Shadow Fall (4 page)

He moved forward to investigate and discovered a clearing surrounded by wicked, wintry trees. In the center of the clearing, a woman danced. She was made of light, her figure slight, long and waifish, her skin pale and glistening. Her dark hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head, like a fairy or a ballerina. Likewise, she floated on tiptoe and defied gravity with the stretch and arch of her body. The haunting music was part of her, yet it scored him.

More faerie magic? He didn’t care.

She kept her eyes downcast for the most part, so terribly sad, but when she raised her face to twirl, shining like hope, he knew he would never be the same.

She had to be his. He knew it with every broken fiber of his being.

The soft curve of her jaw, her full young lips and her storybook eyes were his perfection. A momentary pang of reservation struck him hard: The woman—little more than a girl—was everything that he wasn’t. Where he was coarse, she was all silky lines and smooth dips. While he was grasping and gritty, she moved with the sweetest magic, like a dream. Where he was tainted and used, she was bright and new.

Custo pushed his hesitation aside. So he was a selfish bastard. Too bad. He had to catch her or he knew he’d be soul sick forever.

He concealed himself behind a thick tree, tensed, ready. He didn’t want to scare her, but if she’d just move this way…

A growl rumbled across the clearing.

Custo’s attention snapped to the darkness of the opposite trees. A huge black wolf bared his teeth, his body crouched and ready to attack the woman.

The dancer stiffened slightly, but continued to move. Why? She obviously knew the wolf was there. A deeper pallor to her skin told him she was afraid. Why didn’t she back away?

The wolf spotted Custo and altered his stance, ears pinned back for attack.

Custo felt a wave of electric anger burn through him. He could not let the wolf harm her.

He stepped out of the trees slowly, his arms raised and open. His attention was divided between the shock of the woman, finally coming to a skittery stillness, and the redoubled menace of the wolf, his lips retracting to the gums, his teeth sharp as blades.

Custo moved into the center of the clearing. The woman’s gaze flitted from him to the wolf, to something beyond them in the trees.

“Oh, no. Not again,” she murmured. Then louder, with false brightness, “No, Jasper. Just a slick spot on the floor right here. Anybody have some rosin?” Her nervous voice was oddly warped and distant. The glow of her skin dimmed, her magic shifting.

The wolf charged her, two great bounds. Custo threw himself between them and pushed her out of harm’s way. He felt the weight of the wolf crush his back and they fell.

The air burned like white lightning.

They landed on a hard surface, but he felt no impact. The girl jumped out of the way, quick on her feet, and the wolf jumped over Custo’s head. It leaped out into a great void, filled with empty red velvet seats, row upon row with balconies above, and was lost in the darkness. A theater.

“I’ve got some, Annabella,” someone said.

The dancer didn’t answer; she kept her gaze on Custo, unblinking, fearful, and yet so lovely. The other mortals disregarded him as if he weren’t there, though he stood up, center stage.

He was back. Somehow he was back, returned to Earth. But as what?

Then he began to burn. He had no substance, but he was on fire regardless. His body screamed with pain, and he ran.

“No, wait!” the girl called.

He’d have answered, but he couldn’t bear the heat. Every nerve was quivering, sizzling. He passed through the layered curtains at the side of the stage and felt the dust from the corners rise to chase him. He felt the dirt and moisture of the air whip into a frenzied, pursuing swarm. Every stray mote and drop gathered to him.

He ran, though he had no feet to touch the floor.

He fled down a winding corridor, out the exit, and past a smoker’s propped doorway into the night of the city. On the sidewalk the cloud of earth and wetness descended upon him. The earthen tornado drove him down onto the ground to inundate and…reform him.

He could sense the atoms of his mass rearranging, recom-bining, the zap and snap of molecules configuring cells to create organs, flesh, and bone. The crack and pull of sinew stringing him together had him quivering in terror. He felt the moment the fluid thickened to blood, and then its first rush through his new veins, charged by the slam of a heartbeat. With his first breath, he screamed his agony, arching his back on the concrete. Then he wept, gulping and hoarse.

“Call the police,” somebody said.

Custo swiped at his running eyes and nose and scuttled back toward the building. The concrete scraped his butt, so he knew he was naked.

“Just stay calm,” the man said, arms extended, palms down. He was youngish, in sweats and running shoes. “Help is on the way.”

Help? He had to be out of his mind.

Another voice echoed off the building’s walls. More people coming.

Custo’s breath came in harsh pants, but he managed to stand. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on a rusty railing and held himself up. A wild shiver ran over him. Damn, it was cold. So damn cold.

“Stay back,” the man said, retreating a few paces himself.

Custo looked around. Where the hell was he? Tall buildings rose around him, most of them gray, but one had a shiny mirrored surface.

He turned and lurched into a jog, his hand skimming the building for support. When he found his balance, he picked up speed, ducking into a service alley when he heard the
twerp
of a police car. He waited there, shaking with shock and a strange sense of vertigo.

Custo held up his hand, stretching the dark lines of his palm, then flipped it over. It appeared to be his own, minus the ragged scar across his knuckles. He closed his fingers into a fist and squeezed until his hand burned. Strong again. He wasn’t a ghost, that was for sure. Angel? He had no idea. Maybe he should have asked more questions of Luca when he’d had the chance.

He tried his angel’s trick and opened his mind. Humanity crashed into his consciousness, soul after soul, their inner voices crowding out all coherent thought. Too much, too much. He tried to disengage, but couldn’t find himself in the chaotic press. A last gasp, and he sought
her.
He reached for her like a lifeline and felt a blissful tug. Sanity returned with the knowledge that the girl was safe, inside. And?—he touched her mind—she was getting ready to head home and she was arming herself for a fight.

His new heart clenched. What did she fear? Where?

The wolf. Had to be.

Custo recalled the wolf’s attack. The collision. The fall. Sickening guilt rushed through Custo’s veins. He was responsible for the beast’s cross into mortality. She’d somehow opened the way, but he brought the wolf through.

Well, the wolf couldn’t have her. Soon all of Segue would be searching for it, and the girl wouldn’t be bothered again. He’d just have to move fast.

Custo waited behind a Dumpster until some poor slob walked by alone. He grabbed him and dragged him into the alley with an arm around his neck and a hand over his mouth. The man bucked against him, but he was too short and light to do any damage.

“I only want your pants,” Custo growled in the man’s ear.

Three minutes later Custo staggered out of the alley fully clothed. He made for the nearest corner. The street signs read w
FIFTY-SIXTH
and
AVE OF THE AMERICAS.
New York City. Midtown.

Then he knew where to go. The Segue Institute had safe houses globally. New York City had four that Custo could think of. Four and one more, the last a secure location that only he and Adam knew about. Once there, he’d have access to supplies, cash, food, and weapons. Most importantly, he could find and warn Adam.

But not without the girl.

Chapter Three

A
NNABELLA
gripped her brand-new jumbo flashlight while she exited the heavy bronze door of City Center onto West Fifty-sixth. The flashlight was heavy, designed for camping, but there was no way she was going to be caught in the dark without her own source of light. Not with that freaky wolf on the loose—on the streets or in her head. She kept her finger on the power button, like a trigger. And when she got that silly-girl shaky feeling, she imagined turning on the light and smoking the monster.

Take that, you growling son of a bitch!

Her heartbeat accelerated as she stepped into a night of crackling energy. The one-way street was hissing with traffic, punctuated by the occasional blare of a horn. She headed directly to the curb to hail a cab. Her plan: carry her own light source everywhere, make it home safely, preferably with yummy takeout (she was starving), turn on every light in her studio apartment, all three of them, and sleep in the very brightest patch. She wasn’t about to let any real or imagined wolf take this chance away from her. Tomorrow she would debut as Giselle.

And then everything would go back to normal.

A cab drew alongside her. So far so good. She threw her bag along the backseat before sliding in herself, flashlight in her lap, choking for a second on a breath of strong Far Eastern incense.

Just as the driver pulled away from the curb, the opposite passenger door opened with a blast of thick exhaust. The cab jerked to a halt and Annabella startled, flicking a fat beam in the intruder’s direction.

“Cab’s taken,” she said when she recognized that it was a man—or at least, the lower half of one.

The man pushed her bag to the floor, got in anyway, and slammed the door. “West Thirty-sixth and Fifth,” he said. His low voice was rough with authority.

Jerk. “Hey, I was here first—”

The man turned his head and she swallowed her words.

Him.

In the partial illumination of the cab, his hair and skin washed to monochromatic shades of gold. His eyes were fair, direct, and tense, and he was slightly out of breath. A current of dark trouble ran along his barely controlled surface as he looked at her. Or rather, looked her over. His gaze settled on her flashlight and his brow furrowed in thought before one side of his mouth tugged up.

Heat flooded her body and burned her face.

“Lady?” the cabdriver asked over his shoulder.

No way. She got here first. And besides, she had to go straight home, have a nice dinner, relax, and get some rest for the gala tomorrow. Not to mention something was very wrong about this guy. His face might have been gorgeous, but his clothes were too small, clearly not his own. He’d rolled up the sleeves, but his shirt still didn’t fit across his broad shoulders. His pants were a joke, short by inches and straining across his thighs. One grand plié and the seams would rip.

Only one thing could make her change her mind, and she didn’t care if she sounded stupid. “You see a wolf lately?”

The man gave a short nod. “In the middle of your dance, onstage.”

Crap. She’d kinda been hoping she was crazy. She gnawed on her bottom lip. The least she could do for the man who put his body between her and a charging wolf was share a cab. Maybe he could even tell her what was going on.

She eased her grip on the flashlight and met the driver’s gaze. “It’s okay.”

The driver turned his attention to the road with a shrug and the cab pulled away from the curb.

The stranger didn’t relax, didn’t settle into his seat. His interest was focused on her—the weight of it had her clutching her flashlight again. The light might not hurt him, but she could brain him with the casing if she had to.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his words short and clipped.

“Annabella,” she answered, wary. “Yours?”

“Custo.” He darted a glance out the rear window, then came back to her. “You’re a dancer? A ballerina?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t help adding, “A principal with the Classical Ballet Theater. And you are…?”

“…taking you somewhere safe. Somewhere we can talk.” He winged his arm along the backrest.

Not likely.
He could share her cab, but nothing else. No need to tell him that, though. He was keyed up enough already.

“What day is it?” he asked.

“Friday.”

“The date,” he clarified, his forehead tensing.

“October twenty-second.” October twenty-third was the gala performance, the start to the season. Her big day.

He frowned as if that still wasn’t the answer he wanted, but didn’t press. “Do you have a mobile phone?”

“Um…no, I don’t.” A white lie—she just hated loaning it out. Besides, that was her lifeline number two. Not that she’d call her mom again and take another ten years off the poor woman’s life. No, if she had to call anyone, she’d call the cops herself. Maybe for this guy.

Custo grabbed her bag off the floor, unzipping it before she had a chance to object. She snatched at the strap—where did he get off searching her stuff? He pushed through some of her sweaty dance clothes, warm-ups, shoes. Oh, shit, her backup tampons. She yanked the bag away from him. And anyway, the phone was in her sweatshirt pocket. “What the hell are you doing? It’s not in there.”

“Give me your phone.” He held out his hand. “It’s an emergency.”

She needed her phone. She wasn’t about to give it to this aggressive lunatic. Sharing the cab was clearly a mistake, but she could correct it. She looked out her window to figure out what part of town she was in. Just past the New York Public Library. She had her flashlight; she could grab another cab.

“It’s an emergency, damn it,” Custo insisted.

When she still hesitated, he reached for her.

“Okay, okay.” She recoiled and groped in her pocket. She threw it at him. “Just stay back.”

He fumbled the catch, and she addressed the driver. “I’ll get out here.”

The cab began to slow.

Punching in a number, Custo said, “Not a good idea. The wolf is undoubtedly tracking your movements.”

The wolf. The memory of its dark hulk, eyes glaring, had her heartbeat tripping. Tracking her?

“Never mind,” Annabella said to the driver.

Custo groaned frustration. Ha! He must have gotten voice mail.

“Adam, surprise—it’s Custo. I’m back. Remember that time at the Shelby School when we cut the power to the compound long enough to stop the clocks? Don’t trust anyone at Segue until you speak with me.” Custo paused. “I’m headed now for our New York storage cache. You can reach me at this number, or there shortly.”

His message made her head hurt. What kind of cryptic crapola was that? “Excuse me…? I’d like my phone back.”

Custo handed it back to her, slightly smiling, as if her irritation amused him. “If it rings, answer immediately.”

She wasn’t about to let him boss her. She let her finger linger on the power button. Off. No more calls for the crazy cab moocher.

They turned off the main road and shot down a smaller side street lined with cars already parked for the night. Must be getting close.

She had her own questions, and she only had a few more minutes to get the answers. “That wolf…it’s been stalking me for days. I haven’t slept. I’m so hopped up on caffeine I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again. And I have to be my best for tomorrow night. My
best.
Can you please tell me what is going on?”

“I have to hear your end of it first to know for sure.” A tremor ran through him, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he mastered himself.

Maybe he was on drugs. “I just told you my end of it.”

“When it began. How the wolf found you.”

Annabella threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t know when—” No, wait. She did. “Rehearsal. Last night, when we put the second act together. We’d been rehearsing separately, working on one bit one night, another bit another. This was the first time that we had the full company there.”

“How did it happen?” Passing headlights coasted over his features and accented the golden flecks in his amber-green irises. So pretty, too bad he was…unbalanced and rude.

“I was dancing one of my solos—I thought I had it right. Felt good anyway. I looked up and saw the wolf. Heard him growling at me. I don’t know how he got there or why. I thought I was just super tired and stressed. Is he for real?”

“Very much so,” Custo answered. “You see him only when you are dancing?”

“No. He followed me last night to my bus stop.”

He frowned. “You were alone?”

“Yes.”

“How did you escape him?” His questions kept coming, rapid fire. When was he going to start answering some?

“He’s afraid of light,” she explained, lifting her improvised weapon. “He stays in the shadow.”

Custo frowned and cursed, “Damn it.”

“Are you going to tell me what is going on or not?”

He held his breath, then expelled all his indecision. “The wolf is a creature of Shadow, of that I am certain.”

“A creature of wha—?”

Custo looked down at his hands, fisting and flexing them strangely, as if he’d never seen them before. “He is a creature of Shadow, bound to Shadow, but he crossed into this world with me tonight, you understand?”

Okay, the man was deranged, and she was going crazy right along with him. Crossed from where?

The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “You got an address, mister?”

Custo glanced out the window. “Here is fine.”

The car pulled over to the curb, and Custo opened his door. Panic rolled over Annabella. What now? She couldn’t go off with a stranger. He could be psycho or a murderer, or, or…

Custo climbed out, turned, and grabbed her bag. He dropped it on the sidewalk and reached in to her, his fingers sharply beckoning. “Come on.”

This was so not what her mother intended when she offered to pay for the cab. Annabella shrank back, though her body perversely thrilled all over at the prospect. The man was certifiable, but damn hot anyway. “I don’t even know you.”

He bent to make eye contact. “You know you’re safe with me.”

From wolves, maybe.

“Annabella?”

Oh, this is stupid.
But she slid across the seat dragging the heavy flashlight, took his hand—warm, strong—and climbed out of the cab. He reached into his pocket and produced a wad of bills, handing the driver a twenty.

As the cab pulled away, Annabella had the strangest sensation that everything normal in her life was going with it. What the hell was she doing?

“Let’s get off the street.” Custo put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his body. Her heart thumped, but she didn’t fight him. She fit snugly, tucked alongside him, and his tight hold somehow made her both more and less nervous. He smelled dark and sharp. Sweaty, but still very good.

His body against hers was rigid with tension. He hurried them down the block and across the street to a doorway tucked into an alcove. A keypad was affixed at eye level. He punched in a code, and the lock released on the door, almost inaudibly.

She felt the tug on her waist as he tried to draw her inside.

“Um…” she said, her stomach suddenly knotting with nerves, “I do have to get back to my apartment soon. The gala is tomorrow, and if I don’t get some sleep—”

“You’ll be staying here now,” he said.

She pulled back against his forward momentum. Staying here? Tonight?

Custo took her shoulders, dipped his head to catch her gaze with his marshy eyes. The back light from the interior lit his dark blond hair into a soft gold halo. “Annabella, there is a Shadow wolf stalking you. It sounds absurd, I know, but the creatures of Faerie know no reason. You can rest here. Sleep. You’ll dance better for it tomorrow night. I’ll see that nothing touches you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I won’t touch you either.” He lifted a brow, making fun of the direction of her thoughts, but the deliberate guttural rumble of his assurance had her mentally pinning on the word
yet
after his statement.

Her gaze drifted to his mouth. His lips curved up slightly in response. She lifted her gaze just in time to catch the wicked gleam, lit by humor, in his eyes. She tried to look away but couldn’t. The air around them hummed with energy generated by his intensity, her nerves, and the electricity of their closeness.

What to do…What to do…
Annabella’s body hummed with painful indecision. Go off with the psycho, hot man in the short pants or brave the wolfy night alone? Groaning, she gave a reluctant nod—last night’s vigil had been fueled by strong coffee. It might be early for anyone else to think of bed, but there was no way on earth she could keep her eyes open for long. This man seemed to know what he was talking about, in spite of his ridiculous clothes.

Custo must have seen her acceptance, because he pulled her inside and led her down a long, low hallway. The white paint on the walls had cracked with age and time as the building settled. The place had a dusty smell, as if it hadn’t been aired in forever. The only window in the interior was narrow and high with a dirty view of concrete. The main room was filled with stacked army green plastic cartons, blocky lettering identifying them as the property of something called The Segue Institute. A storage room.

Okay…so maybe she could be safe here, but she’d be excruciatingly uncomfortable. Her dance bag made for a rotten pillow—she’d tried that in rehearsal enough times. Maybe they should go back to her place. Or get a hotel room. Correction, adjoining hotel rooms.

Custo hefted a carton out of the way. Judging by the strain of his bunched muscle against the too-small fabric of his shirt, it must have been heavy. With his efforts, however, the top of a doorway was revealed, so there was a little hope.

She watched as he moved the rest of the cartons out of the way. The man had a tight, sculpted ass under those ridiculous navy khakis. When he was done, his shirt was damp with sweat. Another numbered panel was attached to the wall. Custo punched in a code, and the lock on the door released. The successive containment of the place reminded her of a prison. She had to be out of her mind.