Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (3 page)

“Humor me,” Conner said.

Kiernan remembered Conner’s despair when he thought he’d lost Hannah. Their bond connected them, but it was clearly fueled by the love they shared.

“Is this when I get to say ‘I told you so’?” Kiernan asked. He’d thrown the two of them together in the beginning, encouraging his far too serious friend to loosen up and have some fun. Little did he know he’d start a chain of events that would lead them to a Shadow Sanctuary. It was all worth it just to see Conner’s easy smile.

Hannah tipped her face back to meet Conner’s eyes. “What does he mean—he told you so? What did he tell you?” she asked, teasing Conner.

Conner looked away, scowling in Kiernan’s direction. Kiernan couldn’t help giving Conner a little shit before he took off.

“I told him to take advantage of the romantic cabin and hook up with the hot Shadow while he had you all to himself,” Kiernan said.

Hannah giggled, her clear voice tumbling out like joyful bells. Kiernan didn’t know her well. Most of what he did know he’d learned through Conner’s drunken confessions after he’d left Hannah. But everything Kiernan saw assured him that Hannah was the perfect match for his friend.

Giving Conner a light slap on the shoulder, Kiernan headed for the door. He heard raised voices filtering in from down the hall. One of them sounded like Sorcha’s. He wanted to make sure Steven wasn’t hassling her again. The Shadow came off as an asshole. Kiernan didn’t want him anywhere near Sorcha. They were going to be partners for the next few weeks. That made Sorcha his.

Chapter Two

Kiernan eased his way around the doorway into the hall, keeping his body tucked into the shadows between the wall sconces. He didn’t know these people, wasn’t sure exactly who he could trust. Better to observe before he went charging into the middle of a confrontation.

Iris, Garran, Kate and the few other Shadows who’d been in the meeting had already dispersed. At the end of the long, dimly lit hall, he saw Sorcha facing two Shadows. Kiernan moved closer, curious. His destiny would be tied to Sorcha’s for the next few weeks. If they lived that long. It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more about her.

By the stiff set of her shoulders, he could tell she wasn’t happy. The other Shadows didn’t seem thrilled either. A male and a female, they crowded into Sorcha, faces set in disapproving lines. The man was of medium height and build, his red hair the twin of Sorcha’s. The female was tall, Sorcha’s height, but heavyset. Deep lines formed grooves on either side of her mouth, as if she frowned so often even her Shadow talents couldn’t erase the outward signs. Kiernan guessed they were her parents.

“There’s no point in talking about this,” Kiernan heard Sorcha say, exasperation flooding her voice. “I’m going with the Warder to find Caerwyn and the girls. I’m not asking you for permission.”

“Sorcha, Steven is very angry with you. He’s more important than this insane idea of yours to leave the Sanctuary.” The female crossed her arms over her ample chest.

“I don’t care if Steven is angry,” Sorcha said. “I can’t believe you’d say he’s more important than Caerwyn. Do you know what they’re doing to her? I’m not leaving her there.”

“Steven said he’s going to petition for you to be sequestered,” the male said, his tone more bewildered than upset.

“He can try,” Sorcha shot back. “I’ll be gone. Besides, Iris and Garran didn’t seem that pleased with him after he barged into the meeting.”

“Did you make him look bad?” the female demanded.

“He made himself look bad,” Sorcha said. “He got pissed off enough to let the asshole slip through.”

A crack echoed through the hall as the female’s hand struck Sorcha’s cheek. The male jerked the female back, his eyes wide with shock. “Martha,” he said. “What—”

The female shrugged free of his grip. Kiernan was ready to intercede when Sorcha stepped out of range, one hand pressed to her red skin.

“You ungrateful fool,” her mother said. “Steven lifted you out of obscurity. He’s devoted years to you. You have no right to treat him this way.”

“You mean he lifted
you
out of obscurity,” Sorcha said. “My association with Steven made you more important, and now you’re worried you’ll lose standing.”

“Sorcha, that’s not true,” her father said. “Your mother’s just frustrated.”

“I’m sure she is,” Sorcha said. “But that’s not my problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pack.”

“We’re not finished discussing this,” her mother said.

Sorcha shrugged, dropping her hand from her face. A handprint in livid red stood out against her pale skin. “I’m finished,” she said. “You’ve never seen him for what he is. You only see what you can get out of him. Out of me. I’m done with all of this. I’m leaving with the Warder tomorrow. I’ll keep Iris posted on our progress.”

“Sorcha,” her father said, reaching for her arm. Deftly, she shifted out of reach and turned for the end of the hall. “Don’t go like this.”

Sorcha didn’t respond, just walked away. Her parents stood for a moment, as if uncertain what to do now that their daughter was gone. Then, heads close together, talking in fervent whispers, they came toward Kiernan. As they drew even with him, Sorcha’s mother noticed him in the dark corner of the hallway.

“This is your fault,” she said, her body tight with anger as she leaned into him. Kiernan wondered if she was actually going to attack him as she had her daughter. Sorcha’s father understood the danger. He took her arm, steering her out of Kiernan’s range. Kiernan ignored them both, heading for the end of the hallway where Sorcha had gone. He wasn’t familiar with the layout of the main building of the Sanctuary. If he wanted to catch up with Sorcha before she disappeared, he’d have to move fast.

Sorcha pushed through the heavy exit door around the corner from the spot where she’d left her parents. Once outside the building, she paced across a wide green field, headed in the direction of her small cottage, swiping tears from beneath her eyes. Stupid to cry. Nothing ever changed with her parents. She didn’t know why she’d expected them to think of her first.

Sorcha had been barely six years old the day her unique empathic talent had manifested. Her parents had burst with pride when she’d been assigned Steven as a mentor, certain she was destined for a life of leadership. Steven was an Elder, with an unusual level of power. Her mother had wasted no time attaching herself to Steven’s connections. In concert with Steven, she’d pushed Sorcha to find a place as a mentor herself, using her skills to counsel their people with the unique perspective only an empath of her power ever gained. Sorcha wasn’t interested. At eighteen, she’d shocked the hell out of everyone and began training as a tracker.

Only a small subset of Shadows became trackers. The trackers were fighters, soldiers. More like Warders than Shadows. They lived out in the human world, hunting victims of Vorati infection. When they found a victim, the trackers healed them if they could. Unfortunately, most of the time, the infection was too far advanced to remove the Vorati demon from the human body without killing the human victim. In that case, the tracker extracted the demon, cleaned up the mess and moved on. It was an ugly, brutal job. The exact opposite of what an empath was expected to do with his or her life.

Sorcha hadn’t wanted to spend her life hiding out in the Sanctuary. As a child, she’d seen an infected human up close, felt the human’s dying soul screaming for help as the infecting Voratus fed on its agony and terror. Sorcha had understood then, as few of her people ever did, that she had to save as many of the poor humans as she could.

They had so little defense against infection. The humans had no idea the Vorati even existed. All it took was a little moral weakness, and the demons could begin their infection. Once they had a foothold, they worked on their victim, encouraged the human further from right into wrong, until the soul was too weak to defend its body, and the Voratus took charge. Almost too easy.

The Shadows, along with the Warders, had been created to fight the Vorati. Sorcha thought too many of her people took the easy road, hiding out in the Sanctuaries, honing their mental powers and ignoring the plight of the humans they’d been created to protect. Not her. She wouldn’t use her gifts for personal power. Instead, she would use them to kill demons, to safeguard humanity.

Her decision to become a tracker had been met with resistance all around. Steven and her mother had been furious. Her father, as usual, had been dismayed and confused. Even Iris and Garran had attempted to steer her back to a position in the safety of the Sanctuary. Sorcha, usually an agreeable young Shadow, had dug in her heels. She’d gotten her way, and had gone on to become one of the most successful trackers they’d ever had.

In an unexpected twist to her connection between touch and empathy, Sorcha found that once she’d touched an infected body, she could pull images of the victim’s home, work, companions, and more. If the image was clear enough, Sorcha could get a lock on physical locations, and could track people and places she’d never seen just on the power of her link to the victim she’d touched. Using her odd power, she and the other trackers could take the information she gained from one infected human and use it to save countless others.

Sorcha had loved being a tracker. It was dangerous work. She’d been injured more than a few times. Almost died once. But she made a difference. Every day, she’d gone out of her small, spare apartment, walked the streets, and saved the lives of strangers. Until one day, ten years ago, when everything had fallen apart, landing her right back in the one place she’d been desperate to escape.

Now that she had a shot to get out, and more importantly, a chance to save Caerwyn, she wasn’t bowing down to anyone. Though Sorcha was a little shocked her mother had actually hit her. Martha usually left that kind of thing to Steven.

“Hey, wait up.” Sorcha heard footsteps pounding the grass behind her. The Warder.

“Did you have fun eavesdropping on that little scene?” she asked when he caught up to her. She’d known he was there, in the darkness down the hall. Had felt his cool, solid Warder energy.

“Sorry,” he said, falling into step beside her.

“No, you’re not.” Sorcha snuck a sideways glance at the Warder. She was tall for a female, but he had more than a few inches on her, his shoulders broad for his lean frame. Not bulky like his friend, but still, it was easy to see the outline of muscle beneath his dark t-shirt. He might have a charming smile and the face of a golden angel, but he was a soldier.

“No, I’m not.” He sent that lethal grin her way. Sorcha tried to ignore it as he went on. “I was curious. I thought about interrupting when she slapped you, but you seemed to have the situation under control. That happen often?”

The question was casual, but Sorcha declined to answer. Not his business. And the truth was more complicated than a single slap from her mother. Instead, she asked a question of her own. “What’s the plan?”

“You assume I have one,” he said.

She scowled at him. At any other time, he might have been funny. With the morning she’d had, Sorcha just wanted a minute to catch her breath. The tension of the meeting, wondering if she’d be able to convince Iris and Garran to let her go, Steven bursting in with his bruising hold on her shoulder. Though she still hurt where he’d grabbed her, at least the pain had served a purpose. Finally, the others saw a glimpse of the real Steven.

Shaking off her mood, Sorcha responded to the Warder. “I’m hoping you do since I haven’t been to Charlotte in over twenty years and don’t know a soul there. I thought Warders were soldiers. You should have a tactical plan.”

“I have some ideas. I’ll need you to give me a clearer idea of how you track people. Then we can put together a solid game plan.”

“Fine.” Sorcha drew to a halt in front of the small cottage she called home. She should probably invite the Warder in so they could talk further, but solitude called to her. Just an hour or two alone would do wonders. Steven had been telling the truth. The meeting had taxed her strength, the emotions of so many people wearing on her flimsy shield. “I know we need to talk, but I could use a little time first. Can we meet up later?” She watched his face, waiting. Despite his easy manner, the Warder’s eyes were sharp. Sorcha couldn’t afford for him to doubt her, but she needed to be alone.