Shadowglass (21 page)

I groaned in desperation, yearning for contact, sensation, affection. I gave in.
Make love to me, just once. Even if none of those wonderful things you said about me were true, just let me pretend for a little bit longer. It’ll give me something nice to think about when I’m alone again. And again, and again
. “Please. I want you. I won’t ask anything. Can’t we just—?”

Click.

Cold metal sizzled tight around my wrist.

My pulse gibbered. Another click. I tugged my arm. It wouldn’t move. I tugged again. Hard edges dug into my wrist, and metal clanked on metal.

He’d cuffed me to the bed. Without asking.

My guts twisted, the old fear scratching wildly in my chest, that shackled madwoman jerking awake. Unpleasant memory savaged my desire, the times they’d hurt me, taunted me, used their strength against me.

I jerked up, tipping him off me. The short chain wrenched me sideways, twisting my bones, and I tumbled onto my hip, my heart somersaulting. “No. Not that. I don’t like it.”

He lifted his palm to placate me. “It’s okay.”

My cursed pulse wouldn’t agree. No matter how his eyes mesmerized me, or my body longed for the caress of his naked flesh. No matter how I wanted him to love me, fear caged my heart in jagged steel. I scrambled to my knees and shook my trapped wrist, panic prickling my skin with nasty claws. “Take it off. Sorry. I can’t—”

“It’s okay, Ice. Don’t be afraid. You’ll be safe here.” Swiftly, he climbed off the bed, shaking his hair into place like a wet dog. Electricity singed his curls, the hot scent of burnt metal wafting.

I gaped. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you understand? You’re in danger. He’ll never let you stay like this. If you’re cured, you’ll be lost. I have to find the shiny before he does. Before it’s too late.” He wiped quivering hands on his jeans, rainbow metal shimmering on his right wrist. “You’ll be safe here. I’ll be back before he comes.”

“Are you outta your mind?” Realization thrummed through me like seasickness, jolting my stomach. Left, right. Hot, cold. Soft, steely. Whether he admitted it or not, the mirror had affected him, too. Made him jumpy, changeable, bipolar or something. Not quite right in the head.

I rattled in my shackle, frustration stabbing deep in my body. He still wanted me. I felt it, and not just because of that lovely hard-on. In the way his breath caught, his kiss burned me, his fingers lingered on my skin in the places that made me moan.

“I can’t let you hurt yourself. I’ll be back soon.” Static arced between his silver wing tips. Sweat and my water still shone on his arms. His molten red gaze gleamed, licking over me like warm fudge.

My sex hurt me in response, my pulse too tight for my tender flesh. He wanted me, all right. But crazyfae was actually turning away from me, with some weird idea he was saving me from myself.

And I could do nothing, except watch him leave.

T
he apartment door clicks shut behind him, and Ebony smacks his head back against it, metal clanging on wood. His skin grates, his head aches, his claws shudder, and quicksilver blood pounds in his flesh like poison. His burning hard cock demands things of him, gives naughty breathless orders, and it’s all he can do to walk away from her. He’s used to voices in his head, but not like this.

Oh, but she’s an unexpected delight. Her fruity scent still burns his sinuses. The glorious salty taste of her orgasm still sparkles in his mouth. He can still feel her under him, her skin fresh under his tongue, her body pressing into his, seeking him out, finding his pleasure, teasing it out until he didn’t know where to begin with her.

She’s thrashing around in there, thumping at the walls, and his needy flesh screams at him to go back inside, crush her naked body under his, push his cock inside her and finish what he started. First he’d wanted her blood, her bright life flowing over his hands. But that fleeting connection wasn’t enough. His eyes wouldn’t leave her body alone, his lips itched to drape themselves on her skin and pleasure her, his hungry tongue kept sweeping the soaked air for her scent.

He can still smell her delicious woman-smell, strawberries and ash, and as he forces himself to walk stiffly away, a nasty metal ache brewing in his balls, he wonders if that scent will ever go away.

He wonders if he wants it to. The delight of her chaos floods his blood with desperate calm he’s not felt since . . . well, since Indigo dropped his beautiful, treacherous lover in a spiky pit and blacked out for the first time. Accident or not, Ebony was born that day, and Indigo’s never been the same, so closed off and cold, he can’t connect with anyone, let alone fall in love. Since then, Ebony’s wandered the earth, searching, yearning for something he can’t find. Maybe now, he’s found it. Empathy. Acceptance. A twin spirit, reveling in her own madness.

Indigo never accepted him, never understood. But she’s got her own itches, this strawberry liquor girl. She’ll understand blood’s rich lure, the anticipation, but also the disappointment, the delight that lasts only for a second or two before it’s false. She’ll know why he does what he does, over and over again.

Affection, yes. Love, yes. She’ll surrender to him. Only a matter of time.

Crazy, wonderful, precious girl. Indigo mustn’t have her, mustn’t prune her spirit off like a weed. She thinks she wants that. She thinks she wants
him.
She doesn’t understand.

If Ebony must, he’ll save her from herself.

Shunning the elevator, he pushes the weighted fire door open and skips down the concrete stairs, his body still a rampant jungle of lust and yearning blood. The rough galvanized railing glows, the salty zinc spoiling his Ice-drenched palate.

He needs that mirror, before Indigo comes back and ruins everything. Already the whispers scratch in his head, the hammering, the horrid sense of his wits leaching away. He grits his teeth, savoring her taste on his tongue, using it to bolster his strength. This is for her. But he’ll need help.

The iron skull necklace is one thing. Finding its previous owner is another, and he doesn’t have time for his usual thief tricks, the questions, the bribes, the kisses and sweet promises.

He’s leading Indigo straight to the prize, of course. Can’t be helped. Just keep the prick at bay for a little longer.

He leans hard on the door at the bottom, the steel handle sparking under impatient palms. The door scrapes open, and he ducks between underground car park traffic into the street, his glamour zapping fresh and deceptive in ozone-laden air. The sky burns orange, gathering clouds reflecting the sparkling rainbow lights of Melbourne. It’s still raining, the warm drops splatting on his wings, and in the distance, lightning flashes, ever closer. Trees rustle in wire cages on the black-tarred verge between glassy towers that clutch toward heaven, and summer-dead leaves dance at his feet in the warm night breeze.

Melbourne in the summer rain. There’s no sweeter place, no place tasting more like his heart. If Indigo wants to go to Colombo, he can go alone.

In an inspired flash, Ebony wonders if the mirror can sunder what it splits, and the crafty seed of a plan worms to life in his rust-black heart.

Skipping toward the city, he slips out his little silver phone and dials.

Three rings, and Kane picks up. Ebony swallows, straining not to spit out the foulness sliming his gums. Kane made love to Ice. Ebony and Kane have an unpleasant connection. It doesn’t taste nice, that jealousy.

As always, the demon’s voice is pleasant, calm. “Ebony. I wondered when you’d call.”

Somehow, Kane always knows whether it’s Indigo or Ebony. Some hellmagic trick? Or recognizing his own?

No matter. Hell can’t be worse than this. Your mind eaten from within. Your happy heart crushed by your own weakness. The girl you love diluted, washed away like a watercolor in the rain.

Ebony licks eager metal teeth, anticipation working a sensual shiver up his spine. “About your little shiny. I think I know where it is. But now I need to find someone.”

I
n a grimy backstreet, Kane listens, and his claws crunch splinters into the handset. “I know this filthy thing. Akash. I sent it away.”

Beside him, Angelo motions for silence and bends to scent around the corner, nose twitching. Angry sparks rainbow from Kane’s hair onto spray-painted brick. He doesn’t have time to deal with Akash now. Angelo’s about to pull off a juicy triple hit on some DiLuca maggots. Their boss is dead. Crunch their bones to juice while they’re down. Fun.

Ebony giggles, fairy-light. “Whatever you say. But he’s still here, and he’s got your shiny. Any clues?”

Wrath springs Kane’s teeth an inch longer, and with a vicious blink he spears his winged shade skyward like a bat. Swoop on warm upcurrents over jeweled city lights, rain and dust and thunder, and under it all the spreading wet stink of flowers. Zoom closer, homing on the stench, a warehouse in Carlton with a rusted iron rooftop and jagged windows.

His shade hovers, quivering. Akash. Still there. It disobeyed. Nasty, horrid thing, spreading petty dissent through his city like a cancer. It won’t do. Melbourne belongs to Kane. If the liars upstairs wanted it, they shouldn’t have let it fester alone in the dark for a century and a half. Fucking hypocrites.

Kane sucks his shade back in with a nasty crunch of leathery wings and jerks away from the wall to pace. Frost crackles the concrete under his feet. He gave the foolish thing its chance. Once Angelo’s done, he’ll cut out this festering wound and munch on the stinking flesh.

But for the moment, he has Ebony.

Steamy flames hiss from his needle grin. “Oh, yes. I’ll tell you exactly where it is. And you’ll find out what the worm is up to. Bring my mirror back to me, Ebony. Now.”

19

T
he door snapped shut like a magnet, and he was gone.

I kicked in frustration, leaving a smear on the sheet. Alone in his rose-drenched apartment. Chained to the bed. With no underwear on, and a shivering ache gnawing through my body like an underfed rat.

I’d imagined a lot of things about Indigo, but I’d never imagined he’d do something like this.

At least he’d left through the door and hadn’t jumped out the window or ripped a hole in the ceiling or anything. Crazy metalfae.

My skin crinkled, uncomfortable. This was all my fault. I’d let him seduce me with his chaos, let him build my sick mirrorfever to a raging fire, when what I really needed to do was calm down, think, relax.

But I couldn’t. He’d lied to me about not looking into the mirror. He’d pretended to help me even though he clearly had his own agenda. He’d deceived me after all, and I was so livid with myself for falling for it that my teeth stung.

I rattled my chain, furious, and had to force my hands still. Fine. Let him go off on his crazy quest to save me. I didn’t need him. I could do this on my own.

First, get out of here. Then worry about finding Stalkerboy, he of the frightening angel-blue eyes and weird threesome aspirations. I didn’t know what he’d really wanted with me that night at the Court, and I didn’t care. He’d traded his skulls for the mirror, and he was my only lead.

I sucked in a calming breath and crawled up onto shaking knees to peer at the shackle in dim mood lights. Chain only a few inches long. Ratchet type, no keyhole, already too tight from my struggles.
Good one, Ice. Teach you to flip out.

The other end locked tight to a strip of wood as thick as my arm. Unless I took the whole bed with me, I wasn’t shifting it. And he’d snapped the cuff on before I knew what he was doing. No time to spread my fingers, tense my muscles, make my forearm as big as possible to get a bit more wriggle room. When you’ve been tied up as much as I have, you learn these things.

Still, cuffs don’t work too well on double-jointed fairy hands. They’re designed for humans, with their inflexible knuckles and tough skin. I grabbed my thumb and pulled.

Doonk.

The joint popped out with only a feeble complaint. Wobble, wobble. Now my thumb was all floppy.

I pushed it into my palm and eased the cuff over my welted wrist-bones. Still too thick.

I pulled my little finger backwards until the joint slipped out.

Ouch. That one hurt. Moisture popped out in beads on my skin, slicking my hand like oil. I squeezed it, discomfort wrapping my arm. Now my hand was all skinny and slippery like an eel.

I grabbed the metal bracelet and pulled. The cuff inched upward. Again, another inch, bones crunching together. Again, and my hand slurped free, like a little yellow baby being born. Aww.

I tossed the horrid wet cuff away, steel clanking on wood, and yanked sore knuckles back into their sockets. It bothered me that Indigo’s fingers bend backwards, too. He knew I’d get away. Maybe he just liked chaining me up. Or maybe a few minutes’ head start was all he needed.

I clambered off the bed and pulled my skirt down to cover me. My top was all twisted, too, and I tugged it back around, the thin cotton scraping my tortured nipples. My battered wings protested. I shifted them gingerly, the joints still raw from the fall and his mouth. No ladylike fluttering for me. Still, they didn’t seem badly damaged. I craned my head around, chasing my own wing tails in a few stumbling circles, but I couldn’t see any rips. My heart lightened. A bit of good news, amongst all this other trash.

I clambered down the ladder, and as his hot copper smell faded a little, my brain started working again. I had to find Stalkerboy, find out what he’d done with the mirror. I cast around for my bag, checking the floor, the couch, the kitchen bench. Nowhere to be seen. I stuck my head out the glass balcony door. Nothing. I must have dropped it on the way down.

I sighed. Great. I’d already lost the diamonds and the ruby skulls to Sonny at Valentino’s. Now I’d lost my purse and my phone and everything else that remembered who I was. If I died and they found my body, they’d never know my name.

I flipped the kitchen tap on full and thrust my wrists under. Water splashed up my arms, blessedly cool, calming my jerking blood. I had no clue who Stalkerboy was, but he seemed to know me. Back to the Court, then, see if I can sneak in without paying, make a spectacle of myself some more and he’d find me. Easy peasy.

I splashed my face, letting the drips run down my fevered neck onto my chest, and took a few deep breaths. But unease still shimmered in my stomach. I swallowed, faintly sick, and snapped the water off. Swimming through quicksand. It wasn’t a very good plan. But I didn’t know what else to do. Might as well make the best of it.

I shook myself dry, splashing drips onto spotless marble, skipped over to the door, and flipped it open.

Blue eyes, so bright, I blinked. Tanned shoulders scrawled with ink, rain-soaked dark hair, tiny steel spikes glinting through his skin.

Stalkerboy.

My pulse ripped into a sprint. I gulped, my fairy senses awash. Danger. Fight. Fly. But treacherous muscles seized my limbs tight, and I couldn’t move.

He clenched a silver-ringed hand, and in it, cruel iron petals snapped closed.

The mirror. Stalking me. The squidgy had shown him where I was. I’d wondered what weird plans he had for me. Now I was about to find out.

Fear sparked my nerves to life, and I scrambled to slam the door in his face.

But he slammed it aside one-handed. It hit the fuchsia-dark wall, and splinters flew.

I backed off, my limbs trembling and my wings uselessly tensed for flight. Nowhere to fly to. “Leave me alone. What you want?”

He didn’t say anything. He just screamed.

Unearthly noise shattered inside my skull, spiking glassy agony into my ears. High, piercing, banshee-bright. I doubled over, clutching insides suddenly rippling with sick vibration.

Stupid indignation hacked my nerves as I staggered.
No fair. That’s a banshee’s scream. Not supposed to be able to do that.

Dimly, I felt his fingers stroke my hair, and in a haze of pain I tried to turn, run, fly. But air ripped to evil shreds in my lungs, and my limbs shook to water in the awful scarlet noise, and before I could even scream, my brain swelled to mush and everything swirled to black.

B
laze leaps, sharp wings drawn back, and launches himself like a flame-drenched spear at the polished shop window.

His feet crash into the glass. Splinters explode, tinkling in a shower of sparks on teddy bears and painted dollhouses and frilly patchwork things now swimming in a jagged sea of broken glass. No alarm. No flashing lights. Idiots probably don’t even have insurance.

He darts away with stinging ankles, desperation burning empty holes in his heart. Not enough. Never enough. This urge to destroy won’t ease. Broken glass always soothed his anger, calmed his questing heart, but not anymore. Not since Ice and her cursed squidgy. Now he’s always jittery and always horny and always sick to his guts with rage, feverish, sweaty, and juddering, a full-body hard-on that just won’t go away.

He squirms through the hole and grabs a yellow-furred bear. Yellow and green, like Ice, his no-longer best friend. His heart stings hot. He just wanted to make her love him back, just for a few minutes. Wanted to hurt her like he hurts, hollow and burning.

The bear stares at him, splinters dusting its glassy eyes, and in a burst of inconsolable anger, he ignites it. Flames lick and catch, green plastic bows melting. He tosses it away, and crawls outside, disconso-late. The place might catch fire. He doesn’t care.

The street is quiet, streetlights buzzing alone, only a few cars and no people. If anyone sees him, they’re keeping quiet about it. Good move. He’s in no mood for hiding, and his glamour pops, negligent. He skips along the footpath under dusty cantilevers, flitting upward at intervals to smash the lights one by one with his fist, leaving a trail of darkness and bloodstained broken glass behind him.

A drunken spriggan slumps nude on a piss-drenched doorstep, sucking on a beer bottle with ragged lips, stunted blue legs waving weakly like an upturned possum’s. She gives a bucktoothed smile, spit dribbling. “Nice one, mate. Fuck ’em.”

Nice one, yourself.
A garbage bin snickers at him as he passes, and he leaps and kicks it over with both feet, refuse and rats spilling into the gutter. He takes aim at a rat with one incendiary claw and fries it dead in its tracks with a sharp ribbon of yellow flame. Steam rises from the charred corpse. Giggle. Shrug. Still no fun.

Despair seeps into his heart like thick dark wine, and he lets it overflow.

Storm-drenched moonlight wets black pavement, and scudding clouds pick up speed. He turns a corner at random, another, another. Shadows flicker by on dark alley walls, dust, moonshine, his own silhouette, lithe and poised and dangerous, the flames dripping un-checked from his wings lighting his way in eerie scarlet gloom.

Broken windows gleam above a garbage compactor, rusty and blue, leaning drunkenly against a warehouse wall. His heart lightens. Maybe a wino inside, or a homeless kid to torment. He skips up, ready to alight on the lid and scare the fuck out of them.

Sob. Whimper. Sniffle.

Blaze halts in a swift crouch on the ground, sweaty hair flopping in his eyes, claws crunching in the dirt. He sniffs into the shadows. A girl, hiding, bruised and lonely. The scent of her name floats on the air, sky and rain and flowers. Indra. It’s Hindi, or some fucking thing. Always he can smell their names, even when he couldn’t care less. His blood burns at the fresh meaty smell of her sorrow, and careless of breaking his glamour, he sweeps out a fevered wing and showers the wall with orange sparks to reveal her.

Dark hair straggles on skinny white shoulders. Black leather skirt crumpled in her lap, showing bruised legs. White arms wrapped around her addict-thin body. Tears streaking dust on her china doll face. Purple rose tattoo flashing on her strap-wrapped ankle. She gazes up at him, sly fear glazing her blue eyes.

With a hot flush of interest he recognizes her, the little pouty-mouthed waif in the biker kid’s shadow. Ice’s stalkergirl, the one Ice nearly ripped a chunk out of at the Court after Blaze dragged her away from that metal-skinned loser. Childlike. Flowery innocence under a worldly façade. Not killmebeautiful, but prettysexy, like Ice. Wounded. Teaseable.

His fingers tingle with unnamable need. The old mischief ignites in his heart, tempering the rage just for a moment. He withdraws his glowing wing and edges closer, offering his hand. “Come out, Indra. I won’t hurt you.”
Much.

She huddles tighter, licking ripped lips. There’s blood there, the marks of teeth. He inhales, and feels her. Shock. Disbelief. Disgust. Hunger. Her eyes cast about dully, unfocused, and her honeyflower scent hits him again. Enchanting. His blood tingles fresh like a garden, filling his desire, throbbing his pulse tight, making him rapidly, scorchingly hard.
Something to break. Goody.

Sweat trickles down his neck. He wipes his nose, uneasy in the raw light of strange flowery sympathy, and gestures at that syrupy blood on her mouth. “Who you hiding from? Did your boyfriend do that?”

Because I’d like to. Give me your mouth, your hands, your sweet flesh, those pretty bruised legs around me. In the club I’d tempt you with sparks, seduce you, dance against you with flame on my fingertips until your body weeps for me and we can spend an hour or two forgetting this shitty life. Easy enough. So why do I feel sorry for you? What’s this damn affection you’re making me feel?

She sniffles, artful, her tears brimming. “He tried to show me. I didn’t want to.”

He inhales again, that sly rosy magic, and his heart bleeds for her even as his mirrorwarped desire freshens. “Well, that sucks. Get yourself a better boy, darlin’.” He helps her up. Her wrist cools his burning palm, and his cock responds, smarting like sunburn. Would she feel like that inside, cool and smooth and soothing on his aching flesh? Desire strikes in his balls like a handful of matches. A bleeding, weeping little human girl. He swallows dry guilt and backs away. “Look, I’d better—”

“Can you show me?”

The smell of flowers dizzies him speechless. Surely he’s imagined that, the sudden pleading in her eyes. “What?”

Her fingers curl around his, gentle but sure, and suddenly her body’s against his, so cool and tiny, her little breasts plump on his chest. “Show me how I can please him. I don’t know what to do.”

Her lips brush his, so girlish and soft, and in an instant they’re kissing, his greedy flame licking her face. Sparks erupt stinging from his wings, and shuddering he folds her in his arms. She groans, and opens her little mouth to him. Her tongue fits soft and shy on his. Such a little girl. His blood overheats. He tries to keep the kiss gentle, caressing her lips like they’re precious, teaching her with long sure licks what she’s meant to do. She responds with another groan, letting him taste her. He slides a careful hand to her breast, and her nipple flowers eagerly, swelling hard in his fingers. His desire burns hot and fast like oil, and before he knows anything about it, he’s on top of her on the dirty concrete under a sheet of flickering flame, sliding hungry fingers up her thigh.