Shadowglass (3 page)

He scratches at a stain on the bar with a sulky claw, gouging the glass deep. Stinky snakeshifter and his girl, plotting to tempt a demoness. Let him plot. Delilah, ex-mirror-owner, a saucy young newcomer with ambitions beyond her power. A bug on Kane’s windshield, so petty, the demon court doesn’t even bother to tell him she’s here, and crafty blue Indigo had no trouble stealing this snarky mirror from under her jealous purple nose.

Delilah is trespassing. This is Kane’s city. Here, baubles belong to Kane. Everything belongs to Kane. Delilah should know that.

Sweet and venomous in his palm, the mirror whispers, sly tentacles of hate crawling into his blood.

He slurps the last of his sticky green drink and peers into the glass. “Hello, shyness.”

The mirror giggles, and tugs, grasping for Kane’s heart.

“No. Bad.” He blinks, and warning scorches the air like a shock wave. The glass bar splits from one side to the other, the crunch lost in the screaming din.

The mirror sees what he is, and quails.

“Naughty thing. Don’t sulk.” He snaps the metal rosette shut and drops it into his pocket, disappointed. Such a coveted bauble, this mirror that shows people’s secrets, back at last where it belongs. The power-crazed demon courtiers have bickered over it for decades, stolen and bribed and cajoled it back and forth like delicious soulcandy. But in the end, it’s just wrapped iron and rivets, coated in rusty grunge and tart with hatred. Twisted by too many centuries in hell. Crush it, drop it in the vault, never listen to its nasty giggle again. So sad.

A sigh sears his throat like fever. Nothing is any fun tonight, not even naughty baubles and their splintered blue thieves. Not with this horrid ache in his heart. Kane knows what it is. He’s figured out that much, though emotions often confuse him. He misses his pretty Jade, his succubus, his slate-eyed girl.

Reflections glare at him from the fractured neon bar, colored lights, eyes, shadows of rainbow limbs. Sweat sticks his shirt to his back, and he tugs his silken tie loose. The stale air slicks his insides with sickness, and he longs for the cool of home, where everything smells right and he doesn’t have to pretend. But home is quiet, blank, bereft, and at least the club has sounds and people and the warm feeling of
not alone
on his skin.

He could call her. Her magical bangles bind her to him. He could drag her here in minutes with the itching compulsion of thrall. But a ghost of delicious sensation tingles his skin when he thinks of her, and dirty envy leaches through his bones like poison. He doesn’t need the mirror to see Jade. He can feel exactly what she’s doing right now. Every sigh and gasp and perfect caress. She and her lover, thrall-slaves both.

Kane’s nails blacken, and he shakes angry sparks from his hair, his flowering teeth jabbing inside his mouth. He owns her. He could make her come here with a thought. But he doesn’t want to see her flushed and alive from another man’s loving, her lips wet and her pretty hair all mussed and her flesh swollen and her skin coated in the beautiful earthy scent of her sex.

Not when they’re together by choice. Not when she means it. She’s pleasured a thousand men at Kane’s order. This is different.

He crunches sharp teeth, and pain flashes on his tongue, the taste of blood sour and hot like betrayal. If she can fuck around, so can he. The memory of strawberries whispers temptation into his blood, and he closes his eyes and inhales, searching for one he likes.

Scents mix like spilled chemicals, blood and fairy dust and perfumed sweat, the dry insect smell of wing fibers, the brittle ash of a banshee’s song, the hot glassy shine of vampire eyes and skimming over it all like oily grime on a puddle, a sick celestial sweetness.

Honey and flowers. Trouble.

Kane’s eyes snap open, tense fingers smearing charcoal on the bar.

They’re here. Cool white twins, their vapid stink oozing. He spied them arriving tonight, falling from the sky, splat on the ground in a shaft of fetid light like the vermin they are. This is Kane’s city now. They don’t belong here. The battle for Melbourne’s souls was over a long time ago.

Fury flushes his brassy hair blue, and he jerks up from his stool and stalks onto the crowded floor. The saccharine reek draws him on, through the writhing crowd who shuffle aside for him without volition. Past mortals glued in hot blind embraces, past whirling fae dancers and sleepy-eyed vampires feeding slowly, draped on bloody couches. Past the corner bar where Angelo Valenti, Kane’s first vampire minion, shares dark wine with his scaly faeborn second and plots a spree of bloody DiLuca deaths now that Dante’s gone. Past the bright mirrored wall where Joey DiLuca sucks on another glowing cigarette and leather-wrapped banshee Mina radiates frustrated lust in a sleek fall of ultrablue hair.

DiLuca maggots. He should crush them to pulp. But right now he doesn’t care.

Beneath the mezzanine, dim and humid, shadowed bodies stretching and curling as they take their pleasure, be it chemicals, caresses, malicious fairy memory. On the floor, a dragon-tattooed banshee snorts a glittering golden line from a little mirror and passes it on, wetness glazing her eyes. A half-naked human girl moans under twin vampire boys, their fangs ripping delicately at her throat, their snowy hair shimmering in green neon as they share a bloody kiss. A shining glass fairy with silver-spun hair shoots up with glowing violet junk, color veining slowly up his translucent arm. Fairies bite, scuttle, twist each other’s bodies in drug-numbed coupling. A long wet sniff, a flutter of moist scarlet wings, sighs and groans and the dark salty taste of sex.

In the corner, the sickly smell pools like hot sulfur, and there they stand, showered in ultraviolet from distant fluorescents, dumb like brainless insects in their stolen bodies. A dark-haired boy wearing a leather vest and buckles, strong thighs, smooth sun-browned skin, tattoos curving on his shoulders, a line of tarnished studs in one ear. Beautiful young face, soft plum lips, a hint of stubble.

That one stinks the worst.

The other is just a faintly foul underling, a black-maned waif in a short skirt and halter, smeared dark lipstick, brows ringed with piercings and a red-berry jewel flashing in her navel. High heels she can’t stand up in, straps too tight around tattooed ankles.

Not blending in, not drinking or kissing or sniffing sparkle. Too fucking superior for that. Just standing there, waiting to get their own way as they always do. Both smiling stupidly. Both with unearthly angel-blue eyes. Both greasy with the stink of get-the-fuck-out-of-my-city.

The pair stares, sapphire irises aglitter. Kane doesn’t pause. He stalks up, claws springing, and grabs the boy-thing’s throat. “Name yourself.”

Around them, people blink and back away, or pretend not to see.

The boy chokes, clutching at Kane’s gold-linked wrist. The girl-thing whirls, striking at Kane with inhuman strength.

He glances at her, and blinks.

A shimmering black wave of compulsion crashes, and she cries out and staggers, red-skinned, hair crinkling in fresh heat.

Too easy.

Kane crushes his thumb in harder, forcing the boy to his knees. Scarlet blood sizzles on his knuckles like acid. Pain stabs, but he doesn’t let go. He coats his voice with grasping duress, dragging invisible black hooks through the boy’s blood. “I said, name yourself, aberration.”

The boy splutters, tears spilling on his cheeks, and Kane relaxes, just enough to let him talk. Spit dribbles onto Kane’s bloodstained hand as the boy forces the sounds out. “Akash. Indra. Curse your blood, demon.”

Kane’s hair tumbles longer, a deep angry blue. He hisses charcoal smoke, and somewhere behind him, glass shatters. He yanks the boy’s greasy ponytail back and crunches razor teeth an inch from the boy’s ring-pierced nose. “This is my city, Akash. You won’t like it here. You’ll not steal back a single soul from me. Go back to where you came from, and tell Shadow I said fuck you. Got it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but rips his claws away and strides off, the air around him shimmering with hate.

A
kash spits warm sour liquid onto the metal floor, his new body flowering with sensation. Unpleasant. Fresh. Addictive. He wipes blood from the demon-poisoned wounds in his throat, and this time they don’t heal.

Indra hugs her knees, still shivering on the floor. Pain clouds her pretty voice. “I do not like this, Akash. I want to go home.”

Akash swallows, and warm pain spreads like sunshine. Dazzled, he wobbles to his feet, offering Indra his hand. “He is stronger than we.”

She rises, clutching his hand in both of hers, and her gaze slips. “He cannot be. They told us he was weak.”

Akash breathes once, again. Pressure in the lungs, bones moving, skin stretching. Delightful. Water stings his eyes, making it hard to see. He blinks, and it’s gone. Wonderful.

Even the horrible electric din of the club pleases his ears, and the ache in his injured throat slides delicious fingers of pain down his chest. And the sounds that wrap around him in the dark, sighs and whimpers and muffled moans, they’re sounds of agony, yet they’re sultry and wet with deep pleasure. He slips a bloodstained finger into his mouth, and it stings. His tongue flares alive with heady sensation, disgusting yet beautiful.

What a strange, bright, painful world.

He gazes around with fresh, suspicious eyes. The sky never lies. There must be a reason for this discrepancy. “Things are not as they told us, Indra. This will not be easy after all. People are free. Kane is strong. Pain is . . . happy.”

“No.” Indra clutches him closer, her new dark-painted mouth pursed. “The sky is never wrong. It is not true.”

“It must be. Kane has corrupted this place. If we are to take the city back, we must watch him, and find his power’s source.” Akash stretches, blood coursing warm through new muscles, and strokes her pretty new hair with a smile. “Do not be afraid, my love. I have a plan.”

3

S
ome indeterminate time later, I wobbled back to the bar for another drink, my beer-stained diamonds flashing like drunken stars. Blaze was long gone, no doubt up to his boy-whore eyeballs in sparkle and moonshine, shagging some hot babe into next week. Azure jived it up on the dance floor, sharing kisses and breaking hearts. I couldn’t see Indigo. Probably home in front of the mirror, polishing those sexy blue muscles and feeling superior. Bastard. I’m so over him.

Me? I was dead thirsty, me. Sweat and spilled drink blotted my clothes, and the world shone starbright with poison-pill euphoria. My thighs ached sweetly from limboing about on the dance floor, my nipples stung permanently erect and I was skidding rapidly from
horny as hell
toward
I’ll screw anything
from thinking too much about Indigo’s thighs and rubbing up against that pretty emo vampire boy.

Pity about him. Terrific kisser, even if he tasted of meat, and he did this amazing thing with his tongue on my collarbone that melted my knees to custard. But our romance came to an abrupt end when we established that anything deeper than a love bite was out of the question. Sorry, cutie. I’m horny, but I’m not suicidal.

I scrabbled in my bag for more stolen cash—no point just leaving it there—and paid for two more vodkas. Down with one, sugar hurting my throat. Alcohol hit my stomach and burst like a firework, stoking the unrequited heat inside me. I’d also pushed away a hard-eyed human boy with a scary smile who stroked my wings far too accurately for someone who wasn’t supposed to see them, and a grinning green spriggan who tried to chew the point off my ear.

Sulkily I crunched the ice, muttering to myself as my vision swayed. Always it’s the blood, the memory trade, the nasty games. God, doesn’t anyone just have sex anymore?

The second drink went down smoother and hotter than the first. My skin sizzled for contact, my fingerpads itching. A few more of these and I’d be fair game.

Well, good. I wanted to be fair game. I wasn’t asking for much. I just wanted to go home with someone who thought I was cute, who didn’t want to swallow my blood or finger through my memories or chew my ears off. Who didn’t care that I’m not gorgeous like Azure, that I can’t dance and always say the wrong thing or that I’m only a petty thief.

Who didn’t think he was better than me. Not pointing any fingers or anything.

I wiped a sticky pink smear from my lips and stretched lust-swollen wings, indignation cooking a fine fat pudding in my guts. Fine. He can be like that. Screw being the sensible one, always trying to impress with how smart and cool and with it I am. Screw not wanting to be laughed at. I believe I’ll go back out on that dance floor and make a screaming idiot of myself. That might get me laid.

White dust like snowflakes lighted on my arm. I shook it off, but more fell, and when I brushed at it, it smeared black.

Ash.

The rich scent of wind and thunder dizzied me, and I turned, reeling.

Black eyes, shiny like gems. Golden hair tumbling on a perfect brow. Soft cheekbones, gentle red lips.

Indigo’s sinister client, he of the ashen lashes and kill-you-cold glance.

Cute, except for that smell. That smell was beyond cute. It did things between my legs I thought you needed a showerhead for. I wanted to squeeze my thighs together, rub my wings in his gilded hair and purr.

And he hadn’t even spoken. Usually it’s the sweet talk that gets me all gooey. Shoulda known Indigo wouldn’t work for just some boring banker.

I swallowed, dry. Too much to hope I’d come up with something supercool to say. “Umm . . . Hi. Indigo’s friend, right?”

“Indigo needs more friends than he knows.” He shifted on his stool and gave a tiny smile. Perfect teeth, no fangs, no venom. Even better.

“Huh? I mean, yeah. You’re right. Can I get you another . . . What flavor’s that, lime? Sure. And one of mine, thanks.” I paid for the drinks, and Thunderboy didn’t stop me. Good sign or bad? I cataloged his perfect suit, his spotless nails, the golden rings glittering on his slender fingers as he rolled them over something rusty and round.

Indigo’s loot? Curiosity heated my interest to sizzling. “What’s that you got there?”

“A mirror.” He slipped his old straw into the new drink.

“Doesn’t look l—Whoa. What happened to your hand, dude?”

“What?”

“Your hand. It’s like, burnt or something.”

“Oh.” He surveyed the mangled skin like he’d forgotten it, even though the weeping welt must’ve hurt like a bastard. He flexed his reddened fingers, and the burn paled and dried, shrinking to nothing. Gone. Just smooth white skin, flushed with blood. “Nothing, I think.”

Fluid stretched my wing membranes tight. Freaky. But sexy. My gaze dragged to the lickable glimpse of throat at his loosened collar. Another whiff of that amazing stormy scent dazzled me. I crossed one ankle over the other, squeezing my burning thighs together.
Okay, that’s it, I’m yours. I don’t know what you are, and I really don’t care. I think I’ll climb on your lap and beg now, if you don’t mind.

He finished his drink with a slurp and spun on his stool to face me, black eyes drunk on something that may or may not have been me. “You smell nice. Come here.”

“Me?” The word slipped out before I could stop it, because my pulse squeezed my throat and popped it out. I darted a glance behind me, to make sure he wasn’t talking to Azure over my shoulder or something. Was this my lucky night or what? Maybe he was sparkly, or drunk. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed how clumsy and stupid and tongue-tied I was. There had to be a catch.

“You.” He blinked, and the air between us shuddered, black with crawling hellcraft.

My will burned away like a mirage, and reckless desire flooded me. I clunked my empty glass back on the bar. He grasped my wrist with cold fingers and yanked me onto his lap.

I fluttered upward, settling myself, and his sudden explosive heat burst up through me like sunburn. Okay. Impressive. He was hard for something, all right. Might as well pretend it’s me.

I pressed down, enjoying the feel of him. My tiny skirt bunched tight at the tops of my thighs, and I tried to remember what kind of underwear I had on. Hopefully something sexy that wouldn’t get in the way. I bent closer to sniff him, flickering my wings lightly, and snowy ash swirled in my downdraft. God, his hair smelled fantastic, like burnt foliage after rain.

He slid shameless hands up my back to grasp the sensitive joints where my wings met my shoulders. Dirty boy. I gasped, giggling, and he pulled me down to him, his lips a burning inch from mine. His easy strength spiked shivering pleasure up my spine.

His delicious charcoal breath slid into my mouth. “You like this?”

“Uh-huh.” I liked it, all right. Desire spread desperate fingers inside me, and I flooded. Swelling throbbed in my wings, hot moisture flushed under my skin, hot water dripped from my hair to slide over my shoulders. My sex oozed heat, and now I was really making a mess on his lap.

Sudden fear clutched my guts with razor claws. I wanted us alone, sweaty, naked, and I knew nothing about him, not even his name. Fairy girls get hurt like this. They get raped and slashed and end up in the gutter bleeding. Good one, Ice. This is what happens when you forget your fear. “Umm . . . Is this where we exchange names?”

“If you think it’s important.” He flicked his tongue over my bottom lip, searing.

Thirst ravaged my throat. I shivered, and slid my arms around his neck, and his hair grew a couple of inches, flooding sky blue at the ends. Kinky. “I’m Ice.”

“Kane.” He kissed me, hard and black and sinful, and my mind glugged, as if water filled my braincase. The inside of his mouth was hot, his lips slick, his teeth sharp and salty. His tongue chased mine, wrapped, tugged. I drank him, tension dragging a sharp ache from my sex. Oh, yes. Don’t wake me up just yet. . . .

Hang on. What did he say?

Belated shock spiked me, and I broke off, my nipples tweaking hard. “You don’t mean . . .
the
Kane? As in, demon-lord-more-money-than-god-send-my-skanky-ass-to-hell-if-I-piss-you-off Kane?”

He sniffed my breasts, his tongue hungry on my wet top. “Changed your mind, strawberry girl?”

My nerves twitched to wriggle off him and run. I knew he’d compelled me. I knew I didn’t normally act like this. My common sense smothered me, cloggy like glue, and for a moment I inhaled it and choked for air. But my instinct for fun squirmed like a wet worm to be free, and longing bubbled inside me, melting my ice-walled fear.

A sexy, powerful demon didn’t pick me up every day. No one picked me up most of the time, and part of me wanted everyone to see this. I wanted to show Azure she wasn’t the only one who attracted classy guys. I wanted Blaze to see I didn’t live for his sparkle-drenched come-ons, and I wanted Indigo to know that just because I wasn’t good enough for him didn’t mean everyone else thought I was a waste of space.

And Kane was a gang lord from hell, not a fairyslasher or a murderer. So long as I kept my mouth shut and didn’t do anything stupid, everything would be okay. Right?

Besides, if I didn’t get laid soon, I’d probably melt.

“Change my mind? No way, beautiful.” I fluttered and slid my hands underneath me to get at him. No one would mind if we screwed right here. Enough people were doing it on the couches and the dance floor. Besides, this guy owned the world. He could do whatever he wanted, and he wanted to do me.

My pulse surged, flattered, and my bruised heart swelled.
So there, Indigo. Tell me I’m not good enough now.

I parted damp black cloth, and his smooth hard flesh sizzled on my palm. I shivered, dripping all over with sweat and watery desire.
Oh, yeah. Gimme that, hot and hard and deep.

But Kane dragged my hand away. “No. My turn. Tell me if you like it.” He wrapped one arm around my hips so I couldn’t move, and slid sharp fingers beneath my underwear.

His fingertip slid along my wet flesh, searching. Hot relief washed me, and sensation took root, spreading, intensifying into pleasure that worked through my muscles deep into my bones. I sighed, shifting to let him in. He stroked me, circling my entrance with a teasing finger-nail, and then unerringly found my most sensitive spot and tortured it.

I gasped at exquisite pressure, my flesh swelling hard under his touch. He caressed the perfect spot, so accurate, it was spooky. Sensation scalded like boiling water, so good, I groaned. He pressed harder, faster. Tension coiled hard inside me, a sharp delicious ache that only hurt worse and felt better. I couldn’t breathe. I was trapped. My water gushed, soaking his clever hand to the wrist, and a too-abrupt orgasm crashed into my belly like a waterfall. I gasped and clutched at his hair, my wings jerking.

When the pressure subsided, I caught my breath with a sigh. Wow. That was . . . mechanical. Unpleasant. Humiliating. I wanted to do it again right away.

“Tell me if you liked it.” Kane tickled me with a sharp claw.

My muscles spasmed again, and I pushed his fingers away with a breathless giggle. I was so taking him home. “Gimme a moment. Why d’ya keep asking that? Bruised ego?”

He just stared, and crushed my hand in his, licking his lips. “Maybe she lied. Tell me.”

My happy heart deflated, just by a whisper. Did his girlfriend dump him? Did she fake it? Tell him he’s a shitty lover? Maybe he doesn’t really think I’m sexy. Maybe I’m just a revenge shag.

The idea gave me shivers all over again. Well, so’s he, kinda. And why the hell not? He’s attractive, willing, and talented. I’m horny. Who cares? Screw sensible, remember?

Let’s be reckless
, whispered Blaze in my memory, and relief spiked hard that he hadn’t waited a few more hours to hit on me.

I swallowed, uncomfortable sympathy buzzing my blood. “If you’re asking if that felt good, honey, the answer’s fuck yes. Feel my pulse, I’m still shakin’ here. That ain’t vodka all over your hand. Whatever she told you, you’re a real hot shag, okay?”

“She said she liked it.” A crease tainted his handsome brow, and his hot black eyes clouded sky blue.

My pulse rippled.
No, you don’t, cutie. Too late to back off now. No way are we losing this mood over some absent demon-tricking orgasm-faking screw-with-your-mind bitch. She isn’t here. I am.

I trailed suggestive fingers into his lap, where he’d by no means lost that impressive hard-on. I stroked, and he closed his eyes, ash dusting his pretty golden lashes. I leaned forward to whisper in his ear and flexed my legs around him, flicking out my wings in a puff of yellow dust so I wouldn’t fall. “Everything feels just fine to me. But maybe I’d better check you out properly just to make sure. Y’know, see where it fits and all. Make sure it tastes right.” I nuzzled his throat, his stormy scent breaking bumps out on my scalp. “Wanna go somewhere and give it a try? I promise not to fake it . . . if you’ll promise I won’t need to.”

Shiver. Did I just deal with a demon?

Too late. He fingered my nipple, teasing, stabbing anticipation deep into my body, and when he opened his eyes, they glinted black and hard once more. “You’ll tell me if you like it.”