Braving Fate (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 1) (8 page)

“What the hell?” Warren’s voice was rough from sleep, his shirt only partially buttoned and disheveled. He rose to his feet and his startled gaze met hers. “Do you no’ know how to knock?”
 

His sandy hair was mussed, there were dark circles under his eyes, and the hand that he dragged through his hair only made the problem worse.
 

“Hello, vampire.” She knew she poked at him, but he made her feel awkward, and feeling awkward always led to her mouth running away from her.
 

“I’m no’ a damn vampire, and you know it.” He eyed the cat circling her ankles; the Chairman ignored him.
 

“I figure if I keep guessing, I’ll hit the nail on the head eventually.” Actually, she was almost sure even he didn’t know what species he was. Mythean, for sure. But exactly which kind...

“What do you want, witch?” His tone was acid on her skin and she ignored the jab. She didn’t flinch, but it was close. Practice made perfect.
 

Anyway, she’d started flinging barbs first, even if she did regret it now. The instinct to push people away before they could do it to her—which they inevitably did because of her species—was deeply ingrained. Sometimes she even observed herself doing it, as if she were standing outside of her body and watching herself do the porcupine routine, all while screaming
No, stop! Act normal!

Warren crossed the room to his desk, its vast surface covered with books, papers, small weapons, and various odds and ends that she couldn’t identify. He quickly buttoned the rest of his shirt as he walked and she mourned the lost view of the muscles that played subtly beneath his skin.
 

Only his strong throat and the delta-shaped hollow beneath remained uncovered. She dragged her eyes from it, meeting his slate-blue ones—eyes the color of the stones she’d collected as a girl on long, solo beach walks. The look in them was about as soft as the stones had been.
 

“There’s a problem. In the underground.” Her voice was harsh, like that of an angry outcast high school girl who had a crush on a jock but didn’t know how to talk to him.
Gods
, who was she kidding? She was
that girl. She felt a scowl scrunch her face.

The black mist that snaked around his ankles drew her eye. They were the shadows of evil deeds, visible only to a soulceress. Normally, she’d only see them on rogues or other evil beings. On them, the shadows hovered like a black mist. But on Warren, they hovered around his ankles, like they couldn’t stick to him.

Why? Was it because she couldn’t see his soul? She’d heard of some Mytheans who used magic to hide theirs. Because a Mythean’s power originated from his soul, it was closely guarded, even hidden at times. The whys of his shadows intrigued her.

 
“What kind?” He rested a hip on the side of his desk, crossing his arms. His eyes had grown alert at the mention of a threat.

“Well...” She tried to think of a way to describe what she’d seen, what it had made her feel, but came up short. “Honestly, I don’t know what it was. Neither did the Chairman.”

“Your cat dinna know what it was?” He arched a brow.

“I’d suggest that you not underestimate him.” She left it at that, knowing that the Chairman would handle the slight to his honor if he were so inclined. It was doubtful that he cared anyway, what with being a cat. “I was in the underground beneath New Town. Around Princess Park, specifically.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “The dead zone? You shouldn’t be there. Why did you go?”
 

Mytheans rarely went to the dead zone unless they had an inclination to break the laws of both the mortal and the supernatural realms. She went there to hunt rogues or to steal the soul power of those she didn’t have to feel guilty taking it from, generally demons and other unsavory elements of their society. But Warren didn’t have to know that.

Warren watched Esha, unable to look away. What was it about this American soulceress that got to him? She was all contrasts. Light and dark, soft and hard. An enigma as always, with her damn cat constantly at her heels.
 

Her abilities intrigued him.
She
intrigued him, with her couldn’t-give-a-shite attitude, and the heaviness that occasionally crept into her amber eyes. He’d made a point to look for it on the rare occasions he saw her. What put the shadows in those haunting eyes?
 

She was hell on his celibacy and peace of mind. Most things in life he could pack into neat boxes in his head so he could get a moment of peace. But Esha defied boxes. He did his damnedest to avoid her because of it. He’d been pretty successful, until now.

It was one thing to change his route when he saw her from afar or to avoid places he knew she’d be. But standing right across from her, so close that he could breathe her soap-clean scent, made keeping his eyes off her an impossible task.

She dragged a hand through her midnight hair, mussing the utilitarian ponytail she forced it into. “I went to the underground because I was hunting rogues. That’s what the university hired me to do, remember? But I felt something off. So we went to check it out.”
 

Alone? With a house cat for company?
 

The irritable animal hissed at him as if it sensed his thoughts. Esha had never been afraid of anything in the decade he’d known her. She wouldn’t have hesitated before heading into the underground. The woman had a shell as hard as granite and balked at nothing.

“We looked around for a while, went through most of the tunnels on the north side, until we reached a huge chamber, the one located under the statue of Sir Walter Scott in the park. There was an enormous group of shadows. Fucking huge
evil
shadows. But there was no one, alive or dead, in the area. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
 

Was that fear in her voice? Not possible. Not from what he knew of Esha. “What do you mean, evil shadows?”
 

“Come on. Don’t give me that. You know what I can do.”
 

He did. She could see the evil in people’s souls as shadows.
 

What did she see in the blank space where his soul should be? He knew she could see the shadows of the evil that he’d committed. It made him wary as hell and was another of the reasons he avoided her. Although she didn’t care what anyone thought of her, he did. He’d worked hard to regain his honor. To do right in the world. He hadn’t yet succeeded and probably never would, but he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that she saw the truth of him. It made him itchy.

“If there were no people—or ghosts—in the area, where did the shadows come from?” he asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what is so freaky about this. It was huge and looked like you could walk into it and never walk out again.” She actually seemed shaken—there was fear in her wide, amber eyes.
 

“Until we know what this threat is, I doona want you going back there,” he said.
 

Esha sighed as she began to pace near the door. “Why not? You can’t see the shadows and neither can your guards.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

She laughed. “Seriously? Too dangerous for me?” She stretched out her arms.

He scowled. But she had a point. For Mytheans, creatures of myth and legend, Esha was the thing that went bump in the night. She sucked the power out of other Mytheans and used it against them. She would be fine. He shouldn’t worry about her. And given that her kind had stolen his soul, he definitely shouldn’t be worrying about her. But he did. He just didn’t want to examine the whys of it.
 

“Just stay away. I’ll do something about it, I promise,” he said. “But in the meantime, doona go back there.”

The cat glared at him again. It had been slinking around the room, alternately turning from smoke to corporeal form, sniffing anything that came into its path.
 

 
“Do something
?
What do you mean
something
? We have to address this immediately. I’m not joking when I say it’s really bad. The worst shadows I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes were bright, her face hard, her posture stiff. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths and he struggled to keep his eyes on hers.
 

“I’ll look into it. As soon as we have some information, I’ll tell you. But doona, under any circumstances, go back there alone. I will handle it.”
 

He turned his back on her in dismissal, skirting the side of the desk and walking to the window. It was a dick move, but he had to get her out of here. He heard her huff, stalk across the floor, and slam the door behind her.

Warren leaned over the desk, gripping the edge until it cut into his palms, and tried to drag calming breaths into his lungs. Damn it. He focused on his breathing, trying to forget the sight of her, the scent of her. How she made him feel.
 

One of her kind had stolen his soul and made him a monster, had made him kill those he loved. He shouldn’t want her. He shouldn’t like her. He shouldn’t feel this way about her. He shouldn’t feel at all, not if he wanted to keep the demons of his past from howling until his mind cracked.

He leaned back on his heels and slowly counted backward from one hundred. One by one, he carefully packed the demons back into their coffins and locked the lids. They’d break free eventually, but for now he had a measure of rigidly self-enforced control that in its own way led to peace. As long as he wasn’t around Esha, he could maintain this.

When his breathing had steadied and his mind had calmed, he picked up the phone. “Lea, it’s Warren. I need a favor, if you could.”
 

He explained what Esha had seen and asked if Lea could check the records for anything similar occurring in the past.
 

When they hung up, he called four guardians and assigned them to guard duty on the chamber Esha had mentioned. They likely wouldn’t be able to see what she had seen since they lacked her power, but they could at least be there to protect her if she went back.

Because if she got hurt, there’d be hell to pay.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The warrior beneath him arched her back, highlighting the curves and hollows that he was so desperate to touch, to taste. Firelight glinted off her pale skin.

He groaned as he pressed the head of his cock to her sex. She was soft. Hot.

“Now, Cadan.” Her voice hitched on his name, her eyes vacant with pleasure.

“A moment, Boudica.” Though he ached to thrust into her trembling body, he wanted to savor this moment, to make it important. Tomorrow’s battle would seal their fates. This was the last time he’d make love to her.

He bit off a groan as he felt her nails sink into his ass. Yes. He loved her aggression, but not now. Now was a time to be savored. A time for tenderness.

She thrust her hips, desperately trying to take him inside her. As the heat of her entrance closed around the head of his cock, a groan was torn from his throat.
 

His fingers dug into her supple hips as he attempted to hold her still, but her panting cries tore at his control. He swooped down and plunged his tongue between her lips, savoring the sweetness that was Boudica. She returned his kiss in a frenzy, writhing against him in a desperate attempt to coax him inside her.

He leaned up and looked into her eyes. “Savor this, Boudica, for tomorrow we ride at dawn.”
 

“Just fuck me, warrior.” Her voice was hard, the lust in her eyes replaced with determination. She jerked his head down to hers, delivering a punishing kiss meant to show him his place. He was used to such kisses, but he wouldn’t tolerate them tonight.

He tore his head away and looked down at her. “Slow down.”
 

She might be his commander in war, but not here. This wouldn’t be a race to the finish. He dragged his mouth down her neck, kissing her as she rolled her body beneath his.

He met her eyes again. “I love you.”