Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (9 page)

“It’s been a while since you were at the Sanctuary,” Sorcha said. “And no one liked to talk about it. Everyone who went out to look came back without them. Iris, Garran and Steven wouldn’t let me leave to track them. After a few months, everyone just tried not to think about it.”

"Zach couldn't see them anywhere?" Ben asked.

Zach was an Oracle. He'd been the one to discover Hannah's existence and set the wheels in motion to save her. If anyone could have found Caerwyn, other than Sorcha, it was Zach.

"No," Sorcha replied. "He said there's something blocking him. Spell craft. Hannah confirmed that she saw evidence of spell craft at the lab. He's been working on guiding his visions, but he can't get through spell craft. It's too alien to his talent."

“I’ve heard things here and there,” Madoc said slowly, as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle. “About there being Warders who are ‘off.’ Not right. But I hadn’t heard anything about the Warders in Charlotte. Definitely not about the Director.”

“He’s wasting his time,” Ben added. “Cross-breeding Warders and Shadows won’t create a Shadow-Warder. Only the Wilders have ever managed that. The Shadow-Warder isn’t a combination of DNA. Not the way he’s thinking. It’s more like a Mysterium. Parts of both, but different. If it were that easy, we would have been overrun with them back before the schism when Warders and Shadows bonded all the time.”

“I didn’t know they bonded at all until last night,” Sorcha muttered. “How do you know so much?” she asked Ben. “You weren’t alive back then. You’re the same age as me.”

“I get around,” Ben said, his answer not telling her anything.

She sensed that he wanted to change the subject. Understandable, since talk of the Shadow-Warder always led to Kate. No way was Sorcha going to reach for Ben’s emotions, but it wasn’t hard to tell that his feelings for Kate were as complex as her friend’s were for him.

“Kiernan thinks you can tattoo me with sigils that will make me seem human,” Sorcha said to Madoc. “Have you done that before? Tattooed a Shadow with spell craft? Because it sounds sketchy to me.”

“I have,” he said, sitting back and resting one motorcycle-booted foot on his knee. He took a long draw from his beer, staring at her face, openly assessing her. “It works. But it’s going to hurt. Not once the ink melds with your body’s energy, but while I’m doing the work, and for a little while after. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Can you give her something for it?” Kiernan asked, leaning forward. He set his half-empty beer on the table.

“No,” Madoc answered, still watching Sorcha. “The magic in the ink runs counter to what she is. On top of that, the intent is to temporarily alter her outer energy flow. I don’t have a painkiller that reaches deep enough to block the pain of something like that. She’ll just have to suck it up. If she’s lucky, she’ll pass out.”

“Find another way,” Kiernan demanded.

At the same time Sorcha said, “I can do it.”

Kiernan’s head whipped around. “No,” he said. “We’ll find another way.”

Sorcha looked at Madoc. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “Is there another option? Something else that would work as well as the tattoos?” she asked.

Madoc finally looked away, placing that dark gaze directly on Kiernan. “No. Nothing that’s as reliable. Once the ink settles in, no one who doesn’t already know will be able to tell what you are. The sigils will last a few weeks, and until they fade, they’ll be impossible to break. Every other option can be lost or taken from you.”

“Then let’s do it,” Sorcha said. Her tone was resolute, but her stomach twisted. She didn’t like pain. As a Shadow, her exposure to needles had been minimal. Shadows didn’t need shots or vaccines. The idea of being repeatedly stabbed with a needle that drove caustic ink deep into her flesh sounded miserable. If they didn’t get going, she’d lose her nerve. Sorcha had a sudden vision of herself grabbing Kiernan’s keys and taking off for the front door. But where would she go? And far more important, if she didn’t step up, who was going to find Caerwyn and the girls? She’d wasted enough time already.

As she rose, Kiernan’s hand shot out to grab her arm. “Give us a minute,” he said to Madoc and Ben. Then he dragged her ten feet away behind one of the tall, metal shelves. He stepped in close, crowding her against the shelves. “Don’t do it, Sorcha.”

“I thought this was your idea,” she said.

“I didn’t think it through.” Kiernan released his hold on her wrist and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s too much.”

“I have to do it,” Sorcha said. “You were right before. If anyone catches you with a Shadow, we’re both as good as dead. And if we die, we’ll lose Caerwyn, Sara and Lissa. I can live with pain. I can’t live with getting all of us killed. Please don’t ask me to.”

Kiernan sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. Sorcha hoped he wasn’t going to argue any more. For one thing, she was out of her depth here. She didn’t want to set herself at odds with Kiernan, but more than that she was tired of people deciding what was best for her. It would ruin their partnership if Kiernan decided to be another person who thought he could order her around. Sorcha was going to have to follow his lead a lot in the coming days. She didn’t know her way around his world. But if he was going to start trying to think for her, they’d have serious problems.

“Okay,” Kiernan said. “Lets get this done.”

He turned and walked back to where Madoc and Ben sat by the leather couch. At the sight of his face, and Sorcha’s resolved expression behind him, they both stood.

“Follow me,” Madoc said, turning to a doorway off to their left. He flipped a switch, and bright white light flooded the small room. A chrome and leather adjustable chair like you might see in an old-fashioned dentist's office—or a tattoo parlor—sat in the center.

Against the wall, Sorcha saw a padded table designed for a person to lie face down. Lining the opposite wall were a long counter, shelves filled with colored bottles, a sink, and a metal tattoo gun on a stand. Madoc must lay a lot of spelled ink to have a set-up like this.

Adjusting the wheels of the chair, Madoc pushed it to the corner and rolled the padded table into its place, securing the feet so the table wouldn’t move. He pulled over a wheeled cart and a stool. Gesturing to the table, he said, “You’re up, sweetheart. Shirt off, bra unfastened, facedown on the table. I’m going to keep this on the middle of your back so it won’t show.”

Sorcha steeled herself to act nonchalant as she pulled the soft cotton t-shirt over her head and lay down on the table. Not that it should matter, but she was very glad she wasn’t wearing an old, threadbare bra. Or something too provocative. Her pale blue satin bra was feminine but didn’t expose any more than a bikini. Sorcha wasn’t a prude, but going from a decade without being touched—Steven didn’t count—to stripping off her shirt in front of three hot guys was a little much. Lying down on the table, she reached behind her to unsnap her bra. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Despite her fear of the pain to come, it felt unbearably intimate to be mostly naked to the waist in the glaringly bright room.

She glanced up to find Kiernan sitting in a chair that he’d pulled up by her head. He looked like he was on guard. For what, she didn’t know. Madoc was only doing what they’d asked. She realized Madoc and Ben were standing at the counter, murmuring over a glass bottle. A flare of bright color spilled out, then cut off abruptly.

Madoc swirled the bottle, now holding black ink that shimmered with light, and brought it to his cart beside the table. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yep,” Sorcha lied.

Madoc gave a short laugh. “I’ll go as fast as I can,” he said.

A second later, the buzz of the needle filled the room. Sorcha’s gut turned to ice. She wasn't a huge wimp, but she really didn’t like pain. She’d been badly injured a few times in the line of duty, but then she’d had adrenaline to carry her through until her body could repair itself. This time, it was her rapidly healing body that would cause the pain, not work to stop it.

She hoped she didn’t embarrass herself by screaming or bawling. In a room overflowing with badasses, Sorcha didn’t want to be the one sniveling. Madoc's hand came down on her back, a quick press of flesh and power before her empathy settled around it. No pain, no unwelcome flashes of Madoc’s secret thoughts. Odd. Since she'd rebuilt her shield, touching didn't seem to be as much of an issue. Was it a side effect of the power surge—one she’d never noticed because of the problems with her shield? Or was it something else? The buzz of the needle drew closer, driving away her distracted thoughts.

The first jab of the needle was a bolt of agony. The punch of the metal into her skin didn’t exactly feel good, but it was more of a burn. Not unlike being stabbed by a very sharp knife. Hurt like a bitch, but not the worst pain ever. No, the problem, as Madoc had said, was the spelled ink. Every drop delivered by the needle was a fiery stab, like acid sinking deep into her body, burning her alive from the inside out. The ink spread inside her, clawing at her soul, tearing her to shreds. Her heart raced in irregular, speeding thumps. Instinct had her trying to gasp for air, but Madoc’s hand pressing into her upper back held her still as it compressed her lungs.

“Kier,” she heard him say. “Talk to her.”

Madoc’s hand left her back for a moment. Long enough for Kiernan to lift her head with a gentle touch, turning her face to the side. Sorcha let him move her, all her focus on not screaming. Her face was wet, tears she hadn't noticed streaming down her cheeks. Kiernan leaned in close, bracing his elbows on his knees, his face inches from hers. One of her hands hung off the side of the table. He took it in his, massaging her fingers and rubbing her palm. Madoc’s hand came back down on her back and the needle fell again. Sorcha squeezed her eyes shut.

“No. Sorcha, look at me,” Kiernan said. “Just look at me.”

She opened her eyes and met his. Warm, opalescent hazel, the beautiful greens and golds of Kiernan’s eyes held her gaze. The clasp of his hand on hers spread a delicious heat over her skin, as if Kiernan’s heart was pumping waves of comfort over her entire body. He couldn’t take the hurt away. Madoc’s explanation made sense now. This pain was something happening in the core of her body. Nothing would stop it until the tattoo was finished and the ink had done its work. But she was falling into Kiernan, losing herself in his eyes and the touch of his hand. Her breathing steadied.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” Madoc said. “Her heartbeat stabilized.”

“What do you mean it stabilized?” Kiernan growled, not breaking eye contact with Sorcha.

“Forget it. She’s fine.”

Sorcha let her awareness of Madoc and Ben drop away. Her consciousness shrank down to Kiernan’s hazel eyes and his strong hand gripping hers. He didn’t speak, offered no words of encouragement. Just held her eyes with his, anchoring her. Sorcha sank into him, seeing past the colors of his eyes into a part of him he kept carefully concealed. She was sliding under, past the confident, charming, fallen-angel beauty that was the Kiernan he showed the rest of the world, and down into his soul.

Into a lonely corner of his heart; a forgotten, barren place that yearned. For what, Sorcha didn’t know. Normally, she’d restrain her empathy. Would never invade his privacy by looking this deeply. But lying on the table, body and mind racked with waves of fierce agony, all Sorcha could do was drop deeper into the secret recesses of Kiernan’s inner self. Burrowing for safety from the unrelenting pain, her hand glued to his, their eyes locked. She barely heard Madoc and Ben talking over her head.

“Your cousin do this?” Madoc asked.

“These two? Not as far as I know. He threw the other pairs together, though.”

“Interesting. What does that mean for you?”

“Nothing,” Ben clipped out.

“You sure?”

“Very sure,” Ben said.

Madoc grunted what might have been a laugh. “She’s holding up well,” he said.

“Yeah. Sorcha’s always had balls. She was a tracker for years. I’ve seen her fight…”

The voices drifted away, spinning off into the thick air over her head. Sorcha couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs. Despite the comfort of Kiernan's touch, the absorbing contact with his gaze, pain was still building with each second that passed, the scouring acid burn of the ink reaching into every corner of her body as if it were replacing the very blood in her veins. Her brain demanded she wrench free of Madoc’s hand and gasp for breath after breath until she could drive away the suffocating sense of being invaded by poison.

Desperate, she focused harder on Kiernan, his eyes, the gold of his skin, and the anchoring heat of his hand. Black spots invaded her vision, eating away at her view, consuming everything until all she saw was darkness.

Kiernan felt Sorcha's body go limp, all but her hand holding tight to his. Her green eyes drifted shut. Above him, he heard Madoc say, "She's out. Thank fuck. I don't know how she held on so long."

"How much more until you're done?" Kiernan asked, hoping the work was almost finished. Watching Sorcha endure the tattoo had been miserable. Tears coursing down her cheeks, the disbelieving expression in her eyes, as if she couldn't fathom that something could hurt so badly. He wanted it over with. Wanted to get her out of there and forget that it had ever happened.