The Shadows

by Cheyenne McCray

  Garran squatted so he was eye level with the boy and handed him the ball. “You have great strength, Jalen.” The boy clutched the ball to his chest and looked at Garran with wide blue eyes. Garran placed his hand on the boy’s left arm. “Continue your practice, most especially your control. One day you will make a fine warrior.”

  Jalen nodded hard enough that his blue hair fell into his eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

  Garran eased to his feet and gestured to the park. “Enjoy your game of carta.”

  The boy nodded again before whirling and bolting to where other boys and girls had stopped playing and were staring at Garran. Some waved and gave shy smiles and Garran acknowledged them with a slight incline of his head.

  It was odd seeing Garran as more than a king and a warrior. A strange whirling gripped her insides and she had no idea why.

  She let her gaze drift from Garran to the boys and girls. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Children among Dark Elves are rare,” he said softly, with what sounded like a touch of longing, and she moved her gaze toward him. “They are much treasured.”

  The distant look in his eyes surprised her for a moment before she realized he was probably thinking of his own daughter, Rhiannon, who had been raised among humans and kept far from him—in San Francisco.

  A part of Hannah melted and it took a lot of effort to make herself return to the subject that still bothered her.

  “You haven’t explained this whole Master/slave thing,” she said.

  “Our women are not slaves.” His words had a hard edge to them and he had an even harder look in his eyes. “It is an exchange of power, protection, and pleasure if you will.”

  Hannah frowned. “I’m not following you.”

  Garran folded his arms and leaned his hip against one of the larger boulders. “Our men are far stronger physically than our women. They rely on us for protection and to provide for them.”

  She crossed her own arms beneath her breasts and her frown turned into a scowl. “So, the males make them walk around with hardly anything on, wearing collars, and calling them Master?”

  “In turn,” Garran continued as his gaze held hers, “the woman holds the power to give the man pleasure.”

  Her cheeks heated as her anger rose. “So this is all about sex.”

  He shook his head, his silvery-blue hair shimmering in the soft glow given off by the lichen above. “A Drow female who serves a Master has the power to please him in all aspects of his life. Family, home, and yes, sex.”

  Hannah huffed out her breath. “I don’t get it.”

  Garran took her by the elbow again. They walked along a path and she tried to calm down about the whole woman-serving-a-man thing. Barbaric.

  He came to a stop in front of another jeweler’s display. He glanced at one of the gem-studded collars then turned his gaze on her. “Wouldn’t you enjoy belonging to someone, Hannah Wentworth?”

  Belong to someone? Having a Master? More heat flushed over her and her whole body tensed.

  “I want to talk to you,” she said, nearly grinding her teeth as she spoke. “In private.”

  He winked and smiled, and she thought again about using her magic as a rope and collar.

  As the heat in her body ramped up even more, she and Garran walked from the city through a honeycomb of passageways.

  They entered a dim hallway where arches opened in various directions, and he led her through one of the arches. The whole time they walked, Hannah’s temper mounted.

  They eventually reached the end of a short hall that led to a door on the right. The sound of rushing water met Hannah’s ears as he drew her into a chamber.

  A bedroom—likely his. In the far corner, water tumbled from a high rock, spilling into a pool the size of a sauna. Tapestries of Drow warriors in battle draped the walls. Rugs lay scattered on the floor in the same rich colors as the tapestries.

  On one wall hung swords, a quiver of arrows, and a bow, along with other weapons. All would be incredibly expensive in her world. The metals and gems glittered in the soft blue lighting that shone from lichen on the ceiling over their heads.

  A huge bed that looked as if it had been carved from an enormous round stone commanded the center of the room. “You sleep in a rock?” she muttered. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Try it.” Garran moved closer to her and she felt the power of his presence grasping hold of her like a tight embrace. “The bed is quite soft.” He reached up and trailed the knuckles of one of his hands down her bare arm. “Almost as soft as your skin.”

  Immediately a jolt, like spellfire, shot through her body from the places he touched. Goose bumps pebbled her skin and she pushed his hand away as she backed up.

  She let her anger replace her awareness of him as a man. Her voice lowered to a growl. “No wonder you were all sent to live underground. All of this ‘woman serving a Master and who holds the power’ stuff is crap. You’re barbaric heathens.”

  Garran’s eyes darkened, no amusement, no teasing left in his gaze. She almost took another step away from him as a chill traced her spine.

  “It is not for you or any others to judge our lifestyle.” His jaw tightened and the temperature in the room dropped as if winter had shrouded the last whispers of fall. “The Elders are judgmental, hypocritical bastards who had no right to do this to my people.”

  Hannah swallowed hard as she resisted rubbing her arms from the chill. The realization that he was right hit her like a snowball to her belly, icing her insides.

  She had always held to the strong belief that no one group had the right to judge what another race did, or to dictate what those people could or could not do, or banish the race because they were different.

  As long as it was consensual, this Master thing was really none of her business or anyone else’s. If it was true slavery, though, that was a whole different ballgame.

  Hannah let out a breath and she could see it in the icy air. This time she did rub her arms with both hands. The band on her upper arm chilled from the cold and she started to shake. Somehow Garran had changed the temperature with his anger and his Drow magic.

  “You’re right.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I have no right to judge you or any of the Dark Elves. As long as the women are happy with it, then it’s nobody’s business but your own.”

  The air in the room warmed dramatically as Garran’s expression softened and his jaw relaxed. “Do you say this from fear? Or do you believe it to be true?”

  “I have mixed feelings.” The goose bumps on her arms vanished as the temperature warmed. “I don’t agree with it, but when you put it that way, you’re right. No race should be banished or segregated for their lifestyle.”

  Then she thought of the Fomorii and she scowled. “Unless the race is like the demons from Underworld, creatures that murder and feed off other beings.”

  He gave a slow nod. “Then you do understand.”

  She relaxed her arms at her sides. “I don’t agree with your lifestyle, but I understand a little better.”

  Her frown returned as she held his gaze. “But don’t ask me if I want to belong to anyone again. Especially in public—if you want all your manly parts to remain intact.”

  Garran smiled and reached up to trail his fingers through her hair. “Agreed.”

  A shiver racked her body, and this time not from any chill in the room. His hand slid from her hair as she stepped back, needing to get away from his touch.

  “What I really don’t understand,” she said, letting her voice harden again, “is why you chose to help open the door to Underworld.”

  Garran’s muscles flexed when he tensed and his jaw tightened. “I was promised that my people would have what they most desire—to again walk in the light.” He moved his hand to his chest. “To no longer be marked as we are.”

  Her heart caught in her throat. Marked for their choice in lifestyle?

  He brought his fingers to his head and raked them through his s
ilvery-blue hair. “Agreeing to such a bargain to open the door was a mistake that I realized almost too late.” His gaze slipped away and pain was etched across his features. “For some it was too late.”

  Garran shook his head as though shaking off a bad dream. “Balor would never have granted us our former lives as promised by Darkwolf. I sensed it in Ceithlenn’s thoughts the moment she escaped through the door.”

  “You helped set her free.” A surge of anger rose in Hannah again, despite the pain on Garran’s strong features. “You should have been helping us return her to Underworld all along. Or kill her.”

  Garran stepped forward and brought his hand up to finger the lock of blond hair curving along one side of her face. The way he kept touching her—it made it so hard to think.

  “I know this, Hannah Wentworth.” His voice was low, soft. “But I serve my people and they come first. Can you not understand that?”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” The flames in her chest didn’t want to recede. “A lot.”

  She wasn’t sure she could come to terms with his original choices. First, he had sided with Darkwolf and opened the door to Underworld—which in itself she found nearly unforgivable. So what if he had realized his mistake and helped close it again? The damage had been done. Ceithlenn was free.

  Then Garran made the choice to not aid those in the battle in San Francisco, even though he had helped let the dark goddess out.

  How could anyone accept or forgive those decisions? It wasn’t until he was offered something that he even considered helping her city and people in a mess he helped create.

  But now that she’d met Garran, heard his side of the story—goddess, she was confused. And confusion wasn’t something she liked. Not at all.

  He studied her, his face so close to hers now that she felt his warm breath on her cheeks. A shock of desire hit her straight in her belly and the power of it nearly made her stagger backward.

  Dear Anu. He must be using Drow magic and I’m not as immune as I thought I was.

  “I have more to show you.” He gave her his usual cocky grin.

  She straightened and raised her chin, forcing the lust and need away. “What?”

  “You do not yet know our primary means of commerce,” he said. “A most important aspect of the society you will have to represent to your people, should we form an alliance.”

  Commerce. Money. Business.

  Yes.

  Now here was something Hannah could sink her teeth into. And maybe observe without wanting to emasculate her host.

  Garran’s hand was warm and big around hers and she didn’t try to shake off his hold as he led her out of his chamber, down the hallways, and to the great round hall.

  This time she ignored the carvings on the walls of the collared women bowing to warriors. Instead, she concentrated on where they were going next.

  After they crossed the hall, they entered a carved-out tunnel that smelled of dark earth and minerals. She’d never been claustrophobic, but the walls seemed to close in on her, and she was relieved when they left the tunnel and entered a cavern.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured as she took in the massive space. They stood on a platform in the middle of a huge sparkling cavern. “And amazing.”

  Otherworld was truly a place filled with surprises and this was no exception. Veins of white and yellow gold marked the earthen and rock walls. Rubies, emeralds, and other gems that had to be worth billions were organized in huge mounds, far below where they stood.

  If she and Garran continued on the path leading from the platform, they would wind down in a slow circle until they reached the bottom where Drow workers toiled.

  Overhead hung stalactites that shimmered in the low glow filling the cavern. The lighting was created by more of that lichen she’d seen in the city and in Garran’s room. Stalagmites also burst up from the cavern floor, and the Drow worked around them.

  Some of the Dark Elves sifted the jewels and ore from the excavated earth. Against one wall stood multiple pickaxes along with buckets and shovels.

  The Drow below weren’t dressed the same as the warriors. Instead they wore simple gray shirts and pants and most had their hair drawn back with leather ties. She watched as the dusty workers traveled in and out of various tunnels. The passageways were so dark she couldn’t see into them.

  She looked up at Garran. “What do they use for light?”

  He shrugged. “Drow need no light to see by when we dig or travel through tunnels. Our senses guide us. But we do require some, as you can see, in our city and in our pit.”

  “Why do you need light there?” She tilted her head to the side. “If you don’t in the tunnels.”

  Garran laughed. “To live a comfortable life where we can see clearly and not have to rely on our senses.”

  “Ah.” In the middle of the cavern was a huge area that looked as if the dirt had been freshly turned.

  “The center of the cavern,” she said as she looked from it back to Garran. “Did you mine there, too? The rest of your tunnels lead off, away from the pit, not down into the floor.”

  Garran rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before meeting her gaze again. “That was a mistake.” The pain on his face was so intense she felt it all the way to her belly. The roguish look was gone from his eyes and for a moment all she saw was sorrow and remorse.

  Hannah shifted her gaze back to the freshly turned earth. “It’s where your people dug and found old passageways and caverns that led to the door to Underworld. Copper told me about that.”

  Suddenly Hannah understood Garran’s pain, and sorrow touched her soul. “Your brother died down there just weeks ago—murdered by a Fomorii demon.”

  “Yes,” Garran said quietly when she looked at him. Hannah didn’t know what to do or say. With her upbringing, she’d never been the huggy-touchy type, but right now the urge to comfort Garran was almost overwhelming. And she didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it.

  He took her hand and squeezed. “Enough for now.”

  Garran drew her through the passageway and back to the great hall. Without saying anything more, he led her to another hallway and then to another room with a waterfall tumbling over rocks in one corner. The water splashed into a roughly circular pool, similar to that in Garran’s chamber. The room was decorated in navy blue velvet and gold brocade with beautiful tapestries gracing the walls.

  “Where do you get all of these—these things?” Hannah asked as he released her hand and she stepped onto a navy and gold patterned rug. Her experienced eye told her the rug was so well made it could have been Persian.

  She walked to a bed that was much like Garran’s and rubbed her hand over the velvet coverlet. “And the food—things that are raised aboveground? Like the vegetables we ate for dinner and the fish in the market?”

  She turned to Garran to see him with his shoulder hitched against the chamber’s doorway, his arms across his chest. There was no longer pain in his expression. Instead he smiled as if he were entertained by her question.

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Did you think we would eat bats and grubs?”

  Her normal aplomb returned. She could give as good as she got. “Of course.”

  This time he laughed out loud. “At night we barter with various beings that live on the surface.” His eyes suddenly held a dark, smoldering look. “As you can imagine, we have much to offer.”

  “You certainly do.” Hannah held his gaze. “Gold and gemstones, of course.”

  Garran studied her for a long moment

  Breathing didn’t come easy and her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt as her gaze locked with his. Intense desire flooded through her like she’d never felt before. Her nipples hardened and ached, and a tingle traveled from her belly to between her thighs.

  The roguish glint returned to his eyes as they traveled over her body, making her wish she was naked and it was his hands instead of only his gaze stroking her.

&
nbsp; Who was this Hannah who was being totally turned on by the king of the Dark Elves?

  “Stop it.” She sucked much-needed air into her lungs. “You’re using Drow magic on me.”

  His smile broadened. “So, you desire me.”

  Mentally attempting to douse the flare of lust coursing through her, she narrowed her gaze and glared at him. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

  It was as if a rope bound her, tugging at her, trying to draw her to him with his gaze. “I used no magic. Something exists between us, a magic we share.”

  “Not possible.” Hannah licked her moist lips and wiped her damp palms on her leather pants. She straightened and glared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

  Garran’s expression turned hard, angry even. “I gave you my word, Hannah Wentworth.” He moved forward and she took a step back to find herself pinned against the wall. “I never break my vows.”

  “Yeah, right.” The desire she’d been feeling spiked and she shivered all over as she looked at him. “Stop it.”

  In a fast movement he had his hands braced on the wall, over her head. She was a fairly tall woman at five-eight, but he towered over her, his masculine scent surrounding her, his entire presence dominating her.

  A tangle of thoughts swirled through her mind.

  Duck under one of his arms.

  Punch him.

  Knee him in the groin.

  Kiss him.

  It was the last option that pressed against her mind, bending her brain so that she almost couldn’t think any longer. Her gaze settled on his lips before she looked up to meet his liquid silver eyes.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” she finally managed to get out, her voice low and husky. “No way.”

  His expression was still hard and he moved his face closer to hers. A shiver racked her body when he lightly brushed her lips with his before he drew back.

  “It will.” To her surprise he pushed away from the wall, taking his warmth and the power of his presence with him. “But not now.”

  Hannah’s composure had eroded so completely from the lust and desire that she had to fight to regain a semblance of that composure.

  “It is time I visit the Guardian.” Garran glanced at the doorway. “You may retire here while I am gone.”