Shadow Reaper (Shadowlands Series) (23 page)

Wind whistled in my ear, my butt slowly went numb, and I’m pretty sure my hair was a rat’s nest of wind-swept tangles. When we finally stopped for a rest, it was on wobbly, grateful legs that I slid off the bike and hit the dirt.

I wish I could say what the landscape we had driven through had looked like, but I’d been too busy holding on for dear life to appreciate anything much. I kissed earth for a while, waiting for my jelly legs to solidify. I could hear him moving around, his boots hitting the dirt beside me and the fear was back.

I was alone in the middle of nowhere with a huge beastly man who seemed to have a sex drive to rival a . . . I don’t know what, something that had a high sex drive.

It’s okay, he’s sated, remember?

Clay’s voice again, reassuring me, lending me the strength I needed to lift my chin and look up at my guide.

His shadow loomed over me, huge and menacing, and those glowing eyes looked down on the spot over my head. He was even bigger than I had thought. No longer hidden behind the bike, his upper body was muscled, shoulders wide, hips slim. His legs were long and encased in heavy boots that looked like they could easily crush my skull.

“Follow me,” he said to the dirt behind me.

I frowned. Did he not like looking at me or something?

He turned away, reached for his bike, grasped the handlebars and began to wheel it away. I got up, dusted myself off, and followed.

All around us was shadowy, hulking, rocky terrain. We were on the flatlands part of it, there were no house skeletons in sight. Maybe this was where the Shadowlands had completely swallowed my world.

Daemon led me toward a large rock formation. The closer we got, the darker it got, until we were shrouded completely in shadow. Daemon stopped, lifted his chin, and swung his head from side to side.

“Come.” He began to move again, right toward the rock face.

I reached out to stop him, to say something, but at the last moment, he swerved to the left and vanished.

What the hell? I stood staring at the spot he’d just been.

His head appeared, those silver eyes fixed on my neck. “Come.”

Come. Come. Talk about being over economical with your words. Was this what they meant when they said ‘strong silent type?’ I swallowed a giggle and stepped forward in the direction he’d vanished. I found myself inside a fire-lit cave. Daemon was already seated by the fire, which crackled and spat, casting strange shapes on the rock walls, but he wasn’t alone. There was a skeletal-looking man sitting opposite him, nursing a long stick that had some kind of meat stuck to the end of it. He held it over the fire, turning it this way and that, and the smell that came off it made my stomach rumble.

Daemon lifted his chin and tilted his head. “Human, come warm yourself. The night will grow chilly soon. Gundar has offered us a share of his meal in exchange for my protection.”

“Protection?”

Daemon’s lips curled in a humourless smile. “Do not presume we are the only creatures on a journey. This respite is open to all and not everyone is interested in sharing it.”

Gundar held out the stick with the meat stuck to it in Daemon’s direction. But I was staring at Daemon because he’d actually offered me a lengthy sentence.

Daemon inhaled, his eyes drifted closed and then he reached for the meat, plucked it from the stick and tore it in two. It was steaming hot, I could see that, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Here.” He held half the meat in my direction. It smelled so bloody good. I moved over to the fire, slipping past the huge bike which he had parked inside the hidden entrance to the cave, plucked the meat from his fingers, and took a seat beside him.

“What is it?” I asked, shifting the meat from hand to hand and blowing on it to cool it.

“It’s food. That’s all you need to know.”

I considered pressing him for an answer, but my stomach protested. It wanted this food and if my brain knew what it was then it might deny me the pleasure of eating it. I ripped into it with my teeth and sighed as flavour exploded on my tongue.

“Good?” Gundar said, his eyes huge in his emaciated head.

I nodded, too busy chewing to talk. I wanted to ask what he was. He looked like a walking skeleton with skin stretched over his bones.

I finished my meat and reached for my backpack to pull out my canteen of water. I took a couple of gulps to sate my thirst and then held it out to Daemon. He tensed, his gaze fixed on the fire, and then he turned his head slightly in my direction. “Not thirsty.”

I shrugged, recapped the canteen and shoved it into my backpack. A yawn stretched my jaw. It clicked and I snapped it shut in embarrassment.

“Sleep now,” Daemon said.

I glanced about. “Where?”

He patted the ground beside him.

Well, at least it was close to the fire. I lay down, using my backpack as a pillow. It wasn’t as if I’d never slept on the open ground before. There had been many times when I was a child that we’d squatted in some dilapidated building or other—mum, dad, Clay, and me. But that had been long ago and my body had gotten soft, used to the comfort of a mattress and the warm weight of a blanket or, in the case of Apocalypse, a duvet. Yeah, I’d been spoiled, weakened.

I watched the flames flicker and sway. Gundar threw another piece of wood into the fire, and it roared, tearing at the bark hungrily, spitting angry little red sparks that floated about in a strange, hypnotic dance.

My eyes grew heavy, and I allowed my lids to close, slowly slipping into slumber.

***

I awoke to smouldering embers and a bone-aching chill. My teeth knocked together in my head, and I couldn’t feel my fingers. I reached for Daemon, but he was gone. I sat up, straining to see beyond the shadows of the cave. I made out the unconscious, sleeping form of Gundar. Like me, he had fallen asleep by the fire, and now the fire was almost out. Daemon had been right, the night was cold. Pulling my jacket closer about me, I got to my knees and shuffled closer to Gundar, searching the ground around him for some wood. My fingers grazed something hard and rough.

Wood.

I grasped it and put it on the embers. Now for some kindling. I found a pile of dried leaves and bracken and carefully arranged them on the dying embers, blowing softly until flames began to lick at the wood and the fire rose back up into the air. I held my hands out to the flames.

Where was Daemon? I scanned the cave again, now with the aid of firelight, and found him lying by the entrance, by his beast of a bike.

His back was to me, his front facing the entrance. Was he keeping watch? Shit, he must be freezing his bollocks off!

I stood and moved toward him, was almost at his back when I spoke. “Daemon?”

He didn’t stir.

Asleep, then.

I was about to turn back to the flames when I realised I wasn’t cold anymore. I stood still and assessed the situation, held out my arms and felt the warm and cosy air. I stepped closer to Daemon and sighed in pleasure as heat rippled over my skin, chasing away the last vestiges of the chill.

How was this possible? How come it was warm so far from the fire? I dropped to my knees and reached for his shoulder, the heat intensified and I had my answer.

The heat was coming from him.

It felt so good. I wanted, no, needed to stay close. I glanced back at the fire which was beginning to ebb again. I’d never been good with building fires and I was bone weary. The heat here was too pleasant to pass up, and I really didn’t need to be pressed up against him to feel it. My body made the decision for me by lying down a foot away from him, his back to my front. Even the ground was warm. So warm. So nice.

I yawned, closed my eyes and slept.

I dreamt of the forest, of walking barefoot through moist, fragrant soil that pressed up between my toes. The air was crisp, fresh and sharp, clearing my head. This was my home. My sanctuary. I felt the love for this place swell inside my chest and rise up into my throat until it escaped my lips in a strangled sob.

My home. Where had this sorrow come from? Why was I afraid?

A shadow fell over me, but I didn’t turn to face it. Instead, I closed my eyes and tucked in my chin in submission.

Why wasn’t I running? Fighting?

I whimpered, wanting to wake up. I didn’t like this dream. I didn’t want to see what would happen next.

The air behind me whipped up in a frenzy, throwing strands of my hair into my face and knocking me onto my front.

It was happening. What was happening?

I wanted to wake up!

Hands encircled my wrists, pinning me down. A weight fell on top of me, stealing the breath from my lungs, and still I fought, crazy scared, not wanting to see, not wanting to know.

A bellow filled my head, and I was burning up, dying. Sorrow took me and I cried for things I didn’t know or understand. The tears burned tracks down my face and stung the corners of my lips.

The bellow morphed to a sigh, then rose in a whisper. “Wake up. Wake up, little human thing.”

This was a dream. Nothing but a dream. The sobs died in my throat.

I opened my eyes and stared into silver filled with a darkness that threatened to consume me.

“Daemon?” I was hot, too hot, and on his lap, wrapped in his arms. His chest rose and fell rapidly against me, his breath fanned across my cheeks, fragrant and enticing. His lips were mere inches from mine, perfect lips made for kissing. I leaned in a fraction on reflex, wanting to taste. His lips parted in invitation, and something primal flared to life within the depths of those silver eyes. My lips hovered closer, hungry, throbbing. He blinked.

“You’re awake.” He released me abruptly and I slid to the ground.

I looked up at him, heart pounding with the adrenaline of a moment lost, and mind spinning with ‘what the hell just happened’ emotions. He was doing that not-looking-at-me thing again.

“Sorry, bad dream.”

“Knightmare. I heard it born. It’s out there now. No doubt it will take some innocent life soon enough.”

“What do you mean you heard it born?”

He cocked his head. His hair had come loose of its tie and fell against his cheeks in silken strands. It softened him somewhat, made him seem more human.

“Have you seen a Knightmare?” he asked

Something flitted across the surface of my mind, an imprint gone too quickly to catch. “No, but I’ve heard about them from other Reapers. They vanished from the Cusp a few years before I joined.”

“They seem to be in short supply in the Shadowlands. I’ve seen a few, but they never stay long. It makes me wonder where they go.” He looked off into the distance, and I held my breath. This was the most he’d said to me since we’d met, and I was loath to end it by saying something stupid.

“Can I sleep with you?”

His head whipped round to face me.

What had I just said about not saying anything stupid? “I mean, it’s cold, so can I please sleep here by you?”

His chest rose and fell, and then he nodded, once, curtly, before turning his back on me and lying down.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. I was such an idiot sometimes.

I shuffled a little closer to him and lay back down, basking in the heat he threw. “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond, but the tensing of his shoulders told me he’d heard. I closed my eyes, and as I drifted back into sleep, I realised I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

***

I woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed for someone who’d spent the night on a cave floor. My body told me it was time to be awake. In our pocket of reality the sun had been lost to us, veiled by a thick, almost perpetual overhang of clouds, and the moon had been taken. We told time by digital clocks and our body’s natural bio-rhythm. It wasn’t much different in the Shadowland’s. Aside from the benefit of a moon which seemed to be visible round the clock they too seemed to be ruled by darkness.

I ate some dried fruit from my backpack for breakfast, took a couple of sips of water, and was ready to go. Daemon was pottering around his bike, stroking the handlebars and the leather seat, leaning in and whispering to it.

It was plain weird, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask him what he was doing. I mean, for all I knew, this was normal behaviour in the Shadowlands. Maybe everyone had conversations with inanimate objects.

I glanced over my shoulder at Gundar, who was still asleep, sprawled on his back, ribcage rising and falling. We’d be leaving soon, and I felt kinda bad for him. Would he be okay out here in the Shadowlands without Daemon’s protection?

“Let’s go,” Daemon said.

I looked up at him, noting the backpack he had slung over his left shoulder. My eyes strayed back to the bike.

“We go the rest of the way on foot,” he said.

Gundar mumbled in his sleep and rolled on to his side.

“What about your bike?”

“Calypso can take care of herself.”

I blinked up at him, processing his words. “You named your bike?”

His lip curled. “No, she named herself.”

Was he taking the piss? I couldn’t tell. That bloody impassive face, those look-through-you eyes. I’d never struggled so hard to read people in my life, but then, I reminded myself, Shadowlanders weren’t people.

“What about Gundar?”

“Calypso will watch over him if he decides to stay another night. If not, then . . .” He shrugged.

“Oookay.” I got to my feet and dusted off my trousers. “Do I need to put on the outfit thing that Coralee made?”

His brow furrowed slightly as he thought on it. “Not yet. When we get closer.”

“And you’ll tell me when that is?”

His mouth turned down. “You’ll know.”

I sighed. “Fine, let’s go.” I moved around him toward the spot I recalled the magic doorway to be. His hand caught my upper arm and I stilled.

“We should go over your plan.”

My plan? I must have looked completely blank because he growled low in his throat.

“You have a plan, right?”

I licked my lips, and yes, I felt pretty stupid. Talk about rushing in without a clue. “Well, I thought we could go in, ask around, describe Bernie. Maybe someone saw Treagor bring her in.”