Shadowglass (19 page)

Giddy defiance drowned the last fragments of my fear. I laughed, delight sliding like a drug into my blood. “Yeah, I bet you will. Go ahead and hit me if it makes you feel good. Wanna watch me tremble?” I stretched my eyes wide and chewed my claws, knocking my knees together in a pretend shiver of terror.

Sonny licked his lips, deliberate, and with a thick flex of biceps, he flipped a pistol from his holster and leveled it at me. “I said, say you’re sorry, you sour little fairy cunt.”

I recoiled, my charade melted. His crude insult stung me, but I barely noticed. For the first time ever, I stared at the scary end of a firearm.

Stinky oiled brass invaded my nostrils and crawled down my throat, only to return, dragging cold fear wriggling like a frog into my mouth. My chest hollowed, and my courage ducked for cover, leaving me with shaking muscles and a sick stomach and nerves that twisted and writhed in every limb.

He’d shoot me. He’d really shoot me, just for calling him names. And Blaze and Azure would still owe him five grand.

My skin quailed, bumps stinging like needles.

Tell him you’re sorry, Ice. Simper and grovel and make him believe it, or you’re dead.

But ugly recklessness swamped me like hot quicksand, and I opened my mouth in a shimmering fugue of glory to tell him to get fucked.

“Take that back or I’ll make you a fucking lightning rod.” Indigo arced onto all fours between me and Sonny, angry scarlet static crackling between his fingers. He flared his wings, silver flashing in the sun. Heat haze shimmered over his taut muscles like an angry aura, and he snarled like a panther, spitting iron sparks.

Girlish admiration sparkled in my veins, but fear watered my guts, too. Sonny would shoot him, too, and it’d be my fault. Common sense burned in, lucid like sunlight through snow, and I stumbled forward aghast at what my idiocy had wrought. “Indigo, don’t—”

Sonny yanked back the slide and released it with a steely click, and swiveled to aim at Indigo’s eyeballs.

My brain gibbered, lost, and time slowed.

Sonny grinned in slow motion, his voice stretched. “Shut it, maggot—”

Indigo dived like a striking wasp, streaking in a heartstopping flash of silver for Sonny’s throat.

Long blue fingers wrapped around the pistol barrel. Sonny’s finger whitened on the trigger. White voltage blazed like an arcweld, blinding me, and ripe electricity tore the air like thunder.

Sonny screamed and jerked, smoke sizzling, and the pistol fired.

Splinters exploded, torn vine leaves scattering. My right ear ripped open inside, burning. Indigo tumbled to his feet in a shower of sparks. The pistol clunked to the tiles, still crackling with static. Sonny flailed, flapping at blue flames licking his clothes, and the troll twins growled and slapped their fat hands on his burning body.

Indigo dragged me off my feet. “Scramble, Ice, for fuck’s sake.” His cracked voice zoomed away, distant and dull like I floated underwater. His glamour zapped, a prickly cocoon shimmering around both of us. I stumbled after him, blood pounding in my torn ear, my wits reeling and my legs floppy like custard. My head throbbed. My throat stung with ozone. The air stank of dusty thunder.

Mad giggles throttled me. I’d never felt so good.

Or so wrong. Indigo had saved my ass again. Or, he’d saved himself and dragged me along for the ride. It didn’t matter. We were alive, and together, and it seemed a precious, wonderful thing—and no thanks whatsoever to me.

We staggered out hand in hand into blinding sun, and as traffic slowed and pedestrians teetered back in alarm, I squinted through blue-watering eyes and let him drag me up and away.

I
ndigo flits up a rusty drainpipe one-handed, straining for balance with steely wings as he drags her below him. She’s shaking, poor girl, her hand sweating a river in his. More than once her fingers slip and he has to dive for her wrist, delicate bones crunching in his grip with a sharp jab of memory. Over a concrete lip onto roof tiles, dry and brittle in hot evening sun, spicy with traces of tin. Lest his silhouette reveal their flight, he clenches his jaw and ignites his secondary glamour, the one that makes him dim. Wobble, flicker, disappear. The air spits and shimmers, pregnant with fat fae lies:
Don’t see me. I’m not here. Look away.

He skips lightly over tiled ridges, glowing metal corners, gutters, glass, the air a warm stagnant breath that stinks of city iron and imminent rain. Behind him, she trips, her inflamed wing joints still weak from the beating she got at Quang’s. His arm aches from holding her, and his pistol-scorched palm screams in hers like she’s made of coals. But it’s dull compared with the steely blade of deception that spikes his throat and slashes his every breath ragged.

She’s not working for Kane, not laying some lie-spiked trap. Kane promised her a cure. All she wants is to be free of this nasty mirror that’s fanned her courage to a fiercer blaze than she can control.

—Exquisite, isn’t it?—
The sultry whisper teases him, and he pretends it’s not there, but his blood responds with a heady flush of wonder and desire that doesn’t lie.

Is it possible that she’s not deceiving him? That she means every word? That the catch in her breath, the warm throb in her pulse when he kissed her tempting throat was real?

The idea dizzies him, rich like whiskey, and his knees smack the rusty roof, metal on screeching metal. He catches himself, and twitches her after him before she falls, but her tiny hand burns in his like an accusation. He struggles to think straight, to plan, to see more than a few feet in front of him.

Imagine that. Not to step in shadow, always waiting for the cruel knife in a wing joint or the bullet in the back of the head. To sleep in peace, without one ear pricked for treacherous footsteps. To wake each morning without wondering if today she’ll be gone.

Since that horrid day in hell when Natasha savaged his sense with her lies, he’s never been certain of anything. Pity that this time, it’s him doing the lying. Ice humbled him with her honesty, but he didn’t say a word about Delilah. They can’t give this mirror to two different demons. If Ice finds out, she’ll never forgive him. And if he gives Ice what she wants—the cure—then Delilah will come after him. What’s left of his life won’t be worth the rusty grit under his claws, and he’ll spend eternity in agony in a locked iron room. Perfect.

Just fucking perfect.

Unless, of course, Ice is lying. Unless she’s invented that crystal-shine story about Kane to trick him. She is a con artist, after all, wide-eyed and innocent and smiling pretty lies.

But how can he ever know? He’s already tempted himself too much with the berry nectar of her skin and the shy, lithe brush of her limbs next to his. How can he be sure without risking his mind and his senses, not to mention his heart?

—Coward.
His shadow self swirls, scorching his blood with scorn.
She’ll never be yours if you don’t take a chance. Story of your life, Indigo. One little bruise and you cry.—

Fear slashes at his skin that he’ll hurt her, and Indigo shakes his head, stubborn, as he dives past flitting eucalyptus leaves and black power lines that glow copper-bright like fire.
Not a chance. Leave her alone.

But bright fairy longing consumes him, and his body aches with all the need and pent-up isolation he longs to pour into her. She makes him feel clean and shiny, like he’s not felt since that stormy day in hell when his heart shattered. He has to know if she’s for real, before he does something stupid and tells her the truth.

That he likes her, as he likes chocolate or summer rain or sunflowers. That her awkward wit and clumsy charm lighten his heart, that her wide amber eyes bewitch him, that he can’t get her beautiful fruity taste out of his mouth. That when he’s with her, he feels clean and hot and on a razor’s edge like he’s drunk too much heady fairy wine, and that his need to touch her isn’t just loneliness or lust, but . . . something else.

If he steals her cure, she’ll surely hate him. Eternity in a screaming iron cell might hurt less than her disappointment.

—So tell her,
—dares his shadow,—
tell her or I will. She’s wonderful just the way she is. She doesn’t need a cure.—

Bitter spite stings his mouth. He grits his teeth, swallows, resists. No way. Not her and Ebony. Never. He must talk to her. Show her he cares. Get her away from Ebony before she has to find out the hard way. Before it’s too late.

Sharp pain stabs his skull, and his stomach wraps itself tight around a soapy kernel of sick hunger. He hasn’t eaten in too long, and there’s no metal in ice cream. Should have asked for mineral water, oysters on the shell, a tomato sandwich, a rare steak. Iron house frames loom like a screaming white maze below him, dizzying him to the point of faintness, and he flutters weakly to his feet in a deserted residential street, struggling to keep the flame of reason in his head alight.

17

O
ver sunset-splashed rooftops we dived, fluttered, dipped, only his warm hold stopping me from falling. Bricks hit my ankles, scraping my skin away. Dizziness swirled my brain to sickness, and glass and roof iron and colored concrete tiles scattered in my vision like an upended slide show.

His glamour rattled the wind with static. Warm drafts pressed my wings, up and down and sideways until I didn’t know which way was which, and my inner ears sloshed. I felt sick. I felt wonderful. And when we finally skidded to a halt on cracked black tar, a solitary streetlight burning above, I collapsed on my butt on the median strip and let my hands sink gratefully into rough gravel.

Sharp pebbles poked my bottom and stung my bare feet. A car cruised by, oblivious. Some dim suburban neighborhood, dull gray houses and dead gardens, no trams or traffic or people. Dry air crumbled in the smell of dirt and hot concrete. Somewhere far away, lightning flashed, and a few seconds later thunder rolled in like a distant ocean wave. Tension zinged excitement into my skin. A storm on the way.

Indigo wobbled down next to me, catching his breath and wiping sweaty hands on his ass.

I grinned weakly, my cheeks sore like a bride’s. “Here, let me do that.”

His dark skin looked damp and drawn, his face tight. He plopped down in the dirt beside me, leaning his forearms on his raised knees, and wrinkled his nose in a little smile as he swallowed a few times. “Guess you’re okay, then.”

My popped ear gurgled like a plughole. I wiggled my finger in it. “Oh, sure. Never better. You?”

He turned his hands over, showing his dark blue palm burned raw and silvery with blood. “Been worse.”

I winced. “Ouch. That looks sore. But . . . hang on. Wasn’t it your right hand you burned on that pistol?”

He shrugged, holding up his scorched left palm, titanium wrapping his wrist. “Guess not. Sizzle, steam, ouch.”

The same old suspicion gnawed me, and urgency nibbled my toes like bugs. I fidgeted, unsure. “No. I saw. And that bangle was definitely on your right wrist the other night. Doesn’t look like it comes off in a hurry. What’s up with that?”

He swallowed again, and looked away.

I swallowed. Must be something in it. But I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that mirrors switched things from left to right, and that he wasn’t being honest with me. “Okay. Fine. Aren’t you going to scold me?”

He picked ripped skin from his palm, frowning. “What for?”

“Well, y’know. Giving lip to an insane Italian murderer. Making you burn your hands to pulp. Nearly getting us killed. That sort of thing.”

His brow wrinkled. “Why would I scold you for that?”

“Well, if ya don’t mind me saying, you’re a scolding kinda guy. And it’s dangerous, right?”

“I guess. But you were amazing.” He ducked his head shyly to rub crisp hair on my cheek, his dark iron gaze flickering to mine.

The sharp sensation dazzled me. I shifted, nervous. What was he playing at? “Yeah? I mean, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

He wouldn’t look away. “I mean it, Ice. You’re brave and strong and smart like . . . like a little tigress. Only prettier.”

Delight shocked me rigid, and I ached deep inside with longing. Left hand, right hand, whatever. What did I care, if it softened him up like this? I shrugged, trying to keep it casual, trying not to show that the merest brush of his gaze on my skin made me hot. “Thought you’d never notice.”

“Oh, I notice.” He shuffled his butt closer. Now his hard thigh pressed against mine, tempting.

My voice lost itself somewhere in my throat. “Yeah?”

“All the time.” He dropped his chin on my shoulder, tension in his whisper that made me shiver. “Truth, Ice. You’ve waited all your life to say those things. I know how hard it is to let go of fear. Don’t you feel . . . free?”

Giddy hormones jumped and giggled in my brain. His shadow covered me, dark and exciting, and the sheer size of him awakened dark tingles of desire in my belly. Daring, I rested my head lightly against his. His fine metal hair sliced into mine, sharp ends teasing my scalp. My insides warmed. “Yeah. God, yeah. It felt great. But what if—?”

“What if nothing. We’re still alive, Ice. We got away. You shed your fear, and the sky didn’t crumble. Did it?”

“Guess not.” Cautious hope shone. We’d escaped, after all. Sonny hadn’t killed us. Maybe this madness would be okay.

Especially if Indigo understood.

Not that he would. He didn’t have a nasty magic mirror chewing his ass, making him say weird things. Did he?

I snuggled closer, his warm metal scent wrapping me in delight and lazy desire. I wanted to purr. I wanted to throw him onto his back and kiss him, make him wild with desire for me. Yeah. I’d even slide down his body and peel his clothes away, drink in that coppery blue skin, smell his sweet metal arousal. Go down on him, taste his hardened flesh in my mouth, lick him and swallow him and make him remember me.

Or not.

He sniffed at a stray wisp of my hair, and sparks danced between us like fairylight. “And you know the best part?”

I caught a spark on my tongue, and it sizzled. Tingles swept my mouth, shivering warm all the way to my fingerpads. “Mmm. I’m liking this part right here, but go on.”

“The best part was, you laughed. And not at yourself. You should do that more, Ice. You glowed. You looked so beautiful, and you sounded happy.”

He said I was beautiful.

The world suddenly glowed, the air scintillating with strange new wonder.

A nervous smile parted my lips. Snarking at slash-happy gangsters, no problem. Indigo kinda sorta maybe hitting on me? Shiver. But I didn’t want to move away. I didn’t want this to end. “Hey. Umm . . . Thanks for the ice cream.”

Indigo shrugged, fiddling with a tangle in my hair. My scalp tingled. His claw caught, tugged gently, stroked the hair smooth. “No worries. Went well, doncha think?”

“Oh, sure. It was okay for a first date. Let’s do it again sometime.” Daring, I dusted dirt from his arm with one finger. His skin stuck to my fingerpad, slick and sultry, muscles curving hard. I wanted to lick my finger. Better still, slide my tongue along that ridge of muscle, taste him, swallow his metal sweat. “We should figure out the rules, though. Home by ten, no shagging in the first five minutes, that kind of stuff.”

He caught my hand, teasing my claws with his. “Sure. I do rules. Whatcha have in mind?”

I stared, mesmerized. He played with my knuckles, static flickering, and I felt it all the way inside. “Well . . . what about for a first ice cream date where gangsters threaten to beat us senseless? Do I get a kiss good night?”

“Do you want one?” His gaze flickered silver, unsure all over again.

I sighed, my body alight with frustrated desire. I was sick of figuring him out, of waiting for him to make the moves because I was too scared. Screw that. “Is that a serious question? I mean, are you actually wondering if I want you to kiss me? Honestly, you must be the dumbest fucking fairy in M—”

He didn’t wait for me to finish. He just slid lithe blue fingers into my hair and pulled my mouth onto his.

Hot, bright, shocking. Surprise sweetened my desire for an instant, before it burned away under fierce delight. His lips caressed mine, his claws stung my scalp, his thumb teased that soft place under my ear where tingles spread like hot honey all the way down to my toes. He curled his tongue over mine, delicious, smooth metal and flesh. He tasted of strawberry ice cream and warm iron, dark and earthy and wonderful.

My pulse swelled, heat spreading though my veins. I tightened my fingers around his arm, his muscles taut under my palm. I opened my mouth to kiss him deeper, but he shifted back a fraction. “It’s true, then,” he whispered, his delicious iron taste a temptation. “Sky didn’t crumble after all.”

I gasped, bereft, my mouth still alive with that intoxicating flavor.
Tell me it’s not over already.
“What? Did I do something wrong?”

He laughed, breathless, and leaned his forehead on mine, caressing my hair in shaking fingers. “God, no. I just . . . I’ve wanted this for so long. I just never thought you did, too.”

Urgency rippled my muscles tight. I licked my lips, willing him to kiss me again. “Are you kidding? I’ve asked enough times.”

“I know. I never thought you meant it.” His eyes burned molten, reddish lashes curling sharp, his inky hair shining scarlet in the last gasp of a fading sun. So close, his lips an inch away, his dark male body just a stretched arm from mine, radiating secret iron warmth I longed to drown in.

Unbelievable. Confusion and delight addled my senses, toying with my lust until my skin wept. This couldn’t be happening. He was untouchable. He’d never want me.

But I was here, and he was here, and I might never get this chance again.

I slid my wrist over his shoulder and wriggled closer. His delectable scent flooded my senses with desire. My voice disappeared, leaving a jagged whisper. “Well, I mean it now. Kiss me again. I want all of you.”

He gave a blood-tingling groan and reached for me, and this time I didn’t waste precious seconds wondering. My eyes slid closed, and I let him open my mouth, seeking his tongue, enjoying the razor sting of his teeth. He swallowed on me, teasing my tongue with his, caressing my lust from me, filling me with slow fire, deliberate like he had all the time in the world. I shivered, burning, and my insides melted, moisture dripping everywhere like hot fudge sauce. Sensual, just like the way he licked that strawberry ice cream. A man who took his time. If he made love to me, I’d probably die of pleasure before he finished.

His strong arm cradled me, and when the world tilted, I let him hold me, do what he wanted with me. He eased me onto my back, leaning on one elbow above me, his wings shedding rusty sparkles over us. I stared, transfixed, my body trembling and wet. My nipples stung. My hands shook. I couldn’t breathe. My sex hurt, swollen, longing for him, and distant fear twinged my skin.

I’d wanted men before, wanted them so bad, my head spun from dehydration and my flesh swelled so much, I bled. But this was different. I’d dreamt of him too long. I couldn’t pretend this away. I couldn’t avert my face, forget myself, lose myself in sensation so I wouldn’t get embarrassed by my lust.

I couldn’t even close my eyes. His face, so perfect, the midnight curve of his cheekbone more beautiful than I could bear. His silvery lips, wet with our kiss, his hair gleaming copper in fast-fading sunlight. His eyes, gosh—I was drunk on them, tilted at the corners in a sweep of coppery lashes and smoldering with molten intent. People said he was cold, my Indigo, cold and slow to ignite, but not now; now he stared at me, hungry, besotted like he couldn’t get enough.

So beautiful. So perfect. So far beyond my sad little horizon, it hurt.

Reality scraped my soul, sharp like broken glass. Too beautiful, too clever, too talented for me. If he broke my heart, I might not bounce back.

His gaze flicked to mine for an instant and dragged back to my mouth. He swallowed, those amazing eyes gleaming golden all for me. “Ice. You’re so sweet and beautiful. I’m sorry I’ve been cruel to you. I’m just . . . it’s hard for me to let anyone close. Can you forgive me?”

He said the
beautiful
part again. I grinned, foolish, my eyes leaking. The streetlight glared in my eyes. My wings scraped in the dirt. My shoulder blades hurt. I didn’t care. I just wrapped my fingers in his wire-sharp hair and pulled him back down to me.

Gosh. Even better than before. His teeth caught on mine, sharp and metallic, and I laughed, breathless. “Say something else nice about me.”

He slid closer. The length of his body pressed into mine, lean and steely yet fairy-light, and when his cock pressed into my thigh, it felt the same. Well, how about that? He was hard from kissing me. Muscles tightened deep within me, and I imagined how he’d feel there, inside me, stroking me smooth and hot and slow. Maybe soon I’d find out.

He smiled, like he knew what I was thinking, and punctuated his words with more kissing, his lips caressing my chin, my cheekbone, the corner of my mouth. “You, Ice, are the bravest, wittiest, loveliest, maddest, most terrifying woman I know.”

I giggled, dazzled. Here I was thinking him a straight-up vanilla fairy. “Those are all good things, right?”

“You have no idea how good. Do I get one back?”

“One what?”

“Something nice, of course.”

Never thought his ego would need a kick. “Oh. Well. Same things all the girls say, I guess. It’s a no-brainer that you’re gorgeous. I mean, who wouldn’t cream herself over a six-foot-three metal fairy? Especially with that tasty blue skin and those lick-me thighs and your eyes, they’re . . .”

I swallowed. Crazy fairy whore. Waffling. Focus. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re funny, in a dead clever kinda way, even if you’re mostly picking on me. And you’re . . . Well . . . You’re just great. You don’t take shit from stupid humans or gangsters or anyone. You always know what to say. You’re never afraid—gosh, if I had half your courage . . . And you’re, like, the cleverest dirty scumbag thief I know. I just so want to be you. And . . .”