Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (10 page)

"Ten minutes. I can go faster now that she's out. Stay there in case she comes to. Shouldn't happen, but you never know."

Madoc continued working the needle, adding more of the glowing black ink to the bottle when he ran low. Deep black sigils covered most of her back, beginning just above where her bra would fasten. Kiernan hadn't been a great student of spell craft. He'd learned the bare minimum. Nothing outside of what he needed to know to blow things up. If it didn't have to do with fire or explosions, Kiernan was mostly clueless. Yet he thought he recognized some of the sigils. One reminded him of a pattern he knew related to humanity. Another, he thought might be part of an Obfuscation spell.

Madoc's work was art. The sigils of spell craft were like handwriting. In one crafter's hands, they might resemble chicken scratch. In another's, fine calligraphy. They'd work either way, but the symbols Madoc was tattooing into Sorcha's perfect, creamy white skin were the most elegant and potent Kiernan had ever seen. An inky black with an unnatural iridescent sheen that reminded him of the surface of a black pearl, they wove across her back, radiating power. Now that he was watching the tattoo instead of Sorcha's tortured green eyes, Kiernan thought he could see her body fighting the invasion of the ink. He could feel the strained effort to push it back before she surrendered and absorbed the caustic potion instead.

"She's tough," Madoc said, interrupting Kiernan’s thoughts. "I've seen men twice her size piss themselves or throw up from the pain. She didn't even scream."

"Yeah. Scorch is tough," Kiernan said, studying her face at rest. She might have been unconscious, but she wasn't at peace. Narrow lines bracketed her mouth and divided her eyebrows. He stroked dark red hair back from her forehead, rubbing his thumb over her temple. The skin there was ghost-pale, thin and so soft. He could see her pulse beat in the blue veins. Not quite understanding why he was doing it, Kiernan leaned down, resting his head against hers. Whispering into her ear, he soothed her as he might a child.

"Shhh. It's almost over. You're doing great, love. Shhh. It's okay." Meaningless phrases, especially when she was out cold. But her breathing seemed to slow; the frantic pulse in her temple eased. The silk of her hair pressed into his cheek, spreading that odd heat he’d felt whenever they touched.

An interminable amount of time later, Madoc sat back, laying his tattoo gun on the cart beside him. "Finished. They should last a few weeks. You'll be done by then?"

"Should be," Kiernan said.

"Good. I don't want to put her through this a second time." Madoc got up and began putting his tools away. "You needed some tech? What did you have in mind?"

"Two phones, to start. Something untraceable." Kiernan looked at Ben who was leaning against the doorframe, a mostly empty beer in his hand. "Would a Shadow tracker know how to use a gun?"

"Yes," Ben answered. "She probably hasn't fired one for more than training, but they carry them just in case. Don't the Warders?"

"As backup, yeah. Fucking Vorati barely feel a bullet, but sometimes a good shot can buy some time. Unless it's one of Mad's guns. Those bastards have bite."

"Fuck yeah, they do," Madoc said. "Come out here and you can look through what I have."

"Can you bring it in here?" Kiernan looked at Sorcha lying on the table, tears drying on her pale cheeks. He didn't like the idea of her waking up alone in a strange room.

Madoc watched them for a moment, his face expressionless. "Sure." He disappeared through the door, Ben on his heels. Kiernan turned his attention back to Sorcha and resumed stroking her silky hair; soothing the tension he felt vibrating beneath her skin.

Chapter Six

As dusk fell over the city, Kiernan pulled the truck into a narrow alley, stopping at an angle in front of a garage door. The building was a surprise. Sorcha wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the modern, three-story structure in downtown Charlotte hadn’t been it. It was a perfect square, with smooth gray sides and metal garage doors on each corner that blended with the rest of the street-level exterior. The only aspect that drew attention was the wide expanse of gleaming windows covering much of the second and third floors. Treated to prevent viewing from the outside, the windows had a metallic sheen. All in all, it looked like the kind of place she expected James Bond to live in. Kiernan, with his easy charm and golden looks, felt too warm for the slick, modern building.

With a warning to stay put, he jumped out and pressed numbers into a keypad hidden in the wall beside one of the garage doors. Silently, the sleek metal door retracted into the exterior wall. With a quick glance to make sure Sorcha was secure, Kiernan disappeared into the garage. He reappeared less than a minute later, tucking a compact gun into the waistband of his jeans. When had Kiernan gotten a gun? Had he had it the whole time?

Her Warder had layers. He might not be the most upstanding citizen, not if he was hanging out with Mysterium, but since she’d been with him, Kiernan had been unfailing in his protection of her. He’d helped her get away from Steven. Had held her hand through one of the most miserable experiences of her life, pinned under Madoc’s tattoo gun of torture. She’d woken an hour ago in the front seat of the truck, snugly belted in, a bag of food on the seat beside her in case she was hungry. If he remained this protective, Sorcha knew she’d start to get annoyed. But, shaken up from the after-effects of Madoc’s work, the extra care was more than welcome.

Kiernan got back in the truck and pulled them into a clean, sparse garage. An SUV, much newer and more luxurious than their current transportation, was parked beside a low-slung silver sports car. Tucked into its own corner, she spotted a motorcycle. With its black leather, shiny black paint, and gleaming chrome, it was a match for the two bikes at Madoc’s.

Parking the truck beside the SUV, Kiernan turned it off and got out. He was at her door a second later, opening it and helping her down with a gentle hand on her elbow. In the other hand, he held her duffel. He must have gotten it from the back of the truck.

“The wards don’t show that anyone has been here, but stay behind me until I get a chance to make sure we’re clear.”

“I can handle myself if there’s trouble,” she said.

“I know you can. Humor me. I still haven’t recovered from watching you take that ink.”

Sorcha wasn’t sure if he was kidding or serious. It had been bad, but it was over, and she was fine. Nothing to worry about. Kiernan started toward the corner of the garage. Sorcha spotted a discreet door flush with the concrete wall that looked like an elevator. It was. Definitely more James Bond than she’d expected.

One level up, the door opened into a wide expanse of hardwood and matte gray walls. The main room was two stories high, the ceiling painted black to disguise exposed beams, vents and wires. Instead of looking unfinished, it gave the loft a modern, expensive feel. Combined with the expanse of tinted windows, the stainless and granite kitchen and sleek furniture, Sorcha had the feeling she’d stepped into another world. Most Shadows tended to favor the old and the natural—lovingly polished antiques and lots of wood. But she liked Kiernan’s place. Even more when she spotted the huge flat screen television surrounded by leather couches that reminded her of the set in Madoc’s workshop. A gaming console sat on the carpet in front of the main couch, the controller lying beside it as if Kiernan had gotten up in the middle of a game and had never come back. Given everything that had gone on with Hannah and Conner, that was most likely exactly what had happened.

“Hungry? Tired?”

Sorcha shook her head, still looking around. Tucked beside the kitchen, she spotted a small bathroom. On the other side, a hallway. How big was this place? Based on the garage doors as they’d circled the building, it had looked like there were three other lofts. Were they also owned by Warders?

“I’m going to look the place over again, then check in with a few people. Make yourself comfortable.”

With that, he disappeared down the hallway. Sorcha used the bathroom off the kitchen, washed her face and sat down on the sleek leather couch. Kicking off her shoes, she thought about turning on the television. There was no TV in her cottage and she’d never really gotten into watching unless she was at a friend’s. But right then, she wanted something mindless. Spotting the remote on a glass and black iron side table, she picked it up and turned on the television. The welcome screen for the video game console filled the display. Hmm, not exactly what she wanted. Snagging the controller off the floor, she scrolled around to see if Kiernan had any streaming subscriptions. She was betting he did. A second later, she saw a familiar red logo and moments after that, she was watching an action movie that had been out for a while. She’d seen it before, but Sorcha didn’t care. She just wanted something to distract her.

While she wasn’t in pain any longer, flashes of Madoc’s hand on her back, the needle gouging into her skin and the burn of the ink kept hitting her. She’d spent enough time in the field to know how stress and physical injury could fuck with your head. Time and rest would smooth the jagged edges. Eyes fixed on the screen, Sorcha barely noticed herself drifting to sleep.

The next thing she knew she was being lifted, cradled into a warm, delicious heat. Her muscles tensed as she tried to figure out where she was.

“Shh. Go back to sleep. I’m just bringing you somewhere more comfortable.”

Kiernan
. She was in Kiernan’s loft and she’d passed out. Sorcha hadn’t thought she was tired. If she’d had a nap, they should get started. Go out and look for Caerwyn. Except her eyelids were glued shut. Trying to open them, she felt Kiernan’s breath on her cheek as he spoke.

“Don’t wake up, Sorcha. It’s late. Too late to go out tonight. Just go back to sleep and we’ll start in the morning. You need the rest.”

Then she was being lowered onto soft sheets that smelled of Kiernan. He pulled a down comforter up over her, tucking it in on either side. Sorcha relaxed and let the need for rest pull her under again. Tomorrow. They could start tomorrow.

Tomorrow came in a rude glare of sunlight through the floor-to-ceiling windows in Kiernan’s bedroom. Sorcha squinted into the light, annoyed at the interruption to her lovely sleep. Then her brain came back online and she sat up. If the sun was that bright, how late had she slept? Disoriented, she looked around. Her duffel sat at the end of the bed near an open door that led to a bathroom. She wore her t-shirt and underwear, but her bra and jeans were missing. Kiernan had undressed her? Brain still fuzzy, Sorcha decided to think about that later.

Instead, she got out of bed and rooted around in her duffel for clean clothes and her bathroom stuff. A hot shower, then clothes, then coffee. If Kiernan didn’t have coffee, she might have to kill him. Sorcha was stripped off and under the strong spray of water before she noticed the bathroom. Plush, like the rest of the loft, every surface covered in a creamy marble. The showerhead sent out gallons of steaming water at the perfect pressure. Not great for the environment, but just this once she wasn’t going to complain. Clean and mostly awake, she took a moment to appreciate the wide, rectangular sink as she brushed her teeth. Kiernan didn’t strike her as a guy who put a lot of effort into material things, but his home was high-end all the way. And she wasn’t an expert on cars, but the vehicles in his garage weren’t from a used car lot. The truck they’d been driving, definitely. Seeing what Kiernan normally drove, she could see how the worn out pick-up made a good disguise.

Twisting around in front of the mirror, Sorcha tried to get a direct view of the spell craft marking her body. The pain from the tattoo had faded into a warm echo. She felt it if she paid attention to it. Otherwise, it didn’t bother her anymore. Much. The dark, bold patterns were beautiful. Elegant and strong. Sorcha wanted them off her skin. As soon as possible. She wondered if Madoc could remove them when they found Caerwyn and the girls, or if she’d have to wait for them to fade on their own. She’d been so overwhelmed the night before, she hadn’t thought to ask.