Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (33 page)

Sorcha leaned into the cool stone of the Citadel’s south-facing exterior wall, waiting for the signal. She told herself she wasn’t afraid, that the tossing, twisting, sour churn in her stomach wasn’t fear. Wasn’t nerves. She was just on edge. That was a big, fat lie. If she held her hands out in front of her, Sorcha knew she’d see them shaking. It shouldn’t be this bad. The plan was hers, after all.

Just because it was her idea didn’t mean she didn’t know how dangerous it was. She had to bump into Michael on the street, touch his bare skin and then get the hell away from him before he figured out what was up. The tattoos on her back would keep her Shadow nature hidden. In theory. So far, they’d been doing their job. Would they work against an infected Warder who was probably tricked out with all kinds of spells they’d never thought of? Ben and Madoc had admitted they really didn’t know.

That had almost been enough for Kiernan to call the whole thing off. Sorcha had to give him credit. When the Mysterium had admitted the tattoos weren’t effective against all spell craft, Kiernan had bolted out of his seat, fear and rage warring on his face. His eyes had flashed from the Mysterium to Sorcha and back again, fists clenched in frustration.

Madoc had leveled a bland look at him and said, “What do you want, man? This is magic. There are no guarantees.”

Kiernan managed to rein in his emotions, sit back down, and continue their discussion. But his eyes had burned into Sorcha for the rest of the night. And when he’d taken her to bed, he’d made love to her with a deliberation that branded every inch of her body. If their bond hadn’t been fully developed before, it was now. He hadn’t said a word to talk her out of this. Sorcha could guess what it had cost him to step back and let her put herself in danger. She wished she could make him understand that she wasn’t reckless. Not usually. When they had Caerwyn and the girls back, Sorcha was more than ready to return to her quiet life. Not in the Sanctuary. She wanted her freedom. And maybe she’d go back in the field, but that wasn’t reckless. Dangerous, but not reckless.

A brief fantasy of patrolling with Kiernan flashed through her mind. If she stayed with him, they’d have to set up in another city. They could get a place and patrol together. He could help her track demon victims, and she’d help him take out the infected. They’d sleep late during the day, tired from patrolling the night before, and wake to make love before she got up to work on her glass.

A sudden vibration in her back pocket jerked Sorcha out of her fantasy of a life with Kiernan. Her phone. The text she’d been waiting for. She checked the screen.

He’s on the move. Get ready.

Alexa didn’t like Kiernan much, but she’d been willing to help anyway. She’d said she would text Kiernan when Michael was leaving the building. She’d also provided the information that Michael’s favorite lunch spot was two blocks south, letting Sorcha wait out of sight in a position that should put her right in Michael’s path. If he decided to drive to lunch, or go north, she’d either have to think fast or start running to catch up.

Across the street, tucked into an alley, she could barely see Kiernan’s gray shirt. He was positioned closest to Sorcha, watching the main door of the Citadel. When Michael left the building, Kiernan would signal Sorcha. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, heart thudding in her chest so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Too much adrenaline, and she hadn’t even left her hiding place.

Then she saw Kiernan’s hand signal across the street. He had been holding his hand up, palm facing her, telling her to hold her position. So deliberate it looked like he was moving in slow motion, Kiernan turned his hand and gestured for her to move forward. Sorcha walked as if someone else were in control of her body. Her stride was long and confident. On the inside, she trembled. A high ringing sounded in her ears. This was it. No room for mistakes, not now. Every step had to be perfect.

Sorcha walked down the street toward the Citadel entrance, looking past the other pedestrians, her eyes lingering on them only long enough to identify Michael. She’d worried about spotting him. They’d never been face to face, and a description wasn’t the same as knowing someone’s face. She shouldn’t have worried. He was impossible to miss. Taller than most men, but a little shorter than the average Warder, his blond hair was cut in a conservative style that made her think of a banker. Or a lawyer. Kiernan had been dead on when he’d said, “Imagine what you’d get if you crossed a Warder with a CEO. That’s Michael.”

The possibly-infected Director lacked the physical power of the other Warders she’d seen. In his case, it didn’t matter. He radiated authority. Broad shoulders, cold eyes. A hint of pockmarks on his cheeks, she noticed with a quick glance as she grew closer. Odd. Whatever had caused those must have been bad for a Warder his age to bear scars. Another few steps and she was almost even with him. Breath uneven, heartbeat thundering in her ears, Sorcha wondered for a second if she was going to pass out in the street from the tension.

Then she was a pace in front of him and moved as if she’d rehearsed it a thousand times. Using her Tk to smooth the uneven edges in her performance, Sorcha pretended to catch her toe in a crack on the sidewalk, twisting and falling directly into Michael’s midsection. She cried out in a high-pitched shriek, grabbing out at Michael’s wrist as she fell. Out of reflex, he caught her, his hands closing over hers in a firm, warm press of flesh against flesh that gave her what she needed.

Closing her eyes for a moment. Sorcha drew in everything she could get from the contact. She could sort through the images and flashes of energy later. For now, she needed to take all she could. She swayed, their clasped hands all that kept her from falling. In the rush to get what she needed from Michael, she’d let go of her Tk. Now, so close to him, she was afraid to use it. In the end, she didn’t need to. He pulled her back to standing, but didn’t release her hands. Their eyes met and Sorcha was startled by the icy gray-brown of his. She’d never seen brown eyes that lacked all warmth. His gaze sharpened on her, as if finally seeing her. The real her.

Sorcha ducked her head and tugged on her hands, ready to get the hell away from him. She couldn’t feel the infection, not the way she normally would have. But she felt the rot, the wrongness of him. Somewhere, deep inside this Warder, there was something very off. And it was hungry.

Sorcha yanked her hands from his, hastily apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually so clumsy. Are you okay?” She edged away from him as she spoke, preparing to take off. A hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her.

Michael leaned down to study her. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, the concern in his voice terrifying.

“I’m fine. Fine. I’m so sorry.” Sorcha edged away, hoping Kiernan wasn’t about to come after her and blow their cover.

Michael released his hold on her shoulder, his hand tangling in her loose hair for a moment before she was able to move completely free of him.

“Sorry,” she said once more. With a breath to bolster her courage, she turned her back on him and continued up the street to the pre-arranged meeting point. For three long seconds, she felt Michael’s eyes boring into her back. Too long. The whole encounter had taken too long. The good news was that she’d had enough contact to get a solid read on him. The bad news? He’d noticed her. She was just supposed to bump into him and move on. Instead, Michael had seen her face. He’d looked into her eyes.

She doubted he’d seen what she was, but still, the minute they’d spent together was about forty-five seconds too many.

Sorcha watched Ben and Madoc as they bent over the tiny, glowing ball of energy, their dark heads almost touching. She had no idea what they were muttering to each other while they dusted the sickly green ball with a phosphorescent yellow powder, but they were intent on their task.

She leaned into Kiernan, soaking in his heat and strength. The adrenaline rush of touching Michael had faded not long after they got back to the loft, leaving her with weak knees and clammy palms.

They’d barely cleared the elevator before Kiernan had her in his arms, enclosing her in his energy, in their bond. She’d actually felt her vitality returning, Kiernan’s power augmenting her own until she was steady on her feet once more.

Cradling her close, he’d looked over her shoulder at Ben and Madoc and said, “Make some coffee, will you?”

She’d heard noises from the kitchen that suggested one of the Mysterium was doing as he’d asked. Sorcha would have had to back out of Kiernan’s embrace to check. She didn’t care enough about the coffee to move. Kiernan’s heart beat under her ear in solid thumps. His arms were tight around her. He wasn’t letting her go. While yesterday that idea had been aggravating, now, so soon after touching Michael, it was all the comfort she needed. If her plan had gone bad, Kiernan would have been there. In all her fear and second-guessing, she had never doubted that. Sorcha sighed against him, finally relaxing.

He dropped his mouth to the top of her head, laying a long, gentle kiss on her hair. “I did not like that, Scorch. I’m cool with you fighting. But after this is over, let’s not have you go head to head with infected Warder Directors on your own. ‘Kay?” He nuzzled his lips against her.

Sorcha smiled into Kiernan’s chest. “Okay,” she murmured. “I’m good with never doing that again. I started to panic at the end.”

“We’re solid now,” he said, stroking a hand down her hair. “You got what we needed. Now Mad and Ben just do their thing, and we can go get the girls.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be that easy.” Sorcha turned at the sound of Ben’s voice.

He wore a sardonic grin on his face, but the smile didn’t quite reach his dark eyes. Handing her a cup of coffee, he said, “At least you got almost a minute of solid contact. Was it enough, or do you need us to refine it?”

Sorcha eased a step away from Kiernan to take the coffee. She felt steadier after being close to Kiernan but coffee never hurt. And they had more work to do. She’d gotten a lot from Michael, but none of it was clear enough to use directly. As they’d suspected, he’d used spell craft to block any tracking. Without the spell craft in the way, she should have been able to touch him and get a visual on any location he regularly visited. With a little focus, she could see places he’d only been once or twice. Then she could track the locations the same way she tracked people, using traces of energy to lead her in the right direction.

What she couldn’t do, as they’d learned trying to track Caerwyn, was unravel the spell craft blocking her quarry. It would have been easier—safer—if she could have gathered Caerwyn’s energy into a neat little ball for the Mysterium to work on. She’d tried before she came up with the idea of touching Michael. But Caerwyn was too fractured. Confused. Her energy wasn’t as distinct as it should have been. Sorcha couldn’t get it to hold well enough for the Mysterium to remove the spell craft around it.

Michael’s energy was repugnant. Something rank ran through it, as if it oozed evil. Maybe it was the demon infecting him, maybe just his own corruption. Regardless, it was strong and clearly his. Exactly what they’d needed. Sorcha had focused on the flashes of locations she’d seen as she’d drawn his energy inward, pulled those that tasted of Caerwyn and wrapped them in a nice, glowing little ball of Michael’s essence. She’d been relieved to pass the sticky, hot thing over to the Mysterium.

They’d brought it to the coffee table where they’d set up their tools. Sorcha had leaned into Kiernan and watched Ben and Madoc get to work. They’d been at it now for almost twenty minutes. When she saw their faces, they both wore identical grim smiles, reminding her of mad scientists. No one liked their reason for doing the spell craft, but they were still enjoying the challenge.

The light outside was starting to dim. Michael hadn’t left for lunch until one thirty, but how had it gotten to be late afternoon so quickly? None of them had eaten much since breakfast, too on edge to bother with anything as mundane as food. Sorcha eased away from Kiernan and went into his kitchen, opening and shutting drawers until she found the one she wanted. Beside the refrigerator, it was stuffed with menus of every color. Some appeared new, some faded and torn. Grabbing the chunk on top, figuring those were the restaurants Kiernan ordered from most often, Sorcha brought them to the bar and laid them in front of him.

He laughed when he looked down at her haul. “Hungry again?” he asked, sliding his arm around her waist to pull her against his side. “It’s a good thing I’m loaded or I’d go broke trying to keep you fed.”

“Whatever,” she said, bumping her hip against him. “My glass makes me a good living. I can keep myself fed.” He growled above her. They’d deal with money and a lot of other issues later. When the mission was complete.

Sorcha ignored him and flipped to a new menu. Not Italian; they’d had that already. Mexican? Too heavy. They had a sketchy night ahead of them. If Ben and Madoc were able to pinpoint Caerwyn’s location, they’d know where to find her. But not what condition she’d be in. Or how to get her out. Was she guarded? Alone? They had to be ready for anything. Filling up on burritos was not going to keep them sharp. Sushi? She set that menu aside. Sushi sounded perfect.