Paradise of Shadows and Devotion

by Gaja J. Kos

  Damn it, we had been living under a dictatorship… If we were guilty of anything, it was not stepping up as a group and overthrowing the sadists. But that was a darkness I shared.

  I opened my mouth, but any further protest was shot down as a single sentence punched every last atom of air from my lungs.

  “I’ll go after them.”

  Wide-eyed, I jerked away and stared at him. He was serious.

  For a long, long second, I was perfectly immobile. Then the shock swelled into a festering, seething mass of fear, ever so lightly tinted with anger.

  “You’ll die, Santino,” I half shouted and threw my hands up. “You’re a man! There’s no way you’ll get close enough to the morass to harm them. I can’t—I won’t let you go there alone. Even if I have to use magic to compel you to stay, even if you hate me for it, I swear on all the gods that I’ll do it.”

  A beep cut through the room. The words still waiting on the tip of my tongue withered as Santino sprang from the couch in an explosion of movement and urgency, then opened a slick, black panel on the nearby wall. Tension bunched in his shoulders, his posture turning predatory—and when he spun back around, his face was a stone-cold mask of a man who had walked through thousands of battlefields. A man who had emerged from them alive.

  I shrank into the love seat, unable to comprehend this sudden change.

  Not until he said, “Stay here, piccola. It appears we have some uninvited guests on the way.”

  14

  “What?” I hissed, trepidation sliding down my spine and stirring nausea deep in the pit of my stomach.

  But Santino was already halfway across the room. He fastened his shoulder holster, then secured another around his waist. His work was seamless, effortless. He slipped extra clips into his pockets with the skill and speed of a man who had gone through the motions hundreds of times before.

  By the time he was done, there were more weapons on him than I had thought possible for a civilian to possess, and Santino carried them all with utter confidence.

  He walked over to me, his face set in hard edges, but the kiss he placed on my brow was light, an echo of the tenderness we shared.

  “Whatever you hear, Liana, stay inside. There’s a panic room hidden behind the pantry. Press the button concealed under the iron sun and get in there. I’ll reach you via the comm unit when it’s safe.”

  I wanted to speak but no words came. Santino kissed me again, brisk and passionate, then ran out the back door.

  Fighting the tremors that weighed heavily on my limbs, I glanced at the pantry. As Santino had said, there was a wrought-iron sun perched on the wall, its opaque orange-tinted glass undoubtedly keeping the button well out of sight. I crossed my arms, rubbing away the chills. I wanted to go. I really did, but there was something—a prickling at my instincts that carried me towards the panel on the wall instead.

  What I saw there hit me like a punch in the gut.

  About two dozen dots moved on the small screen, encircling the rectangular shape that could be nothing else but the home. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the dots were closing in. Fast.

  I thought I spotted Santino—a lone, flickering circle moving in the opposite direction than everybody else—but in the wave of panic, I could hardly be sure. My vision blurred around the edges from the tears I was unable to hold back, my breath coming out in painful, too-quick rasps.

  Police or not, Santino was still only one person. And if these were Kauer’s men, they certainly weren’t lacking in murderous skills.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Santino might be able to surprise some of them, but as soon as the shooting started, they would know he was there. And they would swarm him. Even his silencers and years on the force couldn’t spare him from that.

  I let out a strangled cry, focusing on that flicker of anger that started to spread through my veins. Damn it, I wasn’t about to let him die. Not at the hands of assassins, gunning for me. And especially not when there was something I could do, even if the mere thought of it terrified me out of my mind.

  Without giving fear another second to settle and hold me down, I sprinted out the front door.

  Hoping to the gods I wouldn’t get shot before I even had the chance to set this crazy plan in motion, I jumped over the porch stairs. I ignored the pebbles biting into the soles of my bare feet, battling the long seconds.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Just as shouts broke the calm of the surrounding nature, I propelled myself headfirst into the water.

  The warmth of magic enveloped me at once, sweeping around my legs and seeping into the very structure of my body. I swam towards the darkness, hoping to use the lake’s depths as a barrier until the power assessed itself inside me and granted me what I sought. I broke through the surface the moment it did, a translucent shield already erected in a tightly knit circle around me. The shaped currents seemed thicker than before, as if my magic had influenced the very density of the water, changing it into an actual shield that not only reflected light in a way to throw the shooters off course, but slow down any bullets headed my way.

  Or so I hoped.

  Mercifully, despite hearing the distinct, sinister crack of gunshots coming from just beyond the cottage, no one had opened fire on me yet.

  My heart heavy and lungs tight, I poured every inch of my will into the lake, taking hold of the water without revealing my intentions to the outside world. If my time with the Rusalkas had taught me anything, it was to never show your hand before the right time came.

  Right now, that meant using myself as bait to draw the hitmen out.

  Nausea swirled in my stomach, and I silently cursed myself for not testing the extent of my abilities when I had the chance. Shaping water into beautiful structures was one thing, but using it as a weapon…

  A part of me was repulsed by allowing violence to taint this unique connection the element and I shared, but the clear, cooing currents didn’t seem to mind their darker destiny. If anything, I felt their protectiveness slithering around me, infusing me with strength I knew I would never have had otherwise.

  Please let this work, I prayed, then opened my mouth and let my voice bathe the restless nature.

  The melody was haunting. It spilled out of me not from any kind of rational thought or knowledge, but through ancient instinct that gently curved around my core with its empowering touch. The notes flowed from my lips in a magnetic call that rustled the leaves and rolled over the blades of grass, seeking out the men’s foul hearts.

  Only Santino’s was left untouched. Like a gleaming jewel, prominent and wild in its beauty, he remained clear in the ocean of lilac mist.

  Once the harmony took hold of the men, I could feel another mermaid’s compulsion pooling within them. Angela’s order to hunt me until their lives ended, or mine bled out at their hands.

  The spell battled with mine, but I quickly realized that as long as I didn’t counter it directly, the lilac tendrils were able to find cracks in the ethereal surface through which they could slip, bringing the hitmen closer without touching the implanted intents still burning in their hearts.

  I didn’t care what they wanted to do with me. As long as I drew them within my sight, that was enough.

  More shots erupted—some Santino’s, some belonging to the assassins who had been affected by Angela the most and were able to counter my melody. But even as a sliver of doubt gnawed at my mind’s edges, bodies started to take shape between the hulking brown trunks of the vegetation. I counted the seconds in my head, feeling the men as vividly as I was now seeing them.

  Then lashed out with all I had.

  The lake erupted in an explosion of vines. Currents darted like lightning bolts towards their targets, infiltrating their nostrils and mouths until their lungs started to overflow with water. I kept singing even as my body burned from the extensive use of magic; kept willing more and more liquid to flood the assassins’ respiratory systems while I tumbl
ed those who were closest to the lake right into its lethal depths.

  A headache began to throb in my temples, but I didn’t let go. I held them underwater, drowning those still on shore at the same time, their bodies convulsing in panicked struggles for breath.

  The sight was horrifying. Unlike in the morass, where the victims were utterly passive, unaware of the destiny reaching for them with its dark claws, these men—they were aware of what was happening.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks, the presence of death a putrid, vile perfume that clung not only to my skin, but my power. And, in effect, my core.

  The weight of it was suffocating, yet whenever I called forth the vision of Santino, of his stunning, lazy smile, the curl of his silver hair, and the hunger that touched his eyes every time he looked at me as if I were the most exotic flower in existence, I knew that for him, I would brave this nightmare.

  A thousand times, if it kept him alive.

  The force of my own emotions nearly cost me my concentration, yet simultaneously fuelled the fire in my veins. I’d cared for someone in my past life, but compared to the gale that was my love for Santino, those feelings had been even less than a pale imitation.

  What was burning inside me now was a force strong enough to overtake galaxies.

  The assassins—they didn’t stand a chance.

  With a final roll of magic, the melody turned into a scream, and my hold on the water broke. I hovered in the center of the lake, panting, and listened to the sudden calmness that had descended upon the land.

  I stilled.

  There was no pulse of human life lurking in the air any longer.

  Not even Santino’s.

  15

  Nearly mindless with terror, I dragged myself onto the shore. The clothes I’d been too much in a rush to strip off earlier now clung to my skin, dripping water down the length of my tail. Sobbing, I shimmied out of the dress and threw it aside, then reached for one of the nearby corpses.

  Bile burned at the back of my throat as I relieved the dead hitman of his fairly dry jacket, then ran the fabric across my scales, over and over, soaking up every drop I possibly could. Even bent as I was, the flat lay of the land continued to work against me, keeping the end of my fluke out of reach.

  Furious, I bunched the jacket collar in my fist and swung the fabric like a whip, swatting the tip of the tail repeatedly until I was fairly certain there would be bruises on my feet once I switched back to human form. But at least it was working. Once there were no more droplets for me to wipe away, I flung the dead man’s jacket aside and waited.

  A second passed, two, four—each of them feeling like an entire lifetime—then the familiar rush of magic engulfed me in its warmth. I shot up from the ground the instant the shimmering mist receded, and ran. My muscles cramped as I pushed them too far, too fast, but not even the searing pain exploding through my limbs could keep me from searching for Santino. If I had to crawl, I would, as long as I didn’t waste a single moment more waiting idly.

  I skirted around the cabin and into the shadowed woods, following the trail of bodies as much as my own hope that while I had been drowning the rest of the men, Santino hadn’t wavered too far from his last known location. I kept it locked firmly in my mind, grateful for the keen sense of direction I had even as a human.

  Yet with each step I took, my discomfort didn’t lessen. It grew.

  Hot tears blurred the edges of my vision, disobeying my inner command to not fall apart. I stifled a sob and forced myself to look around.

  All the assassins, now bleeding into the forest ground, sported gunshot wounds. I might have taken down half of them, but the rest—they were Santino’s work. The sheer number left me speechless. He’d faced all these men.

  Armed, yes. But also alone.

  The thought was a leaden weight in my stomach. He might had been confident in his abilities to the point where he’d convinced even me, but hearing about a certain number of attackers was far different from actually seeing them with my own eyes. Even in death, the assassins looked ruthless, their bodies honed into instruments of lethal speed and strength. I—I didn’t want to give my gloomy thoughts a voice, but I also couldn’t deny there was truth in the words they were whispering into my ear.

  A suicide mission. Santino must have known the chances of him walking away from this were next to nonexistent.

  Shivering, I searched every body, frantically seeking that telling spill of silver hair. But each corpse I inspected only led me farther into the shade of the trees—and treacherously lifted my hopes.

  Perhaps if he’d managed to take this many down…

  If he’d been this far out, then it was possible I had simply failed to feel his presence despite my mermaid senses thrown out wide.

  But if it were true and Santino had only slipped beyond my grasp, then there was a fair chance someone else had, too.

  All of a sudden, I was painfully aware of how loud the thud of my bare feet was, how limited my human hearing.

  I forced myself to slow down and ease my sharp intakes of breath. As much as I wanted to end this limbo of doubts one way or the other, I couldn’t risk getting shot now. Not before I knew.

  So I padded from tree trunk to tree trunk, lightly hopping across mounds of branches and leaves that would reveal my location all too eagerly, and hoped my orientation in this dense, unfamiliar part of the woods wasn’t too far off. The distance to the cottage had grown to the point where I couldn’t even see the charming building or catch the glimmer of the lake behind it, but at least I could still feel the pulse of water rapping at the back of my mind. That way, even if I found myself going in circles, unable to rely on the guidance of the sun, I could double back and start anew.

  The thought irked me to no end, but reality was something I needed to face, regardless of how defeated it made me feel.

  I was no tracker. And on land, I was without power.

  All I had was a heart-wringing wish to find the man I loved.

  A branch snapped to my right. I swallowed a yelp and pressed my back against the rough bark of the nearest pine tree. I breathed through my nose, hearing the blood pound in my veins as vividly as I heard the footsteps. Their rustle was soft, but one thing was clear.

  They were getting closer.

  My gaze skimmed across the terrain, only there wasn’t even a single stream in sight I could tap into. Nothing. Not even a damned puddle.

  Of course, there wouldn’t be.

  Santino had brought me to this location for a very specific reason, and having flowing water in his backyard would ruin the safety I—we—sought. A silent, bitter laugh undulated in my chest.

  Right now, safety seemed like nothing but a farfetched dream.

  The steps grew closer, so close, in fact, that they overpowered the erratic thump of my heart. But I didn’t dare move. I couldn’t fight, and running would do me little good when I was barefoot and naked. The blood I would leave behind once the rocks or branches sliced my skin would create a trail almost laughably easy to follow. And it was only a matter of time before my muscles would bail on me.

  I was out of options. I was useless and helpless, clinging to that diminishing hope that perhaps, if the gods were kind, the man would turn away. That a rogue snap of a branch or rustle of leaves would take him in the other direction.

  But the only thing I heard in this graveyard of nature was him. And in that moment I knew that nothing would alter his course.

  I closed my eyes. Acceptance stirred in my core as I prepared myself for the death that would follow, growing and spreading through my veins—but instead of the phantom talons of the underworld, a voice flowed through the air.

  “Liana?”

  My knees buckled. I caught myself on the rough bark, thinking it must be some cruel trick of my mind, one last blow that would finish me—when the voice called out again. Trembling, I used the tree for support and came out of hiding.

  A cry filled with fear, relief, and the now-shattered
anguish ripped itself from my chest.

  Santino.

  Santino was standing on the soft forest ground, illuminated by a brilliant shaft of sunlight that filtered through the dense branches, his honed body unscratched. I sobbed and flung myself into his arms, the need to feel the warmth of him, the strong pulse in his chest beating against mine, a yearning so thunderous it snatched away every thought until only he remained.

  Alive. Mine.

  I raised my lips to his, eager to obliterate that last breath of distance between us… But a cool wave of realization slammed into me.

  I staggered backwards. Santino was alive.

  And he was naked.

  I stared at him, only now noting the touch of ash and fire that clung to his skin, so powerful and potent I knew the scent could never be human. But more importantly, I realized as my throat closed up, the scent was originating from him. By the gods…

  “You—you’re a Perelesnyk…”

  16

  My instincts were roaring at me to run, but my legs refused to obey. Somewhere in the distance, I felt a part of me shatter, and I knew—I knew that if I were to crush those jagged pieces, there would be no coming back.

  But did I even want to?

  Santino inclined his head, his movements guarded, strained. He must have sensed how close I was to bolting. He probably smelled the fear on me, heard the thunderous pounding of my heart.

  But what he couldn’t understand was that it wasn’t the fear of a natural predator that immobilized me.