Desired by Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Novel) (6 page)

“Allow me to introduce myself; I am Robert Bartholomew of Wales, lately a guest in the dungeon of Edinburgh Castle, at your service, Madam. You may call me Robert. I mean you no harm. Shall we abscond from this dreary, dismal place?” His teeth were clenched and the muscle in his cheek was twitching as he raked a glare over her, lingering on her breasts.

She gasped. No, it couldn’t be, this was not happening. Not today of all days. Standing in front of her was the infamous pirate, a terrifying Shadow Walker, legend among Solien and his men, feared by all. Did he know what she did? How Bruce made her betray his kind? Didn’t matter it was against her will, not with what she’d heard about him. He’d kill her on the spot. She had to get out of here now, before he realized she worked for his enemies.

Stepping backwards, Maggie turned and ran as fast as her feet would carry her, ignoring the pain in her shoulder and hand as she fled.

Robert’s laugh was a harsh cough. His breathing slowly returned to normal. The irony of the Fates.

The woman who intervened, who was destined to save him, to be his soul mate according to the prophecy, ran from him as fast as she could. This was hilarious. He could hear Colin and Jasper giving him hell now.

Usually women ran
to
him, not away from him. Though in this instance he didn’t know whether to laugh or shout. How could this happen? Another Shadow Walker shouldn’t have had a chance at a soul mate for at least a hundred years. Bloody hell. He loved his life, didn’t want this. He grumbled as a new thought penetrated his angry brain.

What was she doing hiding under the scaffolding? She smelled like she’d been swimming in a slaughterhouse. He grinned. Even smelling like the back of a butcher’s shop she was a pretty little thing. Her hair was the red of a fiery sunset, her eyes the color of emeralds, and her curves, well, those were meant for a man to hold on to while they made love all night long.

Shadow Walkers were cursed. When reliving their death anniversary every year. If by some sick twist of fate, a human woman, not just any woman, but one who had died and crossed into Shadow and back, intervened, then the countdown started, no way to stop it. He had a week to break the curse and in so succeeding would tie himself to her for all eternity. Even worse, he was powerless for the coming week giving Day Walkers an added incentive to try and take his head. He was rather attached to his head, thank you very much.

If this rubbish was true, Robert had a limited time before he’d be trapped forever. For if he failed, he would be cursed to wander the in-between, not living or dying, sentenced to eternal suffering in limbo, gray, and empty, doomed to walk the shadow realm as a wraith. The woman would pay a price for her altruistic act—if she failed, she would never find true love, destined to live the rest of her brief life alone, knowing she had destroyed him, and dying utterly alone. It didn’t matter if during that week she perished in an accident, was murdered, or any other harm befell her. Once started, the sands of time couldn’t be stopped.

Now the quandary. Did he let her go and the curse be damned? He wasn’t sure he believed in the outcome. Yes, Colin and Emily had found each other but they didn’t fail and experience the aftermath of the purported curse. Maybe there weren’t any repercussions, he might not turn wraith. Could be it wasn’t true at all. A ruse to keep the Shadow Walkers in line.

Why didn’t she run like most normal humans? Why did she have to help him? If she’d gone on her merry way, tomorrow his life would be back to normal instead of completely cocked up. He spotted the grate. Investigating, he lifted it up. The smell rose to meet him. Yep, that was the scent of his lovely lady. What was she doing down in the sewer? What modern-day woman would willingly crawl through raw sewage…unless she was in some kind of fearsome trouble?

Bloody hell.

These were dangerous times; he couldn’t leave her alone if she was in danger. Swearing a blue streak, some rather inventive curses he’d learned at sea, he answered his own question. No matter how angry and pissed he was she’d interfered, he wouldn’t leave a damsel in distress.

He’d find her and help her. They’d break the curse. No way was he turning wraith, he loved this life. Robert would simply bargain with Thorne for everything to go back the way it was.

Give up his immortal life—not bloody likely.

The damp cobblestones threatened to trip Maggie as she ran blindly down the street. The temperature had dropped. A fine sheen of ice formed in patches making her slip. The trainers she wore weren’t meant for ice or snow. The sky was growing darker, a dusky gray, shutting out the weak sunlight. The wind whistled through her ripped hoodie and wet jeans, chilling her to the bone.

Of all the horrible luck in the world. How could she run into, let alone save the man who scared her as much as her captors? Even worse, her stupid body was too busy being attracted to him to be frightened. Remembering the incident, her head screamed warnings to run while her insides turned to liquid chocolate when she touched him. Why couldn’t he be one of the good guys? Someone she could trust to help her? And what would it be like to kiss him? There wasn’t time for thinking about Robert, not while she was in danger. Maybe she’d truly lost her mind. Wanting to scream in frustration as her brain agreed with her body, Maggie appealed to a higher power.

“Whoever’s listening up there, great sense of humor you’ve got, thanks for nothing.”

A nice, warm bed and a cup of tea would be lovely. Banishing the thought, she couldn’t stop now. If she didn’t get out of the country, her captors would find her. Side aching, she slowed to a fast walk, breathing deeply, taking in her surroundings. Finally, almost to the Leith docks. Funny, she didn’t remember making the last two turns. Maybe her subconscious directed her feet to find sanctuary.

On an empty bench ahead of her…she moved closer. Thank goodness. A dark wool coat, forgotten or left by someone. Not caring, she put it on. It was too big but no matter, would keep her from freezing. Maybe someone above was listening.

The first ship she came to was some kind of container ship. The crew was adamant there was nothing for her unless she had ten thousand quid on her. It was hard to smuggle paying customers without passports aboard and most had no use for a mere woman wanting free passage.

Transportation was becoming difficult. Airports had severely slashed the number of flights going in and out of the country and travel documents were scrutinized for any signs of forgery. Maggie didn’t own a passport. As a kid in the system, then out on the streets, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to get one. Listing a townhouse full of killers for her address would get her shipped off to the asylum by the men in white coats.

The second was a private yacht. A man who looked to be in his late fifties, wearing a white uniform was loading food onto the ship. Maybe he could help.

“Hello there, I was wondering if you might be hiring? I’m looking for passage out of Scotland in exchange for work. Whatever you need—I can cook, clean, and sew.”

“Oy there, Miss. Do you have your papers?”

“Um, no, I was hoping to work under the table. Look, I really need to get out of here.” She finished lamely.

“Now you know we can’t take no chances, and we don’t want no trouble, be off with you.” He waved her away. Standing there watching her to make sure she left.

Beyond disappointed, Maggie looked to the last ship in dock as her heart sank. It was some kind of historic ship with actual sails. There was a lot of activity, crates being loaded, men coming and going but something about it made her nervous.

Resolving to put her worries aside, nothing on that ship could be worse than the fate waiting for her back at the townhouse; she squared her shoulders and approached a grizzled man in canvas pants and a navy pea coat.

Giving him the same spiel, she was dejected when he turned her away. A bench beckoned, and she made her way there, sitting, staring at the water, trying to decide what to do. A huge raven caught her eye, cawing as it flew over the ship, hovering near an open hatch.

Maggie jumped up, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to her and walked to the port side of the ship. It looked like some type of gun or cannon should be there, ready to fire on the town. Didn’t matter what belonged in the opening as long as she could use it to get inside.

There was a rope hanging down, lightly banging against the side of the ship. Today was the day, her luck was changing. Backing up, she ran and jumped, grabbing the rope, her heart pounding out of her chest, hand throbbing. Banging her injured shoulder hard against the hull made her stomach heave. Nausea threatened to overtake her, the pain of her injured shoulder and hand causing her to see spots in front of her eyes. Waiting a moment to settle her stomach, she reached up, pulling her body up the rope.

Shoulder burning, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage wrapped around her hand, she stopped to rest a few minutes, swinging in time to the rocking of the ship, exposed in the cold air. Her hand hurt so badly she thought she was going to pass out. Reaching deep within, Maggie found the place inside where she went whenever things were bad. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over. As her stomach settled down, she opened her eyes, set her jaw, and pulled herself up the rope.

Halfway there; she was going to make it. Maggie’s teeth were chattering, her hands and feet numb. The rope had red stains on it from the cut on her hand. At least she was so cold it only throbbed, the pain gone. Some part of her brain yelled out, warning her she was on her way to freezing to death if she didn’t get inside soon. Thankful for her years on the streets, she let the wind pass through her, telling her body it was a warm summer breeze instead of a biting wind. Nothing mattered except getting inside.
Keep going; you’re losing the feeling in your hands and if you fall you’ll land in the icy, unforgiving water and be dead in minutes.

The last several feet were excruciating as she pulled her tired body onto the platform. Hearing noises below, she scooted the rest of the way in and scuttled out of sight. The interior was dark, the faint bulbs casting strange shadows on the walls. One of the crates was open and yes, that was some kind of gun on the floor. Huh, must be a really good replica. Too tired to care or to shrug out of her wet clothing, she staggered to a corner. There she pulled a canvas tarp over her head and fell asleep, exhausted.

Briefly, she came to, feeling the motion of the ship gently vibrating through her bones. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, she didn’t care where it was going, hoped somewhere far away. Only cared they were finally moving, and neither Solien, Bruce—or anyone else—didn’t know where she was. The gentle thrumming of the ship sent her back into a dreamless sleep.

“Find her. Keep it quiet, I don’t know what kind of trouble she’s in, but it must be bad to crawl through the sewers in winter.”

Robert snapped his mobile shut frustrated he hadn’t found his rescuer yet. The men were checking homeless shelters and hostels thinking she’d turn up. The rain had turned to ice, and with the temperature dropping fast, she wouldn’t stay out on the streets and chance freezing. If he didn’t have to be in Wales, he would have stayed behind and looked for her himself instead of getting ready to set sail. Never would he forget the look of terror in her eyes. Staring at him like he was Satan himself come up from Hell to take her soul. Puzzled, he tried to figure out why. The lass wasn’t afraid when she rescued him. It was only after he’d introduced himself that her pretty face drained of color and she bolted like a rabbit with a hungry fox on its trail. Women loved him.

The more troubling question was who had made her so afraid?

He was offering a bonus to any of his men who found her. Ringing Monroe, he’d asked him to have the cops in the city on the lookout for her. But not to publicize it; he needed to keep this quiet. Maybe ‘twas his fate to have this contrary woman run
from
him when all other lassies would run
to
him.

Turned wraith all because one woman didn’t find him pleasing. Bloody fucking lovely.