Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (8 page)

“Wrap things up with the Shadow experiment,” Druj commanded. “The location isn’t secure, and our results indicate we’re wasting our time. Breeding Warders and Shadows never worked before. I thought a little extra spell craft might do the trick. Apparently not. And our friend wants a play-toy. Not one from the experiment. Too used up. He wants something fresh. Take care of it.” With a shrug, Druj stood, brushing his palms down the front of his pants. “Clean yourself up. You stink.”

Druj walked out the door without a second glance at Michael. Hatred boiled over in Michael’s heart and was swiftly answered by a laugh echoing down the hall, dimming as Druj disappeared around a corner.

The fucking demon had a line straight into the center of Michael’s soul. He’d feel Michael’s fear. His rage. And he’d know if Michael relaxed. If he felt safe. Finally, Michael’s brain began to reassert itself. He had centuries of Warder training on his side. They learned from the cradle how to manage their emotions so they didn’t feed the demons they hunted. A Warder who allowed his emotions to flow freely was one destined to lose, his enemy growing stronger with each breath.

Michael knew how to hide, how to mask himself from everyone around him. He’d just have to learn to hide in his deepest core. On the outside, he’d be docile. Terrified. Obedient. The terrified part would be the only truth. He would not accept this. He’d find a way to get this invasion out of his body. Somehow, Michael would regain the upper hand. He’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let Druj take it all away.

Chapter Five

After devouring an enormous meal of cheese fries, two burgers, and a milkshake, Sorcha was ready to slide into a food coma. It only took a few minutes for her to fall asleep, curled into the worn upholstery of her seat, after they’d left the truck stop diner. She didn’t wake until the truck came to a stop almost two hours later. Opening her eyes, Sorcha was surprised to see that they were parked in front of a closed metal garage door, in a narrow alley of an empty industrial park. A rush of sound overhead told her they were somewhere near the airport. Kiernan had his phone in his hand, texting someone. A few seconds after he closed the phone, the metal garage door began to rise, a slice of yellow light cutting into the shaded alley.

“Come on,” Kiernan said, jumping out of the truck. Sorcha unbuckled her seatbelt and followed him, a swirl of nerves and curiosity in her stomach.

The garage door rose to waist height. Kiernan ducked beneath and held out a hand to Sorcha. She took it and followed. When she stood up inside, she gasped. A man loomed before them in the dimly lit room, radiating menace. Kiernan had to be over six feet, and this guy was at least two or three inches taller. Broader, too, his arms and legs packed with thick muscle. A bush of dark hair surrounded a face drawn with broad strokes, dark slashes of eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, black eyes. He reminded Sorcha of a medieval blacksmith. He looked like he could forge iron in his sleep. Grease stains smeared across a white t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, worn over jeans so broken-in the dye had faded to white in places.

Sorcha barely noticed Kiernan and the big, scary guy doing some kind of elaborate handshake and murmuring to each other. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Was this the guy who was going to do her tattoos? She’d spent years fighting demons, yet the thought of his hands on her made her want to run in the other direction.

“Mad,” Kiernan said. “This is Scorch.”

Sorcha blinked. Had Kiernan called her
Scorch
? The big guy inclined his head in her direction. Sorcha didn’t respond, caught up in something she’d just noticed. He wasn’t human. Too strong of an energy field. What the humans called an aura. And he wasn’t Warder. Or if he was, he felt completely different than Conner and Kiernan. Definitely not Shadow, though. What the hell was this guy? Sorcha thought she’d seen a lot in her four and a half decades, but looking at this man, trying to read him, she knew she was out of her depth. Squinting, she tilted her head to the side, letting the flow of energy in the room move around and through her, almost tasting the pulse of power coming off him. Elements of Warder and Shadow, but not either. Something else.

In a terrifying, crazy rush it came to her. Impossible, but it was the only option she could imagine.

“Mysterium,” she whispered, eyes wide. To her surprise, the big male barked out a laugh.

“You always did go for the smart ones, Kier.” He reached out a hand to Sorcha.

She looked at it, wary. She had trouble touching her own kind, even with her shield working properly. Did she dare shake the hand of a Mysterium? Kiernan’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her close into the heat of his body.

“Scorch is an empath. Not real into touching people she doesn’t know,” he said. The Mysterium nodded in understanding.

Sorcha immediately decided to take a risk and extended her hand. “Let’s give it a try,” she said. Kiernan’s arm still holding her close, she braced herself. The Mysterium’s hand slid over hers, rocking her with a low-frequency jolt of power. His hand, as she’d expected from his size, was huge and strong. Interestingly, it lacked the spreading heat she’d felt from Kiernan.

“Madoc,” he said.

“Sorcha,” she responded.

Madoc quirked an eyebrow. “I thought Kiernan called you Scorch.”

“My name is Sorcha,” she said, turning to look at Kiernan.

Kiernan grinned. “You should have seen what she did to the guy who was hassling her this afternoon,” Kiernan said to Madoc, his arm still around Sorcha's shoulders. “Woman’s got fire in her hands. Literally. Word of warning—don’t piss her off.”

Madoc groaned out a laugh. “Great, just what we need. The pyro gets a girl called Scorch. Don’t burn the place down while you’re here.” Madoc turned to lead them deeper into the huge warehouse. “Benny boy,” he yelled out. “Come see what Kiernan brought us.”

Sorcha and Kiernan followed him deeper into the building. Overwhelmed by the sight of Madoc, Sorcha hadn’t noticed their surroundings. The warehouse was bigger on the inside than it appeared in the alley. Cavernous, lined with tall metal shelves stacked with odds and ends of every type imaginable. In places, the shelves stuck out into the room, loaded with bins and racks of tiny drawers. In the center of the space, rows of tables were covered with projects in progress. Metalwork was scattered beside Pyrex beakers glowing in jewel tones. She thought she saw a pile of calixes, the tools Warders and Shadows used to capture the demon souls of Vorati. On another table, half a crossbow sat tilted at an angle surrounded by bolts with odd-shaped tips. Something that looked like a small tommy gun was half under a black cloth. In one corner, near the garage door where they’d entered, Sorcha spotted two motorcycles, shiny with chrome. It was the workshop of a mad scientist/alchemist/biker. Which was as good a description as any for a Mysterium.

The Mysterium were the black sheep of their world. Thought by most to be a mutation in Shadow and Warder DNA, they were neither Shadow nor Warder. Not human, either. They shared the long lifespan, enhanced strength and accelerated healing of the Shadows and Warders, but their abilities were a bizarre melding of both. They lacked the Shadow’s ability to influence energy directly through talents like empathy or telekinesis. Neither could they work the traditional spell craft of the Warders. At least not the way the Warders did. Spell craft was the art of using tools to create constructs for energy. A Warder might use a map, sand and an anchor point to do a location spell. When the spell crafting was finished, the energy pulled into the spell dissipated. A Shadow could command energy to move something with their mind, or gather and direct heat, but again, when the action was complete, the energy disbanded.

The Mysterium somehow had the ability to bind energy into self-perpetuating magic. The applications were as widespread as the imagination. For a start, all the best weapons were Mysterium-made. Self-concealing blades, bullets that could actually kill a Voratus, arrows that never missed their target. A set of knives, similar to the pair she had packed in her luggage, lay carelessly strewn across a table beside a flashlight and several metal key chains. Mysterium-made knives were an impossible luxury for a Shadow tracker. She’d paid more for hers than most humans paid for their first home. It had taken years to save the money. And here was a perfectly matched set lying next to simple convenience items like spelled flashlights and keys that couldn’t be lost. If fighting knives and guns were just sitting around in plain sight, Sorcha wondered what else Madoc had tucked away. The Mysterium could do almost anything, given enough time and money.

Immensely rich, they were feared and shunned by most Warders and Shadows. Hating the Mysterium was one of the few things both sides agreed upon. Sorcha had always thought it was envy. Though both Warders and Shadows had cool talents, the Mysterium had an almost infinite ability to create items of power that would last far beyond the moment. She’d always wanted to meet one, though she’d imagined the setting would be a little less industrial and a bit more castle dungeon.

As they neared the rear of the warehouse space, a tall figure left a back room and walked out to meet them. Close to Kiernan’s height, with a lean, rangy build, he hung back, waiting for their approach. The second Sorcha caught sight of his caramel skin and dark hair, she knew him. Her jaw dropped as they came face to face.

“Ben?” she said in disbelief.

His eyes widened when he saw her face, before his gaze popped from Madoc to Kiernan and back again.

“Sorcha?” he said, sounding as shocked as she was. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“She came with Kiernan,” Madoc said. “You know each other?”

“What…” Sorcha looked between Madoc and Ben. Seeing Ben standing beside Madoc, she understood. “You’re not a Shadow. You’re Mysterium. How do you hide it? How many times have I seen you at the Sanctuary? I never guessed.”

“Is anyone going to fill me in?” Kiernan sounded disgruntled. “How does Ben know Sorcha?”

“He’s Iris’s grandson. Zach’s cousin,” Sorcha said, her voice still filled with disbelief.

“Not exactly, but that’s close enough, I guess,” Ben said, his low voice almost amused.

Sorcha didn’t know him well. She’d always been a little shy when Ben came around to visit Iris. With his dark good looks, passed down from a long-ago Native American ancestor, he left her feeling tongue-tied and awkward. Add in the complicated history that he shared with Kate, and they’d never been close. But she was familiar enough with him to say, “Iris and Zach think you’re in London.”

“I was. I came back to help Madoc with a project.” He paused. “Don’t mention I’m here.”

Sorcha didn’t reply, torn. She didn’t want to lie to Ben. They weren’t close, but she liked and respected what she knew of him. On the other hand, Kate was her best friend. If Kate knew Ben was within five hundred miles, she’d be on a plane to the other side of the globe.

Sorcha had learned not to press her friend for details on what had happened with Ben. Neither willingly spoke of the other. Even Iris and Zach didn’t mention Ben if Kate was within earshot. She didn’t have to be an empath to sense that Kate’s feelings for Ben were complicated. One night, after a few too many mango martinis, she and Kate had talked about Ben. Sorcha, tipsy and not thinking, had reached out to soothe her friend’s emotions.

The raw, twisted anguish she’d touched had sent her recoiling. Whatever had happened between the two, Kate’s was no simple heartbreak. After that, Sorcha left well enough alone, relegating Kate’s situation with Ben to one of those dark corners in Kate’s life into which Sorcha wouldn’t intrude.

As if he read her mind, Ben said, “Don’t tell her.”

“She’d want to know.”

“Why?” he asked, a trace of bitter anger sneaking into his voice, though his expression remained impassive. “So she can go running out of town? I’m nowhere near the Sanctuary or the low country. I’ll be back in the U.K. by next week. Just leave it alone.”

“How is it,” Kiernan interrupted, “that I bring Sorcha here and end up the one who’s completely out of the loop?”

“Poor Kier,” Madoc said, the corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “You want a beer while we sit down and talk about what you two are up to?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug and took Sorcha’s hand, leading her over to a black leather couch she hadn’t noticed. Kiernan sat, pulling her down beside him. Ben took a matching leather armchair to their left.

Madoc returned with four open bottles and sat in an armchair to their right. “So,” he said, taking a pull from his beer, “tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.”

Kiernan looked at Sorcha, one eyebrow raised.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I think my brain is on the verge of exploding. Besides, you have a better idea than I do what we’re getting into.”

Kiernan nodded and filled in Madoc and Ben on the missing Shadows, Michael’s secret lab, Hannah’s escape, and her newly bonded status with Conner. Both men sat back when Kiernan was done.

Ben shook his head. “How did I not know Caerwyn and her sister were missing?” he asked.