Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (7 page)

“Shit,” Sorcha said. “I didn’t think about that part of it. I was so focused on getting out of the Sanctuary and looking for Caerwyn and the girls. You’re sure they’ll know what I am?”

“Sure enough. Not everyone, but all it takes is one Warder to recognize what you are and we’re both fucked.”

Kiernan was right. Sorcha couldn’t believe she’d been so shortsighted. The Shadows and Warders had been isolated from each other for the past fifteen hundred years. According to the story Iris had told them the night before, it all had to do with a spell the Warders had done in an attempt to exterminate the Vorati demons the Warders and Shadows had been created to fight. Not big fans of the human sacrifice involved, the Shadows had refused to back the spell. The Warders went ahead without them, fucked up the spell, and succeeded in killing every Warder and Shadow bonded pair. Since, according to Iris, most adult Warders and Shadows had bonded as mates back then, the failed spell meant the Warders had effectively committed genocide on both their people.

It was hard to believe how much had been kept from the generations born after the split. For the most part, all most of them knew was that neither side wanted anything to do with the other. Shadows mostly thought of the Warders as brutish warriors who were little better than the demons they hunted. There wasn’t an official rule against contact, but no Shadow she’d ever heard of had sought out the company of a Warder. Sorcha had no idea what, exactly, the Warders thought of the Shadows, but she did know that unauthorized contact with a Shadow could be a death sentence for them. If she were seen with Kiernan, she could get them both killed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think. Why would you offer to bring me there?”

“You asked if I had a plan,” he said. “As far as the actual search, we’ll have to figure that out together since I don’t know how you track someone you’re looking for. But I do have an idea for your cover and for camouflage.”

“Okay, what’s my cover?” she asked.

At this, Kiernan suddenly looked uncomfortable. “It’s not exactly unusual for me to be seen with a woman.”

“Oh. So I’ll be your girlfriend?”

“Not quite.” Now he looked ill at ease. “Warders don’t have girlfriends. Unless we’re partnered to raise a child, we’re discouraged from forming long-term relationships. Especially soldiers. And definitely not with non-Warders.”

“So more like your piece of ass.” Annoyed disappointment pricked her chest. It would have been fun to pretend to be his girlfriend, but she wasn’t as keen to be anyone’s piece of ass. Even a crazy-hot Warder’s. With his fallen angel face and sculpted soldier’s body, a guy who looked like Kiernan probably had women lined up for blocks just waiting for a chance to be his lover, if only for a night or two. She wasn’t interested in joining them, even if it was just pretend.

“I wouldn’t refer to the women I date that way,” he said, sounding annoyed.

Sorcha’s mouth opened before she thought better of it. “I thought you said you didn’t date.”

“I don’t. But ‘date’ is more respectful than calling them pieces of ass.”

“Sorry.” Sorcha felt a flush of shame creep across her face. He was right. What she’d said had been rude and catty. Sorcha wasn’t catty by nature. It must be her empty stomach making her so bitchy. “Okay, so what about the camouflage part?”

“That’s a little more complicated. We need to disguise you as a human. I have a friend in Atlanta who deals with spell craft that’s outside the norm.”

“I’m a Shadow,” Sorcha reminded him. “All spell craft is outside the norm for me.”

“Good point. Okay, here it is. He’s going to tattoo sigils on your skin that will alter your energy enough to make you read like a human, even to other Shadows.”

“You’re taking me to get tattoos?” Sorcha heard her voice rise in a screech. She’d never considered getting tattooed. It was nearly impossible to permanently mark Shadow skin since their bodies healed at such an accelerated rate. She’d heard it could be done, but only through vague stories, and she wasn’t sure she wanted spell crafted sigils all over her skin. Shadows didn’t do spell craft. It was a basic part of their makeup.

When the ancients had created the Warders and Shadows to fight the Vorati demons, they’d split the powers they needed between the two races. Warders had the stronger aptitude for fighting, as well as the ability to manipulate energy through spell craft. Shadows were given the capacity to directly control the energy around them, but they couldn’t use external devices—like those used in spell crafting—to force the power into other forms. Just being around spell craft felt off to a Shadow, as if the sun and air and earth were being twisted inside out and upside down. Wrong. And Kiernan wanted her to get it injected into her flesh?

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly. “It’s going to hurt. I can’t—” She broke off. Just the idea of carrying the sigils of spell craft inside her body was an invasion.

“I don’t think it’ll hurt,” Kiernan said.

She sighed and looked away, the passing green forest a blur. Caerwyn needed her. Now that Sorcha was out of the Sanctuary, leaving seemed easy. Could she have done this months ago? Had she abandoned her friend to a living hell just because she was afraid of the consequences? Sorcha hoped not. She wasn’t sure she could live with that. If getting these tattoos from Kiernan’s friend would help them, Sorcha would do it. But Kiernan was wrong. It was absolutely going to hurt.

“Hey,” he said. She looked at him, startled by the warmth in his expression. Gently, he took her hand in his larger one. For the second time, she felt that odd heat spreading from his skin to hers. “If it’s going to hurt, we’ll find another way. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I can take it,” she said. “I’ll do what I have to in order to find them.”

“I know you will.” He gave her hand a squeeze but didn’t release it. “After what I saw back at the Sanctuary, I think you’ve had enough of people hurting you. We’ll talk to Madoc. If this is going to be bad, we’ll work something else out, okay?”

“Okay.” Sorcha didn’t know what else to say. Instead, she went back to looking out the window, aware of his long fingers curled around hers. It had been years since she’d had physical contact without some level of pain. Never had a touch held this liquid warmth. Sorcha ignored the voice in her head warning her that she had no business holding hands with a womanizing Warder. He felt too good to let go.

Chapter Four

“Does it feel like you’d imagined? Or is it better?” Druj hissed in his ear, his voice both amused and smug. Michael couldn’t answer, his back bowed in a twisted combination of pain and exhilaration, arms and legs strained, pulling on their leather restraints. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth would have cracked if not for the block of wood Druj had jammed between them.

He’d never thought infection would be like this. Had thought he’d save himself from this fate. Now he wondered if he’d been denying himself a gift all along. Every cell in his body was being infiltrated, one by one. Like a slow, relentless army of fire ants surging over his body in slow motion, the demon’s seed spread outward from the obscene point of the copper dart in his chest. It looked like a calix. An abomination of the tool they used to kill the Vorati. Instead of absorbing the spirit of a Voratus, this device delivered it. The instrument of infection, a key part of their plan, and it was buried in his heart.

Michael resisted the change, even as the rush of power intoxicated him. When Druj had called him to this meeting, he’d offered Michael a choice. Allow the infection, or die. Not much of a choice. The thought of being infected by a Voratus demon disgusted him, but death would be worse. And a death at Druj's hands didn't bear thinking about. Michael had been witness to a few of those Druj had killed. It had been enough to leave even Michael with nightmares. He convulsed again, racked by a pain that was more than pain. A pain that was the sharpest pleasure he’d ever known. An agony of bliss.

“You should be flattered,” Druj said, bending close to stroke Michael’s sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. “I haven’t shared my own seed in centuries.”

Michael couldn’t respond. At least not with any coherence. He thought he might have screamed. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of Druj inside him. He’d been promised that this would be different than their normal infections. Druj had said it wouldn’t be a full demon taking up residence in his body, just the seed of a demon. A tiny fragment of demon spirit that would very slowly grow inside him, yet leave him in control of his body. Michael would remain in the driver’s seat; he’d just have more. More power. More speed. He’d be himself, only better. That was the sales pitch. It hadn’t sounded that bad. Not when the alternative was a slow, miserable death. The loss of everything he’d been working for.

Druj hadn’t told him that
he
was the demon supplying the seed. That changed everything. Michael’s frantic, distracted mind scrambled for understanding. Druj had said he’d never diminish himself by funneling part of his demon spirit into another body. So the seed must be tiny for Druj to have pared it off himself. How long would it take the tiny seed to grow strong enough to eclipse Michael? Michael wouldn’t have worried with any other Voratus. But Druj was no ordinary demon. Several millennia ago, he’d been worshipped as a god. He’d hinted more than once that he still had acolytes in this modern world.

The tide of exquisite pain washed away, and Michael fell back onto the table, body limp, mind racing. His senses were too acute, swamped by an overload of inputs. The light was far too bright, the scent of his sweat, Druj’s faint cologne, the leather of the straps holding him down all swirled in his nose, making him queasy. A thump echoed in his ears. His heartbeat. Power vibrated through his muscles, surging down his spine. No simple Warder now. Only Druj could stand against him with this extra charge inside his body. Gradually, his heart slowed. Michael realized he’d been released from the leather straps holding him to the table. The copper dart that had delivered the demon was gone. He sat up and Druj handed him a glass of water.

“Why?” Michael rasped. He drained half the glass with one gulp, his throat dry and raw from screaming.

“Why didn’t I tell you? Or why seed you myself?”

“Both.” Michael shuddered at hearing Druj call it ‘seed’ again. The term had never bothered him before, but applied to himself, it suddenly sounded sexual. Especially in light of their experiments with the Shadow female. Michael was aware that his seed had yet to produce results. If the current of pure strength flowing through him was any sign, Druj had no such difficulty. He’d planted his seed well. Michael vacillated between sheer disgust and joy at the pure, dark power spreading through his body. Changing him, making him so much more than he’d been.

“You didn’t need to know it would be my seed,” Druj said. He tilted his head to the side as if examining a very small insect. “You continually forget your place in our plans. You serve me. Now you are incapable of forgetting. The seed will grow. And you will become what I choose for you to be.”

“And what is that?” Michael asked, no longer trying to hide his horror. Always, with Druj, he’d remained in control of his emotions. Displaying nothing, giving the demon no sustenance from which to feed. The seeding process had stripped his restraint. Michael was an exposed nerve, quivering and reacting, tormented by uncertainty.

“Whatever I want you to be,” Druj answered as if it was obvious. “If you continue to be useful and compliant, you may remain yourself in that body. If you cease to be effective, or seek to betray me, I will consume your soul and take full control of your form. My seed is small enough that it could grow into your body for years before burning it out. And eventually, there would be two of me.”

As he sat back, a beatific smile spread across the demon’s elegant face. At the sight of that smile directed solely at him, Michael pissed himself. The front of his pants stuck to his legs, hot and wet. His overactive sense of smell drowned in the acrid ammonia scent of his urine. He was too terrified to be shamed by the loss of control.

In a long life of playing the odds, Michael had never felt his mortal state. As a Warder, he held the potential for immortality. And in one night, he’d slipped to the razor’s edge of non-existence. Afraid of the consequences of denial, he’d allowed Druj to stick a ticking time bomb inside his body. One wrong move and Druj would erase him. His body would walk, talk, plot, and execute, but all without Michael inside. He’d be gone. Devoured in the service of a demon.

The day he’d begun his relationship with Druj, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t be the second-class citizen in their partnership. Michael and Druj were equal partners, in his mind. Together they would rule the world. He’d been a fool. And now he was little more than a servant. Unless he played this right, he’d be even less.

Druj lounged back in his chair, dark eyes narrowed with scorn at Michael’s wet pants. He drew a square of yellowed parchment from his front pants pocket and unfolded it, holding it up so Michael could see it clearly. Drawn in sweeping black lines was the sigil from the amulets they gave infected Warders to hide the demon inside. Druj lifted one long finger and swirled it in a slow rotation above the creased parchment. To Michael’s shock, the ink lifted from the paper, circling in a dense cloud beneath Druj’s finger. With a flick, Druj sent the ink arrowing toward Michael’s chest. Michael didn’t have a chance to dodge. The ink struck him exactly where the dart had sunk deep. The dark lines of the sigil branded themselves into his chest, sealing away all signs of the demon seed within his Warder’s body.