Disenchanted (20 page)

“Who?”

“The shadows, Schattenkind.”

All the heat drains from my body and my teeth begin to chatter as I look around the room. Shadows stretch from every corner, sliding across the floor and walls converging on the huddled group of my friends.

“How? I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are. Now disperse them.”

I hear the door open, unable to see it behind the curtain of darkness. A blinding spot of light appears in the shadowy cage containing the others.

“Milord,” yells Brand.

The shadowy film that coats everything writhes with a life of its own, deepening to near pitch black. Licking my lips I take a jagged breath and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing the shadows away. No such luck, the once blinding light, now no brighter than a child’s nightlight, the only sign they are still there.

“I can’t. I don’t know how.”

Royd drops my hands pushing me toward a chair as he turns. “Cover your eyes,” he says over his shoulder.

I drop my chin to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut, bringing my hands up to cover them. The weight of yet another failure pushes me further into the chair.

The warmth of a roaring fire in winter. The heat of a summer day. The melting force of a blowtorch. The pain of, this is what it must feel like in the center of the sun. Light builds behind my covered eyes matching the intensity of the heat, until spots dance across the lids. Huddling in on myself, I want to scream, or stop, drop and roll, maybe both. Coherent thought is not exactly high on the list of priorities. Neither is following directions. I open my eyes and my jaw drops.

White–hot light fills the room, the receding shadows nearly dispersed. A floating sword bathed in a golden glow. Light and shadows refract against a body kneeling in front of the group. My ears ring with the fearful cry of a fox. A Nyssa–sized bubble of undulating water. Most shocking of all, there’s nothing to mark the place where Dara stood, except a few stray scraps of flaming cloth. Dara. She can’t take this kind of light. Oh gods, I’ve killed her!

Ears ringing, I can’t hear myself think let alone scream, but Royd looks back at me. His eyes two radiant orbs, mini suns set in a blazingly beautiful face. “I told you to cover your eyes!”

“Dara!” I point to what’s left.

I just sit there, mouth hanging open as he turns away.

The shadows have receded back into the corners of the room, smoking wisps of darkness. The light dims back to a normal 60–watt level, and Royd is shaking me until my brains rattle.

“I told you to cover your eyes, you little fool.” The concern on his face more than his harsh words brings me out of my stupor.

“Sorry,” I mutter, lame, but I can’t come up with anything better. He pulls me into his embrace. I shiver as his breath blows the hair away from my ear.

“Do you not know it is dangerous to look into the sun?”

I pull back a little—okay, a lot—confused. He laughs, hugging me once more before turning to the others.

“What was that?” Nyssa stands in a puddle of water. I swear the fox is laughing as he looks at it, if Rey were in human form potty jokes would abound. I hope she has the forethought to come up with some rebounds about the stench of burning fur.

The walking shield turns out to be that cool taste of winter I’d sampled outside Atramentous. His animosity toward me downright chilling.

Brand has sheathed his sword, something I’m personally grateful for, considering the intensity of the anger I feel directed at me.

His Shield will protect and his Sword will cut.
A shiver rides along my spine.

“I see everyone survived virtually unscathed.”

As the words leave his lips, my tears escape. “Not everyone,” I manage between hiccuping sobs. Slowly everyone turns toward the smoldering remains of cloth and ashes where Dara stood.

Royd’s laughter is a slap in the face of my grief and I return it, my palm connecting with the side of his face.

Brand and his friend step toward me, but he waves them away. The menace in his eyes and grasp on my wrist contradict the smile gracing those lush lips.

“First Arrow, would you reveal yourself and put Miss Fey’s fear to rest?”

Dara enters from the hall leading to the other rooms. Most of her clothing still intact, but any exposed flesh sports a painful looking sunburn.

The instinct to rush over and hug her is flattened by the rigidness of her frame. Her fingers clench, unfurl and clench again as blank eyes stare at me from under scorched bangs.

“As you can see, your vampire is virtually unscathed, Miss Fey.”

Dara takes a step toward him and stops as Brand and his friend move between them.

“In answer to your question, my little Nixie; what you felt was a taste of what Miss Fey is capable of.”

Nyssa shivers as she stares at me.

Great. Just when I thought my friends couldn’t be any more afraid of me, Royd tosses another log on the fire.

“I. Didn’t. Do. Anything.”

“Control your anger, Schattenkind, or we will have a repeat.”

I flop back in the chair in a fit of not–so–righteous anger.

“What about the light and heat?” asks Nyssa.

I’d like to know that too, but Royd just smiles. Looking at Dara, I can practically see the wheels spinning as she studies him. Going to have to pump her for info later, that is, if she even wants to be around me after Royd nearly roasted her.

Royd and his posse huddle together. I want to approach Dara, but I can tell she’s trying to listen in and I’m a little afraid of what kind of reaction I’ll receive. Nyssa keeps watching me from the corner of her eye. Rey cocks his head to one side and wags his tail when I look at him, but doesn’t come within reach.

Maybe it's best I just sit here and let them come to me. After all, we just found out I can summon shadows. Shadows that can kill. Guess it explains why Royd keeps calling me Shadow Child. It kind of tops the freaky scale. Couple that with my magnetic attraction with dead things and it completely blows the scale. Can life suck anymore? You bet it can.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The crowd outside my building has intensified with the discovery of another victim. Royd’s, I mean my lawyer, stands on the steps in all his dramatic brilliance. Explaining how I couldn’t possibly have perpetrated the crime. I had been at home and had witnesses, including the crowd themselves, but it doesn’t seem to soothe the savage beasts.

Curled up on the couch, my grandmother’s afghan wrapped around me, I’ve always felt calm with the blanket near and even calmer with it draped around me. Maybe she wove some sort of spell into it. Don’t care. I’m just plain worn out. I don’t even care what the others are chattering away about I just want to sleep.

Bits of the conversation float my way along with glares from Teiran Rand. Snickering brings an even nastier look, but I can’t help it. Come on, it’s funny—Rand, Brand—and I’m too tired to care. What’s not funny is how beautiful he is, even when he’s sneering at me.

Even though I’m tired, I appreciate the candy store in my living room, maybe a little too much. Alric, sticky sweet honey that you want to drizzle on everything. Teiran, white chocolate and peppermint, smooth and cool on the tongue. Rey, a sweet candy shell with an even sweeter surprise inside. And Var Royd, one of those mystery gumballs where you don’t know if you’re going to get sweet, or sour.

I’m not tired anymore, but hungry and not for food. Every male in the room whets that appetite and the burning need between my legs blinds me to the fact that none of them are on the menu.

I try to pick just one.
What about a combo platter? Oh, hel, just take them all.
I need to leave the room and quickly.

Flinging the afghan aside, I bolt for the bathroom, slam the door behind me and click the locks into place. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I rest my head in my hands, pictures of naked me and naked them floating behind my lids. Every nerve is on alert and the slightest movement causes an intoxicating sensation of pain mingled with pleasure across my skin.

“What’s happening to me?” I whisper, tears of pain and frustration to spilling. As if this whole shadow, dead thing isn’t enough, I have to morph into super slut.

I flip on the water and strip down, tossing my wet panties against the wall. Step under the icy stream and stand there willing the water to wash away the thoughts, pull the heat of desire away.

The forceful spray stings my skin and I turn my back, shielding already taut nipples, now painfully rock hard. Whoever said cold showers were the answer should be shot. It’s only making it worse. Shutting off the water, I huddle in the tub. Shivering, fighting the desire to call to any, or all males present. A moan is ripped from me picturing taking each of them, or better yet all of them at once. Four sets of hands, lips, tongues...
Gods, stop it!

Even my own hands rebel. I pull them away from my breasts, lacing my fingers into my hair, clutching my head. Flesh throbs similar to my calling the shadows, but without the itch, this time with an erotic caress. So tired. If I could just fall asleep.

Dragging myself from the tub, I grab my robe. As the fabric drags over sensitive skin, I bite my lower lip until the metallic saltiness of blood touches my tongue. Forcing my feet across the floor, I make it to the bedroom, waving off the questions that follow me.

Door closed, locks engaged, I fall into bed. Tears flow freely as I give in, letting the sensations ravage my body. Screams minimized to whimpers, buried in my pillow. All I want is release. Darkness hovers, creeping across the room. I’m not sure if they are conjured shadows, or if I’m near passing out. I vote for passing out and let the darkness consume me.

***

“Allow me to heal what ails you.” I feel the warmth of Einen’s breath as it sends shivers of pleasure through me. His hips grind against me, promising even more delights.

“Yes. Please.”

He takes a nipple between his lips again. The veracity of his sucking power promises a huge hickey later, but do I care? Nope. With how good it feels he can suck all he wants as long as he—oh yeah, shares with the other one. My fingers tangle in hair the color of white gold, pulling that magnificent mouth closer. That overly skilled mouth moves between my breasts and down, fingers releasing my sloppily–tied belt.

“Gods,” I whisper as he kneels before me, tongue teasing my belly button.

His explorations move across my stomach, lips and teeth nibbling at my hip bone. My knees buckle and gently he helps lower me to the ground until we are face–to–face, or as face–to–face as we can be. The top of my head rests just under his chin, and I’m not a short girl, standing five ten barefoot. My line of sight hits approximately at his Adam’s apple, which raises and lowers as I press myself against him.

Liking the response, I slide my hands down his chest until they rest on his hips pulling them tightly against me. If the hard bulge I’m feeling against my stomach is any indication, I’d have to say he likes it as much as I do.

Shaky fingers—not sure, if it’s need, or nervousness—pluck his shirt from his waistband. He generously assists me by removing it himself and I stare in awe at a smooth, luminous bare skin. Hesitantly, I brush the cool satin planes of his chest, feeling the rumble of a growl beneath my fingers.

Grasping my arms, he yanks me toward him, lowering his face until I’m looking directly into his eyes. Those pale silvery eyes are black, not just an expansion of the pupil, but the entire eye.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Deep meditative breaths slow the pulse, relax the muscles. Slowly my fingers unfurl, releasing the sheets. The thumping in my chest goes from car stereo base to boom box and finally handheld radio. That was some ridiculous dream. It had to have been brought on by my overactive hormones. Hormones so out of whack that I’m having sex—okay, foreplay—with an imaginary childhood friend. Who, as it turns out, isn’t so imaginary.

The Sisters have never been entirely truthful with me about my past, or my future for that matter. I’ve always just assumed things. Like my parents’ disappearance, my heritage in general, or that they really are my family in the traditional sense. I don’t resemble any of them. Yeah, the fact that I have at least some elven blood makes a world of difference, but still. Recent incidents have brought a lot of this into question.

I don’t have time for a face–to–face confrontation and the thought of the three of them on speakerphone makes my head ache. I’ll never get a straight answer anyway.

Then there’s Royd. Everything he’s said and done. Sure, he saved my butt on a couple of occasions, but I have to ask, what’s in it for him? It’s creepy that he shows up when I’m in trouble, or sends his lawyer. Not to mention the pull he has over me, to go from hating—or perceived hate brought on by hearsay and the media—to wanting to have sex with him.

That brings up a whole new subject. My behavior. I can’t go on forever blaming everything on my new Talents, no matter how much as I’d like to. It also brings up the question of why they decided to manifest now. Why not earlier in life? Like childhood, when I could have been taught how to control them. Replaying the conversation with The Sisters I start to wonder. Is it possible I’ve been deceived yet again?