Shadow and Bones (Dullahan Book 1)

by Ryvr Jones

  Table of Contents

  About The Book

  Dedication

  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

  What's Next?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  Shadow and Bones

  He wants to forget…

  Rhys spent centuries alone, fighting the darkness he carries within. Forced to be a servant of Death, he is a dullahan—a soul collector, one of the creatures that originated the Headless Horseman myth. The only thing he wants—and can’t have—is to die. Until a strange, naked woman with no memories comes to his life, bringing back the painful past he buried long ago.

  She needs to remember.

  Tamerah doesn’t know who she is and doesn’t remember anything, except for this: she is Rhys’s last hope. If he doesn’t accept her help, the darkness will be unleashed upon the world and humankind will be destroyed.

  Together, they fight.

  Bound to each other by unknown forces, they need to uncover her identity and her connection to his past. Unexpected attraction flares between them... an attraction that is not what it seems.

  While they deal with the smartest, most annoying boss in the history of mankind and fight an army of rotten souls, their quest for the truth will lead them to an ancient evil that has been waiting for centuries to be called again.

  Dedication

  For K.

  Truly, madly, deeply.

  Chapter One

  The girl was still running, going deeper into the woods, screaming for help.

  Fuck. Not again.

  Rhys sighed and went after her. He hated when they ran. It was better when they didn’t fight, when they accepted what was about to happen and let go.

  It made his job easier.

  In a few strides, he caught up with the teenager. He closed his fingers around her arm and yanked her to a halt. “Stop screaming.”

  The girl’s face contorted in panic, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to get loose from his iron grip. “Let me go!” Violent sobs shook her body. “I just want to go home. Please, let me go.”

  “You can’t go home. You have to come with me.”

  “No. Please, no.” She struggled and kicked his legs, punching him with her free arm. “Help! Someone help me!”

  Her strength was no match for his, but her resistance was starting to piss him off. He gripped her other arm. “Shut up. And stop hitting me. We need to go.”

  “No! No, please—” Her plea died in a deafening scream.

  Great. Just great.

  There was no reasoning with the stubborn girl. Resigned, Rhys threw her over his shoulder and started walking, impervious to her struggles.

  The darkness was awake under Rhys’s skin.

  She should have let me die.

  He signaled for another beer. Alcohol didn’t have any effect on him—the ability to get drunk was one of the many things he’d lost when he’d become a dullahan—but drinking was a way to pretend he was still human. At least for a while.

  The bar was full of people, laughing and chatting, drinking and flirting as if they had all the time in the world to live. As if death wasn’t inevitably waiting for them at the end of the road.

  Or maybe they were able to laugh, chat and flirt because they were sure of that fundamental truth—they were going to die one day. And maybe that’s why I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed. Death wouldn’t come for him.

  Instead, he’d been tricked into becoming one of its servants. A dullahan, one of the creatures that originated the Headless Horseman myth. His job as a soul collector was essential for humankind, but he hated everything about it, from his annoying boss to the stupid and inaccurate legends about his kind. Dullahans weren’t fairies, they didn’t usually walk around headless, and they’d stopped riding horses over a century ago, when the motorcycle had been invented.

  The bartender, Sean, brought his beer and wiped the counter. “There you go, Rhys.”

  Rhys wasn’t even his real fucking name, but it seemed to be popular nowadays and really, who gave a fuck? He certainly didn’t.

  “What’s wrong?” Sean leaned sideways on the counter, looking at the crowd.

  Fuck me running. Rhys was in a foul mood. What he hated most about his job was to fight the souls he collected, to see their panic and confusion, to know they didn’t have a choice. On top of that, the girl’s struggle had awakened the darkness. His control had been slipping lately, and it worried him.

  But Sean couldn’t have known it. He didn’t know anything about Rhys besides the most basic things, the few bits he shared in order to live among normal people and pass as one of them.

  “What makes you think something is wrong, and what do you care anyway?” Rhys’s voice was tinged with the bile filling his gut.

  “You’ve been coming to the bar almost every night since I opened it.” Sean turned to him. “You’re practically part of the decoration, always sitting in this same damn spot. I can tell when you’re your usual, asshole self, and when you’re angry. Most people can’t, since you don’t talk to anybody except to tell them to get lost. But after all these years, I can. So, what the fuck is wrong?”

  Rhys’s mouth opened, his jaw slack with surprise. Having lived as long as he did, very little caught him off guard. Pissed off with himself for being surprised, he let his anger fly. “Life’s a waste of time, that’s what’s wrong. Worse, my bartender is wasting his time grilling me. Do you think you’re my girlfriend or something?”

  Instead of getting angry with the jab, Sean laughed. “Sorry, buddy. I don’t swing that way. Even if I did, you’re not pretty enough.” He winked.

  You have no idea. If Sean knew what Rhys actually looked like, he wouldn’t be admitted to the bar.

  “You’ll have to resign yourself to be friends,” Sean said.

  Friends? “You think we’re friends?”

  “I don’t know, I was joking.” The bartender shrugged. “I guess we’re kind of friends. You’re slightly less of a jerk to me than to the rest of humankind. That has to count for something.”

  Rhys stood. “I’m a customer. We are not friends.” He tossed some bills on the counter and walked away.

  Stepping into the night, he turned his coat’s collar up and burrowed into it. He didn’t need protection from the cold—he just wanted to hide, to disappear.

  The darkness stirred.

  As he walked down the ancient cobblestone street, he sneered. Friends. He didn’t have any friends.

  They had all died a long, long time ago. And Rhys’s greatest regret was he hadn’t died with them.

  Farahnir was a small town, so Rhys soon arrived at the cemetery. The moon was just a faint glowing spot behind the clouds, the darkness turning the grounds beyond the iron fencing into a black void. The weak light from the street lamps whitened the long fingers of the trees near the fence, bared by the coming fall.

  The town’s administration still employed a gravedigger instead of using modern machines, not only because human labor was cheaper, but because they didn’t want machinery messing up the
two hundred years old graveyard.

  He crossed the garden cemetery’s gates, not caring about the noise made by the old hinges. Officially, he was the gravedigger, but he was also the cemetery’s manager and gardener. He didn’t mind the work, and the job went perfectly with his soul collector duties. In fact, a lot of dullahans worked in cemeteries for that very reason.

  Once he closed the gates behind him, low, pained moans sounded inside the grounds. Oh fuck. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  After being forced to drag the teenager’s soul kicking and screaming to deliver, plus the painful memories stirred by his conversation with Sean, he hadn’t thought his night could get any worse.

  Right. Things usually went wrong, but particularly when he got the stupid notion that no, they couldn’t get any worse. It seemed the Gods got their kicks by screwing with him.

  Another whimper reached him. Focus.

  Enhanced senses were one of the few perks of his gig, so he followed the sounds with unerring precision. The moans led him to the ancient tree that marked the center of the cemetery. There was a woman lying on the ground, under the tree.

  Without a stitch of clothing on.

  What the hell?

  The woman whimpered, her eyes closed.

  Rhys took a deep breath. Don’t scare her. He crouched beside the woman and touched her shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?”

  She opened her pale gray eyes and blinked but didn’t move.

  “Are you okay?” He tried to keep his voice as non-threatening as possible. “What happened to you?”

  Seemingly unaware of her nudity, she looked around and sat up. Rhys straightened, putting a little distance between them, because he was acutely aware of her nakedness. She was beautiful, all pale skin and smooth curves and blond hair. He hadn’t appreciated the beauty of a feminine body since…he didn’t even know when. And he most definitely didn’t want to think about it.

  Silent, the woman leaned against the tree and hugged her knees.

  Rhys lost his patience. “Lady, I’m trying to be helpful here, but if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to either kick you out to fend for yourself, or call the police to take care of you.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Her gaze went to him. “I don’t remember. I think I was supposed to remember, but I don’t.”

  Just what I need. A gorgeous, naked, lost woman. On an already completely fucked up night. Rhys closed his eyes. If he believed someone would look upon him with even a hint of benevolence, he’d have prayed for patience.

  Since he knew better, he gritted his teeth. “No, I don’t know who you are,” he ground out. “I should take you to a hospital.”

  As if trying to remember him from somewhere, she tilted her head to the side and examined his face. “But I know you.” There was an eerie certainty in her voice, in her steady gaze. “I know your secret.”

  And then Rhys knew, he just knew—everything was going to hell.

  Chapter Two

  Fighting a stab of panic, Rhys tried to think rationally. She doesn’t know anything. She says she doesn’t even know who she is. Maybe she’s high.

  “I don’t know if you’re intoxicated or plain crazy, and I don’t care. If you don’t remember who you are or how you got here, I need to take you to a hospital. Let’s go.” He stood and stretched out his arm, offering support.

  She took his hand and struggled to her feet. A glint on her left hand caught Rhys’s attention—a ring with a red stone. Something tickled his memory, and he yanked her hand closer to his face.

  No. It can’t be.

  “Where did you get this?” he rasped.

  She stared at her own hand.

  He tightened his grip on her wrist and tried to control his tone. “Where?”

  The woman closed her eyes. When she looked at the ring again, she didn’t have any particular expression on her face. She didn’t seem confused, afraid or…anything. Like there wasn’t anybody home. Yep. Probably crazy.

  It didn’t explain the ring, though. “I’m getting tired of repeating myself. Where did you get this fucking ring?”

  “I think she gave it to me.”

  “Who? And why?” For fuck’s sake, extracting information from this woman was some kind of torture, devised specially for him.

  “I don’t remember. But I do know this.” Her gaze bored into his. “I was sent to find you, Rejan-Ashen.”

  No.

  All the things he’d tried to forget came to the surface, brutally clear. His blood turned to acid, corroding his veins, and the rage he barely kept under control exploded in a roar. “Who are you? Don’t think for a second I won’t kill you, because I will. If you know anything about that name, then you know what I’m capable of.”

  “You don’t scare me.” Her eyes flashed with anger—the first emotion he could see on her face. “I’ve given you the truth I have. I don’t remember who I am.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Let me see the ring.”

  She tilted her head to the side and stared at him for a moment, then gave the ring to him. He examined it, the faint moonlight more than enough to his night vision. It was either the real ring, or a remarkably well done replica. Such a copy couldn’t have been done without the original on sight, but it had been lost almost as long as Rhys had been alive.

  There was no denying the truth. The ring was real.

  Rhys’s brain turned into a jumble of painful memories, regret and a growing desire to kill. Something. Someone. He needed to let his anger run free, and then…he wouldn’t feel better, but at least he’d have killed something.

  Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Now is not the time to lose your shit, you moron.

  Since the woman wasn’t telling him the whole story—because she didn’t remember or because she was lying, it didn’t matter—he decided to do something he only did when there was no alternative.

  Dullahans could connect with a soul to read memories and see past experiences, but the black hole that had once been his own soul could only see the blackness in others—and there was always something vile or painful waiting to say hello. To taint him a little more, to feed the darkness he carried within.

  It fed on echoes of lies, tragedies and disappointments, pulling them into his soul, splitting his gut and making him want to vomit. He hated it, but it was useful for gathering information.

  Rhys put the ring on his pocket and stepped close enough to feel her breath on his face. “Look into my eyes.”

  She complied, all expression once again gone from her face. He was wary of her lack of fear. If she did know who and what he was, she should be afraid.

  Taking a deep breath, he locked his eyes with hers, reaching for her soul, and braced for impact.

  There was nothing.

  He tried harder, and still, nothing. What the hell? He couldn’t even feel the good things he sometimes sensed, out of his reach. The woman was a blank canvas, like a newborn. She was definitely not lying. There was no way in heaven or hell she could have hid lies from him.

  Without breaking eye contact, she offered, “I can show you.”

  What the everliving fuck? “Show me what?”

  “You seem to need proof that I’m telling the truth. I can give you that. At least, I think I can.”

  Rhys sputtered. “How do you know…how…what…” He never sputtered, never stumbled with words. He was getting freaking tired of being thrown for a loop by this weird, still naked woman. Who was doing nothing to hide her nakedness.

  “Wait.” He shrugged off his coat and pushed it into her hands. “Get dressed. You’re going to get sick, and I have enough shit to deal with as it is.”

  Staring at the coat, she frowned, then put it on. It was huge on her, but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t even bother to button the freaking thing. Taking a step closer to him, she put her freezing hands on his face, and a pang of guilt thundered on his chest. The night was really cold. Why hadn’t he thought sooner about getting her dressed?

&nbs
p; The woman tugged his head down a little, until she could touch his forehead with hers. “Close your eyes.”

  He did. She smelled of something clean and new, of…rain. For a second, he forgot about his past, about his pain and his anger, and lived only to breathe her scent. For a second, Rhys was free.

  “Look.” Her soft voice yanked him back to his pathetic life. “See what I remember.”

  Rhys didn’t know how it was possible, since he hadn’t been able to sense anything on her soul, but she showed him her memory of the ring’s rightful owner. Brianna Sheramath, the last member of the Sacred Lineages. The last of the guardians of humankind.

  Centuries ago, he’d been a warrior, sworn to protect her. He’d loved her, fought for her. And then he had forsaken her.

  Nothing, in all his desperate, empty years could have prepared him to see the fire of Brianna’s eyes again. The vision of her face was a devastating reminder of all he’d lost, how he’d abandoned his duty and betrayed everything he’d been born to be.

  Even if it was only a memory, carried by this strange woman, it tore him apart and finally brought him to his knees. She went down with him, never letting go.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  A sudden rain started to pour, a quiet whisper of tears washing the night. Rhys was certain it was because of his pain. His soul was bleeding, and the sky cried with him.

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say, or why he was crying, but her chest ached with echoes of the pain ripping his soul apart.

  The rain hid the tears on his face, the tears he couldn’t keep from coming down, even with his eyes closed. She smoothed a thumb over his cheek, wanting to do something, anything, to make him feel better. It hurt to see him so miserable and hopeless. “Tell me what can I do. Anything.”

  A humorless laugh tore up from his chest. “Unless you can turn time around and give me a second chance, there’s nothing you can do.” She didn’t say anything, and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and raised his head, his black eyes bright with moisture and hate. “Let’s get out of this fucking rain before you catch a cold. You still have a lot of explaining to do, and I don’t want to deal with any feverish nonsense.”