it, thank you, Joel.”
Joel’s lips thinned into a fake smile, clearly worried but not wanting to show it. He swung on his heel and headed for the door.
Trick waited until the metal had slid closed behind him, before letting his shoulders slump. His eyes were gritty, heavy, and his fangs throbbed with the need to take nourishment. Clothes he’d been wearing two days in a row stank of sweat and fear.
Where is she?
Three loud thumps on his door. In the kind of mood he was in, only one would dare.
Trick shrugged. “Come in, Faer.”
Kneading his forehead with two fingers, Trick walked to the emergency cooler Ana had insisted he keep in his “cave” for when he was “too beat to eat”. The cold plasma tasted as appealing as a jellied eel would to Faer, but it would get some blood into his system before his cells started eating themselves.
Faer’s steps were heavy as he walked in, Trick’s female sentry-voice announcing his entry. The door closed behind him with a metallic swish, his gaze landing on Trick with a finality that threatened to shatter Trick’s composure.
“You look like a cerberus’s shit pile.” Faer’s rough voice cut through any polite bullshit Trick might have drummed up.
Trick’s sigh was substantial as he removed a plastic bag of blood from his cooler. He tipped the life-giving fluid into the fluted glass he’d readied, gazing as blood trickled down the sides, listening to the merry glug as it dripped.
Tossing the plastic bag into a trash bin, Trick headed for the chair that faced the windows. Now that the sun, that most hated and longed-for enemy, had almost descended, he liked to gaze through the shutters.
“Well?” he prompted, though he knew by Joel’s appearance that Faer hadn’t found anything useful. He too
k a sip of his drink. His lip curled. Jellied eel.
Faer moved to stand next to the window, the demon’s muscular body in plain linen today, baggy and creased and as disreputable as Trick. “Still no sign.”
Trick focused on the waning sun. It had almost disappeared but for the top lip. It cast the sky into awe-inspiring pinks and purples, both streaking across the sky like splattered paint.
“She ain’t been home or anywhere near. That pocket she was in should’ve been blocked. No witnesses.” Faer grunted. His lips were pressed tight together. “I dunno what to do.”
Trick’s hand tightened on the glass until he forced his fingers to relax. He drained the glass, set it aside, one finger tracing the delicate stem. “Where is she, Faer?”
He wasn’t sure why he’d asked; his second would hardly have the answer. It must be eating him as it was Trick; Ana was a favorite of both. Sapphy was hardly coping well, running herself ragged sprinting through the Maze’s streets, threatening everyone until she’d made enough noise Trick had had to send Vander in to keep the fae from killing dozens.
Faer scratched his chin with two fingers, the beard he’d not taken the time to shave off already extensive. Heavy facial hair was a major mating call to female demons, so their hair generally grew faster than other species. Trick knew that to Faer, who’d long sworn off female demons, it was a real pain in the ass. That alone revealed where the demon’s mind was.
“I was thinkin’.” Faer turned on his heel to pace along the Persian rug Trick had brought with him from the Meraldic Islands, across the sea. “Y’think she did it on purpose? Like, for a joke?”
“She hasn’t done this, Faer.” Trick’s fangs flashed. “It was done to her.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Sit.”
Faer’s expression was pure bafflement as he strode to the chair Trick pointed at, leaning forward with claws outstretched. “What’s doin’, Trick?”
Trick tapped a finger on the stem of the fine glass once more before he pulled his hands into his lap. He folded them, staring at the interlocking fingers. “What do you know about Shade?”
“Hellfire, not much. I ain’t ever heard of him before you told me he was lurkin’ in the Maze. Why?”
Trick touched his tongue to one of his fangs. “He’s after Liberty.”
“Liberty? But that’s…” Faer’s eyes widened, then narrowed. The brown eye began to fade to icy blue, a sure sign of his oncoming rage. “Fuck,” he breathed. “That fucker thinks he can mess with our girl?”
“I think he already has.”
With a roar of outrage, Faer exploded up, slamming his fist into the wall. The concrete crumpled like tissue paper, ceiling plaster and concrete chips raining down. A curl of plaster dust fogged the air.
Trick watched without expression. He understood.
Standing, he crossed to his friend. He touched Faer’s arm briefly. “Be at ease, Faer. We’ll get her back.”
Faer rounded on him, horn-tips sharpening. The ice blue of his now-matching eyes pierced Trick. “How the fuck we gonna do that, Trick? We have no leads, no witnesses.” Faer cursed in guttural demon. “Fuck,” he finally said. “Fuck it.”
Trick eyed Faer, decided to return to his chair. He was holding on to his own panic and rage by the tips of his fingers, and being around the earthy and expressive demon was making it that much harder not to join in and start redecorating walls. “I think we need to put in place the contingency plan.”
Faer’s chest heaved. Thoughts raced across his face. Then, “Maia.”
“If Shade has Ana, he can’t guess the truth. If he suspects, even for a second, that she’s Liberty…” Trick didn’t finish, shaking his head. “Can you contact her?”
“It might take a few hours—she hangs out in some rough places.”
So said the battle demon.
Trick nodded. “Providing he hears of Liberty appearing when he’s got Ana, I don’t care how long it takes.”
“If he’s hurt one fuckin’ strand of hair…”
Trick made the decision in the space of a second to share what Ana had told him, an aspect that stood him well as leader. “I don’t think he’ll harm her—not yet.”
“Psychic, now?”
Ignoring the demon’s sarcasm, Trick shook his head. “Ana told me something before she was taken. Shade—she knows him, from before.”
“Fuckin’ ace.” Faer leaned his head back. It said something about trust that the demon didn’t question him further. “Good news, bad news? Still, it’s something. And a merc of his rep won’t stay hidden long. He’s gotta stand out.” The blue was darkening to brown as Faer gained control.
Trick turned to the window, where night now laid claim to the Maze. He closed his hand around the frame. It began to crack as he clenched. “Ready yourself, Faer. Tonight, we go hunting.”
Chapter Eight
He’d made a mistake with her.
Cade cursed under his breath, kicking out at a wall in dire need of refurbishment. It crumbled under the strength of his boot, the genuine leather liberally coated with plaster dust.
If only Alana could be that easy to break.
He’d been dealing with stiff-upper-lip, nose-in-the-air, waddling-backside ’crat dicks for more years than he liked to admit. He knew diplomacy. So what the hell had he been thinking in there?
Oh, here’s an antagonistic soldier covering for the social rebel named Liberty. How can I break her? Ah yes! Threaten her.
Brilliant. Honestly. It was a wonder he hadn’t gone into what was classed as politics in these troubled times.
Cade ruffled his hair, sliding his hand through the long strands with absent irritation. He tugged on the ends until his scalp ached, then sighed. What a load of bullshit, in any case. As if he could torture Alana like he’d tortured countless others. Could he, honestly, march back into that small, tense room and apply iron strips to her skin? Submerge her in icy water until her flames died out?
Could he bring up her confession of love and rub it in her face?
Wait…
He was such a dick. His jackal agreed.
“Christ.” He uttered the word as though it were a prayer. He’d seen what he hadn’t expected to see. That vulnerability, that same chink in the phoenix armor that had melted him when he’d been sixteen. When he’d spoken of her confession of love, it had shimmered in her eyes like a target.
It was his job to assess a threat. Alana was in the way.
His jackal growled. Warning him. It needn’t have bothered. His insides twisted into a tight ball at the idea of hurting her.
No, he needed a way in, beneath her guard. To tweak that vulnerability.
It whispered through him like a blaze of phoenix fire, with suggestive licks and a teasing burn.
Seduce her.
She wouldn’t fall for it. An abrupt turnaround like that? She’d be a fool not to suspect something, and the woman he’d left in that room was no fool.
It was absurd.
Then why did his skin prickle at the thought of coaxing the wounded phoenix to his hand? Of skimming his fingers over lush curves, or gripping that short head of hair, brushing those smartass lips with his and seeing if they’d shine as ruby red as her hair when wet?
She’ll taste like honey and blackberries.
Cade swore once more, this time thudding his hand against the wall. The pain smarted enough to make his jackal grumble.
“Get it together, Shade,” he hissed.
If she was a rebel, then she’d dealt her own hand. Being a Blade meant doing what was necessary. She would never fear death from him—but he would hand her over to her people in the High Lands. To the other Houses. It was time she went home.
He’d have to keep his true intentions hidden or she’d waltz back to her HQ with a brand-new shifter-fur coat.
When he’d mentioned her returning, she’d thrown away the idea as though it were poisonous. He’d thought she’d have more feeling for her people than that. The girl he’d loved would have, and despite what her parents had said, she’d have made an excellent ruler.
He fisted his hands in his hair in indecision.
Seduce her.
“Alana.”
Cade’s voice, husky, rich, pitched at a low tone, curled over her like smoke. How she’d fallen asleep after their last chinwag, she’d never know. She remembered being incredibly pissed, pitching threat after ball-crushing threat, hurling curses and screams at walls that mocked her as she wrenched at her chains. Now night was curling out fingers of welcome in the half-open window.
Cade sat on the end of the bed.
Ana jerked up, a scowl replacing any peace sleep that might’ve soothed onto her face. She hissed at him. The fire tried to leap out, but rebounded against the mystical chains he’d secured her with. A sound of frustration escaped her.
“You always were stubborn.”
“And you were always an ass,” she retorted, irritated at her lack of power. All her life she’d had flames to call. It was unnatural to chain them. It fucking hurt.
His eyes studied her, read her. “You’re hurting.”
“No shit.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit? No?” he prompted when she glared. His lips pressed together. “Is it the iron?”
With great immaturity, Ana stuck out her tongue.
“Careful, pet.” His eyes gleamed silky midnight, jackal prowling behind. “I might take you up on your invitation.”
Ana’s breath shuddered out on a wave of desire before she patched up the breach in her defenses. She clenched her thighs together, reminding herself that whoever it was that sat in front of her, he wasn’t her Cade.
As the silence dragged on, Ana stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the shifter lounging on the bottom of the bed, tension climbed in a heady wave.
He broke it. “You’re not helping yourself.”
Ashes (The Divided Kingdom) Page 8
