Shadowman (23 page)

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Authors: Erin Kellison

BOOK: Shadowman
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“Layla,
please
,” he begged. Her lust for life would override him. And she thought she had no power.
But she nipped his lip, then stepped back to peel off her shirt. “Right now. Here on the ground.”
The ground was not good enough for Layla, especially not with the fae looking on in keen interest, hungry for that spark within her. This was no place for one with a loose hold on life. Since only excitement billowed from Layla, the terror had to be his.
Not here. Not like this. Not where he couldn't hide his nature and keep her safe at the same time.
But she was Kathleen all over again, bent on seduction, but without the heart trouble to limit her headlong pursuit of disaster. Layla's heart beat rapidly in her chest, the tempo echoing in his. The tide of her emotion was beyond exquisite. How must it be to experience it firsthand?
He growled in frustration. “I would have visited you tonight in your sleep.”
Please, Layla.
“Yeah, that was good. But I want
you
. And now.” She came forward again, naked from the waist up, her skin like alabaster in this light. She buried her hands in his hair. Brought a fistful of strands to her face. “You smell so good. Always so good. Faery shampoo rocks.”
“Don't ask this of me,” he said, skimming his mouth over her neck. She smelled earthy, fecund, and so blood sweet.
She drew back, looked him in his eyes. “You said you were a beast.”
“I am.” The worst of them. Even now Shadow crackled with the rise of his want.
Passion darkened her gaze. “Well, let's have it then.”
He closed his eyes to hide his alarm. She had no idea what she was talking about, his reckless woman, so he simplified. “You will fear me.”
Please don't make me show you this.
Layla smiled. “Promises, promises.”
 
 
The moment the whites of Khan's eyes bled to black, Layla knew she was in trouble. He lifted a hand into the air and the forest around them went dead silent. A thick mist of shadows filtered through the trees, blanketing them in a soft, impenetrable pocket of stillness.
Considering the dark flex of Khan's expression, Layla didn't think the quiet would last long. She crossed her arms to cover her exposed breasts.
The darkness around her grumbled. Khan only lifted a brow. “Second thoughts?”
She dropped her arms again. “You don't scare me.”
“I should.” He tilted his head as if straining for control and said with that same aching deliberation, “I try very hard to be gentle with you.”
She knew that. A little less care, though, and she might learn something.
“I need to know you,” she said. And since each bit of revealed information was worse than the last, this must be a doozy. It wasn't as if she had a lifetime for him to tell her either. Tomorrow she might fall down a flight of stairs, and that would be that.
He looked away from her, into the silent trees. “The fae prey on heedless fools like you.”
“I
need
to know,” she said. “Do you understand?”
He looked back at her, his gaze black and cold. “So be it.”
The low-lying mist whipped into a frenzy, and Layla flinched, covering herself again. The wind took with it all the jewel-toned leaves and all hint of living things in a dirty, stinging tornado of terrifying brevity. Bare trunks of trees amid a soil of ash were all that was left behind of Twilight. It was utter desolation. A holocaust of imagination. The death of all things.
Her heart clenched at the sight. What was she supposed to learn from this?
She sought Khan, who was suddenly behind her. He put a hand roughly to her cheek, to keep her sight fixed on the ruined tableau before her. What was he trying to tell her?
“Khan?” She trembled, fearing what was to come.
“Please tell me you want to turn back,” he said, low, in her ear. “I can still take you back.”
“I won't go.” Her soul was ringing again with recognition. He was no stranger, yet she didn't know him. She trusted absolutely but could recall no basis for her conviction. She wanted
him
, not the polite enigma who left her roses. Five minutes or fifty years . . . she wanted
him
. Opened for
him
.
“You're a fool,” he said.
“Your fool,” she answered.
She felt a hand at the waistband of her jeans. A tug and the fabric fell to dust. She was abruptly naked, the powder an inch thick at her feet. Her skin flashed from hot to cold, nipples peaked, belly quivered.
His arm came around her waist, an unyielding band of black at the edge of her vision.
Her shakes redoubled, but she relied on the strength of his arm around her. At least he was close in this terrible place. A lonesome howl of wind lifted the ash, but she knew, strangely, that the sound came from him. He existed here, lost in this misery of gray, unchanging dearth.
She tried to turn, to comfort him, but he held her fast, and, with a hand to her cheek, turned her face back to the wasteland of Twilight. “Don't look at me.”
She was cold and scared, her womb aching. All she wanted was him. The real him.
He braced his legs, sending the ash into powdery clouds. He cast a hand up her thigh. He tilted her hips.
She went liquid hot, throbbing in wait. Her breath halted. Her core and soul braced for an invasion.
“Forgive me.” And he thrust.
Her vision blanched winter white, the barren silhouettes of skeletal trees scraping an empty sky. Her senses were utterly overwhelmed, so that all she heard was the beat of her heart, all she smelled was the blood it pumped. He pulled back, then roughly reseated himself inside her. Again and again, she was filled with him, gasping for breath in the wake of his driving rhythm.
A feminine voice from the past broke through her memory into the present.
Can you show me how to go? I don't know. . . .
And Khan's answering, with infinite gentleness.
I don't know either.
Kathleen had never known this side of him. Relentless, brutal, a being of staggering power. She'd never known the bleakness in his heart.
The wind carried a wail toward her. The warped voice had no gender—it could've been wrenched from his throat or hers.
Where their first coming together had been a fantasy of sensuality, this was need, a longing accumulated over incomprehensible time. His darkness was alive within her, circling her core, wrapping around her soul.
He could have preyed on her. Drawn from her essence. She understood that now, the danger of the fae. And she would have let him.
Here, take me. I'm yours.
The rhythm grew faster, harder, so deep she couldn't breathe. Just clutched at his arm around her, trembling toward a rapturous brink. She gave him her weight, trusting him with everything she was. Arched against the broad wall of his chest.
His free hand circled to the juncture of her thighs. Stroked her there, hard and sure, and a little bit cruel.
Her belly went tight. Her womb clenched around him, Shadow, beast, monster, fae. The ground shook and he roared behind her.
She split, awed by an exquisite flowering within that thrilled every molecule of her incongruous body. The winter trees likewise bloomed before her dimming vision, crackling into blue and purple and green, the lushness of life and an ecstasy of color. The sky went violet, stars twirling overhead. Dizzy. Pulsing with magic. Or maybe that was her.
Her trembling gave way to tears, which coursed rapidly down her face. “Khan, please, just let me hold you.”
“No,” he said. “You've seen enough.”
 
 
Rose hunched in a campsite bathroom on the cold, concrete floor next to the sinks. There were three stalls in front of her, all in need of a good cleaning. She put a finger delicately to her nose. The bathroom was bad, but with this kind of odor, there had to be a body decaying around here somewhere.
She'd worn out her welcome in town. There were strange folks about, beautiful and hard at the same time. They almost had her once or twice, but their thoughts gave them away.
And it wasn't as if she could hide in a crowd. The scarf she wore couldn't cover all of the change on her neck and ear, nor the fact that the skin on her cheek had started to yellow and toughen. That arm hadn't taken any harm during the messy business up the mountain, but its unusual alteration was now impossible to disguise.
Would Mickey mind? Not if he loved her like he said.
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
Yes, she knew she was supposed to take care of other business. She
had
tried to get in, but the security was too tight. She could take care of six men with guns, but taking on more might just kill her. It was better to find a more opportune moment.
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
If the gate would just quiet down, maybe she could make a plan. Stealing the truck had been a mistake. Killing the men had been worse. Each time she'd been forced to take a life, her body had changed a little more.
kat-a-kat: Follow your nose.
To find a dead body? How would that possibly help?
Follow your nose.
Fine. At least it would give her something to do. The smell was so strong that she was surprised she couldn't see an orange trail of awful in the air. It got more pungent during the hour-long trek through the backwoods of Middleton, and grew positively overwhelming near a circle of campers and mobile buildings that surrounded the halted construction of a row of cabins.
Not just one body. Lots of folks had to have died. This was a massacre or a mass suicide. Maybe their food hadn't spoiled, though.
She was about to open a door to one of the campers when it opened for her. The enlarged teeth she saw first, pointed like a shark's, but in the gaping mouth of a man. Her bad hand came up in defense, grabbed the ugly man by the skin on his chest, and threw him to the ground.
As she backed away, more fiendish people stepped out of the camper, a few from the buildings, too, all of them slavering like a pack of rabid dogs. And
glory
! if one of them didn't seem to float above the earth, in pieces no less. They stank to kingdom come, so she guessed she'd found her corpses.
Living corpses. None of them had a thought in their heads. Nothing. It was like they were hollow between the ears.
Could it be . . . ? Maybe the gate had steered her straight after all. These had to be the “wraiths” that the soldier at the compound had feared. These creatures had to be the reason for the wall and the guns.
“Friends,” she said, “are you what're called wraiths?”
One answered with a lightning quick dart toward her, mouth preparing to bite her head off. That wasn't nice, so her bad hand came up and slashed the man's throat. The rest of his body fell to the ground, a dry husk in the dirt.
The others looked concerned, but more for their own well-being than the pile of skin and bones.
“If we could just talk,” Rose said. It'd be better if she could read their minds.
The wraiths formed a bit of a circle around her, prowling with their big jaws hanging low. The floating one shivered toward her but was stopped by one of the others.
Curious.
Steps sounded as a woman descended from the camper to join the group. Dark haired, young. Almost attractive. Her mouth was normal, and she was clean, composed, with a light of intelligence in her eyes. But no amount of perfume—and the woman must have used a bottle—would cover her stink. This one was a wraith, too. The leader, most likely.
“I'm Rose Anne Petty,” Rose said, holding out her bad hand, which was covered in wraith remains.
The woman regarded the dead body and then Rose's hand. “What are you?”
This confused Rose, so she dropped her arm. “Why, your friend.”
“Are you some kind of angel? Angels can kill us with their bare hands.”
Rose blushed and put her bad hand to her breast. Finally, someone understood her. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“What do you want here?”
Wraiths. They might just be her answer. “I'm looking for a place to stay and, if you're willing, for a little help.”
“An angel wants help from us.” The woman looked skeptical.
“It's an ugly business, really”—but Rose was sure these good people wouldn't snap to judgment—“I've got to murder someone inside that compound up the mountain, but rest assured, it's for a good cause.”

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