Shadows of Asphodel Box Set: The Complete Trilogy

by Karen Kincy

  “What do you remember?”

  “Diesel fell overboard, and Natalya jumped after him. A boat came from the fog and took them both aboard. I’m sure of that much.”

  Margareta said nothing for a long moment. “He was drunk, wasn’t he?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t think he was.”

  “He was drunk,” the archmage said again, “wasn’t he.”

  This time, Ardis realized it wasn’t a question. “Ma’am?”

  Margareta steepled her fingers and looked her directly in the eye.

  “Diesel had too much to drink and fell overboard. An accident. You have no reason to believe otherwise. That is what you saw.”

  The sickening truth of it settled in her stomach. She dropped the ice in her hand on the carpet and watched the widening puddle.

  Ardis’s voice sounded hoarse. “This was staged?”

  “Although it didn’t go according to plan,” Margareta said.

  Ardis pointed to her head. “Was this part of the plan?”

  “Of course not. But we didn’t anticipate that you would be so aggressive. Since when did you use an enchanted sword?”

  “Since before I left.” Ardis balled her hands into fists. “Why did you hire me at all?”

  Margareta shrugged. “Backup. We had reason to believe that our enemies might try to make a move on Diesel before we could carry out our plan. Our other mercenary couldn’t guard Diesel as well as carry out her mission.”

  “What mission?” Ardis said stiffly. “Drugging and abducting Diesel?”

  Margareta’s eyes glittered like frost. She slid open a desk drawer, grabbed a coin purse, and tossed it in Ardis’s direction.

  “Your compensation,” she said.

  Ardis resisted the urge to hit Margareta’s desk. “But I failed.”

  “There’s no need for melodrama. You know now that our mission with Diesel was a success. You played your role.”

  “As your pawn.”

  Margareta’s nostrils flared. “Perhaps you would like some time off from being a pawn? Three weeks sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

  Face on fire, Ardis shoved her chair away from the desk and stood.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said hollowly. “That sounds nice.”

  She turned to go, but Margareta cleared her throat.

  “Ardis?” she said.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Don’t forget your money.”

  ~

  Disgusting. She had been so stupid to think they trusted her with Diesel.

  They didn’t even trust her with the truth.

  The thought of it burned in her throat like a hot coal. She stumbled into the nearest tavern, half-blind with anger. She would drown it all with ale. After knocking back two tankards of beer, she ordered dinner. Pricier than usual, since she hated the weight of Margareta’s money in her pocket. Then she ditched the tavern and checked into the guesthouse. With a long sigh, she kicked off her boots and fell onto the bed.

  Her head sank into the pillow, and she began to feel better. Sleep would do her good.

  Sunlight slanted across the wall, then faded into the cool light of dusk. Her eyelids slipped shut, and she lost track of time.

  A knock on the door echoed in her room.

  Ardis blinked herself awake. Outside, the sky lingered between purple and black, and the moon sailed between stars like a silver balloon. Another knock. She crawled out of bed, dragged on her jacket, and opened the door. The light from the hallway dazzled her eyes. Squinting, she saw only the silhouette of a man.

  “I’m back,” he said.

  Wendel.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, and she couldn’t speak. She was afraid this was another dream like that lonely night in Vienna—

  “May I come in?” he said.

  His honey-gravel voice invoked a shiver down her spine. She nodded, and he stepped into the room. He stood close but didn’t touch her. Why wouldn’t he touch her? What had he done in those days they had been apart?

  She knew the truth might shatter this moment, and she might never want it back.

  “Wendel,” she said. “Shut the door.”

  He did, and they stood in shadows together.

  “I don’t want to know,” she whispered, “where you were. What you did to get here. Not now. Just—please don’t tell me.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Then what do you want?”

  “You.”

  He stepped forward, but still he didn’t touch her. Her pulse rushed in her ears.

  “Are you sure?” he said, his voice rough.

  Ardis balled her hands into fists, her fingernails biting into her palms. Hot shame spread over her face. She felt desperate and it disgusted her. He planned to use her and leave her again. He wouldn’t stay. Not for her.

  She forced the words past her choked throat. “Why did you come back?”

  “Because I said I would.”

  “Because you owe me?” she said. “Because you feel guilty?”

  He said nothing.

  Tears of frustration stung her eyes, and that frustrated her more. She wouldn’t be emotional when he was so damn calculating.

  “Get out,” she said.

  He retreated from her. “Why?”

  “I would rather you left now than in the morning.”

  “Ardis,” he said.

  Wendel took her by the arms, his fingers so tight they almost bruised. In the narrow gleam of moonlight, his eyes were intense.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” he said.

  She challenged him with her stare. “Prove it.”

  He arched his eyebrows, then bent closer, slowly, with immense restraint. A sliver of a space remained between them.

  “Like this?” he said, his whisper on her lips.

  She closed her eyes and kissed him. He groaned and drove her backwards against the bed. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs.

  “Wait,” she gasped.

  He drew back with a look of alarm.

  “Let me breathe,” she said.

  Wendel’s smile was devilish. “Breathless? Already?”

  Ardis growled at him, then dragged him down with her. He kissed her fiercely and her skin felt feverish with desire. She realized he was shaking. He yanked her jacket off, then ran his hands down the curves of her waist.

  He seemed almost… hesitant.

  “Why so polite?” she said, taunting him.

  “Oh?” His eyes gleamed. “You don’t want polite?”

  She hooked her arms behind his neck and lifted herself so she could whisper in his ear. “You know what I want.”

  Any hesitation vanished from Wendel’s touch.

  He slipped his hands under her shirt. She sucked in a breath and arched against him. Her breasts felt full and tender. A satisfied murmur came from the back of his throat. He cupped her breasts, tormenting her with his fingers. She opened his coat, peeled it away, and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

  “Let me,” he said.

  He unbuttoned his shirt in record time and flung it away. She raised her eyebrows.

  “And the rest of it,” she said. “I already saw you shirtless.”

  “Exactly,” he said, his eyes dark. “You owe me.”

  Ardis pushed him away to give herself room. She stripped off her shirt, then wiggled out of her trousers, leaving only her underwear.

  “Is that naked enough?” she said huskily.

  He shook his head, and she smiled. Was he speechless?

  She grabbed him by his belt and dragged him to her. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his face civilized. She wanted to see him lose control. With unsteady hands, she unbuckled his belt, aware of how close she was to him.

  “Wait,” he said, “let me…”

  “I almost have it,” she said, and she tugged the belt through its loops.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She looked up at him, and—

  “Are you blushing?” she said.
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  He laughed, and even in the shadows, she realized he was.

  “It might be prudent,” he said, “if we…”

  Ardis crawled back across the bed, leaned over the edge, and rummaged in her bag. She found what she was looking for and held it high.

  “This?” she said.

  He picked up his coat, reached into the pocket, and took out another tin of preventives. Her limbs felt liquid with excitement.

  Because she knew they had both hoped for this moment.

  She walked to him and took his face in her hands. She kissed him, tenderly. He deepened the kiss. When she grabbed his buttocks, he bucked against her, his hardness insistent. He stepped back, already breathing hard.

  “Not naked enough,” he said, somewhat incoherently.

  “Obviously,” she said.

  Watching her watch him, Wendel undressed until he stood utterly in the nude. He looked at her with stark desire in his eyes.

  “We aren’t even,” he said.

  “What?” she said.

  He waved at her. She realized what he meant, then took off her underwear. They stood there with only darkness between them. She let her stare wander over his skin, imagining what it would be like to touch him everywhere.

  “Ardis,” he whispered, “you are so beautiful.”

  “You are—”

  He interrupted her with an intoxicating kiss. They fell onto the bed together. He held himself over her and traced the lines of her body with his lips. She ran her hand over his chest, feeling the long scar across it.

  Wendel flinched away, a crease between his eyebrows.

  “Does that bother you?” she said.

  “I haven’t forgotten it,” he said.

  As an apology, she kissed him on the collarbone. She could feel other scars on his back, his arms, his thighs—some invisible to all but her fingertips, some old deep wounds—and she wondered what memories he had.

  Wendel leaned back, kneeling over her, and for a moment she worried.

  Then she saw the preventive in his hand, and anticipation shuddered through her body. She waited only as long as she had to before dragging him down to her. She clung to him, her fingernails biting his back.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I want you.”

  He looked into her eyes as he gave himself to her. In one long stroke, he buried himself completely. She gasped and pressed her face to his chest, his heartbeat pounding beneath her ear. They stayed that way, entwined, until he withdrew. She arched her hips, following him, and uttered an involuntary protest.

  “You want me?” he murmured.

  Ardis glared at him and tried to pull him down, but he stayed just out of reach.

  His eyes were wicked. “How badly?”

  “Wendel,” she scoffed. “I’m not going to beg.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

  He smiled dazzlingly, with his favorite arrogant charm, but there was a dark promise in his voice that made her shiver.

  “Then try your hardest,” she said. “Emphasis on hardest.”

  Wendel laughed. He lowered his head and teased her breasts with his tongue and his teeth. When he turned his face, the stubble on his cheek prickled her skin. She gasped, on the brink between pleasure and pain.

  He lifted his head and looked at her questioningly.

  “No time to shave?” she said.

  He shrugged like this wasn’t important, then suckled one of her already tender breasts. She groaned and grabbed him from behind.

  “Wendel,” she said, almost a whimper.

  “Should I take that as begging?” he said, a rasp in his voice.

  “Yes. Just—”

  He thrust into her, hard, and she cried out. He thrust again, and again. She matched his rhythm. An ache built inside her with increasing ferocity. She kissed him on the mouth, then let her lips brush over his jaw. Mercilessly, he thrust deeper still. Slowly, then quickly, as he stared into her eyes to judge her pleasure.

  He stopped, and the sudden halt tormented her. She wanted to writhe against him.

  “Close?” she said.

  Wendel muttered something wordless, and she knew she was right. God, she was tempted to make him come that instant. He started to withdraw, but she snaked her arms around his waist. Deliberately, she breathed into his ear.

  “So am I,” she said.

  He inhaled sharply. “Should I…?”

  “Don’t stop.”

  Wendel had been restraining himself, she realized. He pounded into her with calculated savagery. Her tension peaked. She clawed his back, riding out the waves of pleasure, and trembled against his sweaty skin.

  Ever the gentleman, he didn’t stop until she came again.

  Then he looked into her eyes like he wanted to memorize this moment.

  “Don’t stop,” she repeated.

  He lost any semblance of control, and shuddered with a moan.

  She lay under him, panting for breath, until he climbed beside her. Her mind blank, her body glowing, she shut her eyes. He sighed and dragged her nearer in a satisfyingly possessive way. She smiled as he cupped her breast.

  “Ardis,” he murmured.

  As she drifted down into darkness, she thought she heard him say something else. His words whispered into her ear.

  “I love you.”

  She would have given it more thought, but the seduction of sleep was too strong.

  THIRTEEN

  Ardis woke to find herself lying against Wendel’s back. Startled, she withdrew, then remembered the night before. He was still sleeping. His hair spilled like ink across the pillow, glimmering blue-black in the morning light. She smoothed it away before she lay back down, and revealed the nape of his neck.

  There was a mark on his skin, just over his spine. A black tattoo of a double-headed eagle.

  Ardis sucked in her breath. After three years of looking, at last she had found what her mother had seen tattooed on her father’s neck.

  But why Wendel?

  Was it a symbol of Prussian nobility? The House of Hohenzollern?

  Ardis brushed aside his hair. Strangely, the eagle’s claws clutched a skull and a six-petaled flower. Wendel tensed beneath her fingers and slid out of bed. He stared down at her, unashamedly naked, his face unreadable.

  “What were you doing?” he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Ardis said. “I saw the tattoo on your neck.”

  Wendel’s mouth hardened, and he bent to pick his clothes from the floor. She blushed, since she had obviously insulted him somehow.

  “Why a double-headed eagle?” she said.

  His eyes flashed. “It wasn’t my choice.”

  He tugged on his trousers, then grabbed his shirt. He wouldn’t look at her. She leaned across the bed and caught his arm.

  “Wendel,” she said.

  He clenched his shirt in his fist, then tossed it against the wall. With a hiss of a sigh, he sank back down onto the bed and leaned with his elbows on his knees. His hair hid the tattoo on his neck until he brushed it aside.

  “This was given to me,” he said, “by the Order of the Asphodel.”

  Ardis’s stomach plummeted. Then… her father was with the Order?

  “Against your will?” she said.

  Wendel’s shoulders tightened. “It’s a hideous tattoo,” he said, with supreme derision. “I have better taste than that.”

  “Is that why you let your hair grow long?” she said.

  “Yes.” He glanced back and raised his eyebrows. “Why so many questions?”

  Ardis swallowed hard. For some reason she felt awkwardly naked under his stare. She grabbed a fistful of sheets and tugged them closer.

  “I…” She looked away. “I’m afraid to tell you the truth.”

  Wendel lay down beside her on the bed, still not touching her yet, and propped his head on his elbow. When she glanced at him, he was looking at her with a kind of keen intensity in his eyes that made her cheeks burn
.

  “Tell me,” he said, “and I will tell you one of my secrets. Just ask.”

  Ardis bent her mouth into what she thought was a smile.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay,” he repeated, and the German way he said the word made her smile real.

  She would have to show him. With unsteady hands, she leaned over the edge of the bed and took her brass locket from the nightstand. She slid her fingernail between the two halves of the locket and pried it open.

  “Look,” she said. “My mother, and my father.”

  Wendel tilted his head so he could see the tintype photographs. His gaze lingered on the pale-haired man, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Your father?” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she said. “Leo.” She shook her head. “That might not be his name. I never met him. My mother said he had a tattoo like yours.”

  Wendel let out a long sigh and lowered his head.

  Her mouth went dry. “You know him, don’t you?”

  He said nothing, but his eyebrows angled into a frown. She studied his face, and she was panged by the thought of how handsome he was, and how he might never be hers when all was said and done.

  “Wendel,” she said, “please tell me. I spent the last three years—”

  “Leo isn’t his name.”

  Ardis’s heartbeat skipped, then came back harder than before. She twisted the sheets in her fists to hide herself. Wendel looked at her with a perfectly bland face, but she could see emotions darting through his eyes.

  “His name is Thorsten Magnusson,” he said. “He belongs to the Order of the Asphodel.”

  “Thorsten Magnusson,” she said, just to feel the name in her mouth. “Have you met him? How well do you know him?”

  Wendel paused, his jaw taut. “Yes,” he said, “and not well.”

  Ardis let herself sink back onto the bed. She felt her eyes stinging, and she wasn’t sure whether it was with relief or frustration.

  “Is he in Constantinople?” she said.

  “I assume so.”

  She looked at him. “Can you take me there?”

  Wendel grabbed her hand, his fingers tight, and gave her an intense stare.

  “No.”

  She escaped his grasp. “You said you would tell me one of your secrets.”