Shadowstorm (The Shadow World Book 6) (12 page)

Nico drew his knees up to his chin, looking utterly shell-shocked. “But…you enjoy it.”

A flare of anger lit in David’s heart—defensive, to be sure, but anger still. “Yes, I do,” he snapped, sitting up. “It’s what I was made for. What we were
all
made for. We live in denial of the fact that we were created to kill humans, to control their numbers. We failed at that mission, and they turned around and killed your people and ours, and Witches, and each other for centuries. And if the price of being able to stop Morningstar, or any other threat to our world, is that every month I have to drain some rapist until he shrivels like a prune, I will revel in it and walk away smiling.”

He let the power in his aura flare as well, letting the Elf see just what he’d gotten into. “You knew what we were, what I am, when you came here.”

He knew Nico could sense what he was doing; but the Elf was still staring at him, his fear turning gradually into sadness.

Nico nodded slowly. “Yes…I knew. I abandoned my own people and my life to help you, and even if I did regret it, there’s no turning back.”

Now, David lowered his eyes. “Fine,” he said, defeated. “If you want I’ll call Stella and she can undo—”

“No,” Nico said vehemently, expression changing completely. “No, I don’t want that.” He turned toward David and lifted a hand to his face; the relief that Nico hadn’t decided he was too monstrous to be touched was almost overwhelming.

They leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I don’t want that,” Nico repeated. “I’m sorry. I knew there were things in your life I wouldn’t want to see, but it was still a shock when it hit me. I can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but…I know you have no choice. At heart I know what kind of man you are, David.”

“And what kind is that?”

Nico smiled. “The kind I love.”

David stared at him, and the surprise on his face was apparently rather amusing to the Elf, who chuckled, kissed his nose, and stretched back out under the blankets. In the midst of trying to figure out what to say, David noticed Nico already looked better—his face was less drawn, and light had rekindled in his eyes. He was still moving slowly and still looked exhausted, but even a few hours had made a big difference.

Nico closed his eyes, still smiling, but now wryly. “David Solomon speechless,” he said. “Surely a sign of impending doom for one and all.” One eye opened partway. “Close your mouth and get in here. I’m freezing.”

David nodded, still mute, and did as the Elf directed, sliding in next to him and drawing him close. His mind offered a comparison: Miranda preferred to be the little spoon, with her Prime against her back, both facing the same direction; Nico liked sleeping face to face. He thought back—no matter how they fell asleep he’d always woken to find Deven on the other side of the bed, connected only by a hand around David’s throat or on his chest, anywhere he could feel a pulse.

It was the first time he’d really thought about the differences in an entire year of snuggling and kissing the Elf. Perhaps now that there was a real possibility they could give each other more, his thoughts were allowing themselves to wander…no, more like cartwheel…in that direction.

Not to mention it took his mind off Nico’s words.

In most of his relationships David had been the one to say it first. Despite all of his emotional defenses, that had always come easily—by the time he made the declaration, it seemed like a foregone conclusion. It was logical to say it, because there was no doubt it was true, and it was important the other person know. Of
course
he loved Miranda. Of
course
he had loved Deven.

Did he love Nico?

Of
course
he did.

He had, in all reality, for a long time. Even in the first month of the Weaver’s stay, David found he couldn’t look at him without a sharp pain in his chest, breath catching, a visible shiver threatening to escape. As time wore on and Nico grew weaker, that pain softened into an ache that never left the Prime, letting him set aside that smoldering desire so he could be what Nico needed him to be until one day, he had hoped, things would get better for everyone.

But it had always been love. There was no doubt remaining.

By the time he reached that conclusion, of course, Nico was fast asleep.

That was all right. It could wait a little longer. For now, he followed his Elf’s fine example and settled in to sleep.

Chapter Four

Here.

She took a step closer to the cliff, shifting left and right until she knew—she felt—she was in the exact right spot. The angle facing the trees was right, the elevation right.

Here was where she had been standing that night when the world went to hell.

The wind was hard and cold out here without a sprawling complex of buildings to break it. The land leading up to the cliff was scoured bare, piles of rubble like hulking monsters in the dark. If this had been a human home, there might still have been bone fragments in the dirt, but when vampires died, nothing was left but metal.

She thought of the shattered, bloodstained Signet David had held out to her that night, recovered from the tumble of concrete where one of the best friends she’d ever had was crushed, holding on to life just long enough to say goodbye.

Miranda didn’t bother wiping her eyes. She’d known coming here would make her weep. She was, in fact, impressed with herself for holding it together as well as she was.

Everything about this place had been beautiful.

All of it was gone.

She looked out across the plain, picking out details: a boarded-over hole whose steps led down to the weapons vault door, and two more like it; one had held servers and other tech in a familiar system layout, and the other had been the odd variety of things you’d expect to find in a longtime couple’s attic. Everything from all three vaults had survived, and it was all in storage at her Haven. David was keeping it all together in case…just in case.

Miranda carefully picked her way back toward the memorial, glancing over at Avi, who stood guard at the car. His presence was comforting; he was an imposing man, amazing in battle but with a gentle way about him she couldn’t quite describe. He hadn’t been here that night, but he understood he was standing at the edge of a graveyard, and maintained a respectful silence.

She wasn’t sure who had built the memorial—probably the surviving staff or Elite who came back after the demolition crews to see the remains of their lives. Whoever they were, they had salvaged enough intact cinder blocks to build a semicircular windbreak, and inside that little enclosure were seven-day candles, crosses, cards leached colorless by rain, and other mementos of the people who had died here.

Among the tributes was a still-sealed bottle of Woodford Reserve. Miranda smiled, as well as at the small wood plaque carved with intricate Celtic knotwork—an offering for Deven, who she was almost, almost willing to concede had died here with his Consort. She still held on to that tiny scrap of hope, though it was shrinking more each night.

Her sigh was lost in the night air but the bricks caught her voice and held it well enough. “I didn’t really know what to bring you,” she said, sitting down cross-legged. “Everything I could think of just seemed so stupid. So I did what I do—I figured you’d like that best anyway.”

Quietly, she began to sing.

She’d written the song just for this time, this place, this lost heart. As much as she hated songwriting she had to admit it was good; if she’d recorded it, she would have another hit on her hands.

She didn’t need another hit. She needed to make an offering.

For just a moment the wind stilled and it seemed like the night was listening.

She hadn’t intended it, but a capella with the chorus of crickets and the forest canopy beyond the cliff rustling in a sea of dark leaves, the song had an almost Elven feel to it, and on the last chorus she changed it up a bit to emphasize that. What had started as a fairly standard ballad now sounded haunting, hollow, and sorrowful, with the wind blowing through it. She tried to think of that emptiness as potential, not annihilation.

Kai would be proud.

As the song wound to its close—returning to the original theme in a kind of spiral, another Elven thing she’d learned—her voice faded out into the damp air.

“Sorry the candles are out,” she said quietly. “I didn’t bring a lighter. But…”

Curious, Miranda focused all her attention on one of the glass votives as if she were going to move it with her mind, but instead she concentrated on the wick drying out, heat gathering in its fibers and the wax around it, and—

It lit.

She got to her feet and stepped back, looking around in apprehension, but of course there was no one to see her except Avi, who had been resolutely not watching her in her private grief.

Her suspicion was confirmed, then—even with the Atlantic Ocean and a continent between them and Eastern Europe, their gifts were contagious. She had not yet heard Jacob, Cora, or Olivia mention picking up any of theirs, but if they were to try instead of waiting for it to happen, it might be a different story. They were all still a little spooked at the idea of their abilities merging. Miranda didn’t blame them, but she’d had more time to get used to the idea.

Miranda absently dusted off her jeans and leaned down to unstick a leaf from the toe of her boot; as she started to straighten, though, something in her peripheral vision made her pause.

She held still and waited. There it was again: as its flame fought against the wind the candlelight had caught something metallic on the ground. The object was half-covered in dirt, but still flashed like a star, or a tear, against the earth.

Cautious, she reached over to brush the dirt away; it was probably just some kind of construction debris, but something about the way the light hit it made her close her fingers around the small object and pluck it from its resting place.

Her skin recognized it before her mind did, and her hand began to tremble as she took the hem of her shirt and cleaned off her prize. By the time she held it up to the light — unnecessary given her eyesight, but still, essential to verify to herself that she was looking at what she was looking at—the tremor had spread through her body, and she nearly sat back down in the dirt.

Silver, moonstone.

Nico’s ring.

What was it doing here? If it had been in Deven’s pocket that night it would have fallen out down below the cliff somewhere, and if it had been blown here all the way from their suite surely it would have sustained some kind of damage. The explosion had been intense enough to melt what metal it didn’t pulverize. Aside from the dirt, the ring was flawless.

She turned it over and over in her palm, heart pounding even though she wasn’t sure why. Yes, it was strange that it had survived, but it could be that Elven silver was stronger, or that there was some sort of protective enchantment on it.

Even thinking it, however, she knew better. Nothing in their lives happened by coincidence. In their world tattoos changed shape, ravens landed on the ground exactly when thought about, and Elves just happened to be holding magic communicator stones when the vampire on the other end made a call for help.

The moonstone rings were worn by the priesthood of Theia, the Elven goddess, signifying the bond between her and their souls. According to Nico the term “priest” could be applied to adepts of a number of different disciplines; he and Kai both were considered priests. As far as Miranda knew, the priesthood of Persephone had all been ecclesiastical in nature, but anyone who reached full initiation into the Order of Elysium received a labradorite ring a lot like this one.

Nico had given Deven his as a token of love and a promise to return…and Nico was no longer a priest of Theia, technically, as he was no longer a pure Elf and had been thrown out of his homeland. Was the ring useless now? Were they supposed to do anything besides look impressive? This one had opened the Codex of Persephone even though it was made for a different deity. What else could they do?

Miranda closed her hand around the ring and also closed her eyes, grounding herself firmly in the earth beneath her feet before reaching out with her senses and tentatively touching the ring. She no longer had the Sight, whatever David might believe, but she could still feel the tendrils of energy that connected things—changing their bond that night had changed her abilities as well, giving her senses a precision they’d never had before.

She felt the ring as a hum of energy in her hand, as if it weren’t a solid object, but a vibration. David had told her during one of his enthusiastic verbal meanders about science that the whole universe was dancing every moment—at its most basic level all matter was in motion. Holding the ring, she could believe it.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Are you magic too? I guess I should take you back to Nico.”

She frowned. The stone was starting to feel warmer than it should. Each passing second it grew warmer and warmer, until it was genuinely hot. The energetic vibration she’d sensed became a real physical buzz that left her hand numb—and before she could really register what was happening, the ring grew so hot she cried out and dropped it.

“Jesus!” she gasped, clenching her hand against her chest. She heard footsteps rushing toward her; Avi had apparently decided to throw reverence to the wind and come to the aid of his Queen.

“My Lady, are you all right?”

She nodded, feeling dizzy, and looked down at her palm. An oval had been burned into her flesh, but it immediately began to heal, the searing pain fading until it was just sore, then itchy, then gone.

“That moonstone ring,” she said, pointing. “Can you touch it—very carefully—and see if it’s still hot?”

Avi was perplexed, but didn’t argue. As he bent to retrieve the ring she wondered, briefly, if she could bear a Second who didn’t argue with her when she did something dumb. Faith had been loyal to a fault, and had never disobeyed a direct order, but she had questioned her Pair regularly, just as they wanted her to. Signets who thought themselves infallible became complacent, and complacency had cost many of them their heads. Given the same rank, would Avi speak up when needed, or was he too obedient? Was she sensing a lack of willfulness where there was in fact just a quiet man who didn’t feel the need to constantly hear his own voice?