Shadow's Awakening: The Shadow Warder Series, Book One (An Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (7 page)

Conner stood in the doorway of the attic room, weight in the balls of his feet, ready to launch himself at the Voratus in front of him. Taken at face value, the thing didn’t look like much. Barely six feet in height, the body it had taken was pudgy with a pale, round face. You could walk by it a hundred times and not remember it. The greed in its eyes and the loving way it gripped the handle of its knife marked it as a dangerous animal.

Another presence was in the room, behind the open door to his left. It held the vibration of a living creature, but with something extra. A warm, seductive hum that reached out for him, twining around his body. It must be the Shadow. Did they all feel like this? Alive and heated, yet soft and sweet. He trained part of his awareness on the Voratus, alert for any change in position. The Shadow shifted forward, coming into view around the door. Conner’s entire body seized for a split second. Breath, brain, blood, suspended in time.

The Shadow wasn’t a girl. She was a woman and she was astonishing. Her hair was the color of a sunset, golden and fiery. It had been pulled into a sloppy tail at the back of her head, curling strands escaping to curve around her face. She was tall for a woman, slight of build, and appeared to have been beaten half to death. Both eyes were swollen and mottled purple and blue. By the careful way she held her mouth, Conner could tell her jaw was either deeply bruised or broken. Her terror-filled eyes were a piercing green and locked on him.

In her stillness she brought to mind a rabbit in tharn. She had recognized the most dangerous predator in the room and was frozen in fear and confusion. Conner made no effort to control the rage that filled him at the sight of this battered creature paralyzed in terror of him.

Shifting to the left, Conner eased his big frame between the Shadow and the Voratus. The demon kept its furious eyes on him, circling to compensate for Conner’s movement. Good. Now it was alone on the far side of the bedroom, out of reach of the vulnerable Shadow. The bedroom was bigger than average. Sparsely decorated, there wasn’t much furniture to get in the way of a fight. A metal-framed twin bed, a wooden dresser and a spindly chair the Shadow was using as a nightstand. Still, with his own large frame, another adult male body and the Shadow, the space was a little crowded for a knife fight. If the Shadow didn’t stay back, she’d get hurt. From the look of her face, she’d been hurt enough.

Without taking his eyes off the Voratus, Conner assessed his options. She couldn’t leave the room until Kiernan had cleared the rest of the house. He didn’t want her between him and the Voratus. A door in the wall that was probably a closet might have been an option, but it was behind the Voratus. So was the half-open bathroom door. The bed was under the window, to his left, opposite the open door. It looked high enough off the floor that she could squeeze beneath. She was tall, but slender. Making his decision, Conner kicked the door to the bedroom shut. The demon lunged for him, drawing a second, shorter knife.

The Voratus must not have been in many fights lately. Why would it? It had a cushy set-up here, with its nest and a captive food source. It was slow, underestimating Conner’s speed and reach.

Planting his left foot on the floor, Conner lashed out with his right foot, striking the demon in the center of its chest. It flew backward, slamming into the closet door. Momentarily dazed, it wobbled on its feet. Experience told Conner the hit hadn’t incapacitated the demon, only bought Conner a few seconds to deal with the Shadow. He turned to her, careful not to get too close.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Somewhere safe.” Aware he had to get through to her before the Voratus came at them, he willed her to believe him. “My partner is downstairs taking care of the others. I need you to get down so you don’t get hurt.”

The Shadow nodded, a slight movement. She was trying to keep her face still. Conner’s rage grew. He would rip the Voratus apart for damaging her. She spared a quick glance for the Voratus, shakily coming back to its feet. Maybe Conner should have tried to finish it when it struck the door, but Vorati this mean rarely went down easily. It was more important to get the Shadow to a safe place before the fight got ugly.

“Under the bed,” Conner said. He shifted his position again, moving closer to the demon, giving the Shadow a clear path to the end of the metal-framed bed. It wiggled just a bit as she slid beneath the frame, pressed tight to the floor. Relieved she was under cover, Conner returned his focus to the fight.

The Voratus was inching its way to the closed bedroom door. Running away? Conner wasn’t sure why he was surprised. These things could put up a good fight, but they avoided conflict with Warders. They’d rather flee than risk being trapped for eternity in a calix. Funny how being immortal made them so much more fearful of any kind of end. A human might stand his ground. But this Voratus demon, stronger and faster than any human could hope to be, was trying to run away.

Now that the Shadow was tucked safely under the bed, Conner was done with waiting. He launched himself at the Voratus. The demon swiped at his torso with its long knife. Conner blocked the strike, knocking the demon’s forearm to the side with his own. He took a foot to his gut in stride, concentrating on throwing the demon off balance. Conner hit it hard, his momentum driving them both into the bathroom door.

The Voratus tried to stab him with the shorter knife, but Conner was too close and it only succeeded in tearing the sleeve of Conner’s shirt. Using his free hand, Conner pinned the Voratus’s right hand to the door, immobilizing its long knife. He tried to stab the thing in its side, but it twisted away. For a smaller demon, it was strong. It writhed and kicked, loosening Conner’s grip. He shifted, thrusting his knife at the demon a second time. Resistance, then the give of flesh meeting sharp blade. A stab wound wasn’t enough to kill, but it would slow the thing down.

Hannah watched the two men struggle from her hiding place beneath the bed. It was hard to see what was happening. Wedged under the frame, her bruised ribs ached from the cramped position. Oddly, her head felt clearer than it had in over a year. The painful pressure had faded. The constant static buzzing was nothing more than a fuzzy whisper. If her brain stayed quiet, she might have a real chance to escape.

So far, Glenn and the stranger looked equally matched, even though the stranger was inches taller and much heavier than Glenn. But since he’d changed, Glenn’s strength had grown to unnatural levels for his pudgy frame. They slammed into the bathroom door, knives flashing. She heard fabric tear, thought she might have seen the stranger sink his knife into Glenn. Her heart surged with another wave of hope.

This new guy could be worse than Glenn. He might rescue her, just to lock her up somewhere worse. After six months of captivity and torture, Hannah thought any change was good. Maybe she was trading one captor for another. But there was a slim chance that the stranger wasn’t lying. A chance he would take her to safety. Either way, it was clear he meant to kill Glenn. For that alone, Hannah was on his side. She’d deal with his true intentions later. For now, they had the same goal.

She wished she could smile when Glenn’s arm was twisted behind him as his face slammed into the bathroom door. Her jaw hurt too much, so she resisted the urge to move her lips. But it felt wonderful to see Glenn’s face grimace in pain. As many times as he’d hurt her, she thirsted for payback. Glenn struck the door again, the other man wrenching Glenn’s arm higher behind his back. Glenn’s shorter knife clattered to the floor. His scrambling feet kicked it to the side.

Hannah watched, eyes wide, as the knife slid across the polished floor to stop just beneath the edge of the twin bed. As if in a dream, she reached out her right hand, fingers extended to the hilt. She expected the knife to disappear before her eyes. It was too much to wish for. A weapon. A knife in her own hand. After all this time as a victim, Hannah wanted that knife more than anything. She wanted it more than she wanted her freedom.

Disbelieving, trembling fingers closed over the warm hilt. It was damp, sweaty from Glenn’s hand. Hannah snatched it close to her chest, cradling it between her breasts. She knew this knife. She’d been sliced by its sharp blade over and over. Her eyes alight with possibility, she watched Glenn grapple with the stranger.

She’d been told to stay beneath the bed. To stay out of the way. Forget that. If she had a chance to bury this blade in Glenn, she was going to take it. If she’d learned anything from the last few years of her life, it was that you never knew what was coming. Things might be about to get better. They also might be about to get much worse. All she had was now. This moment in time was the only thing that truly belonged to her and she was going to take it. No regrets. Not any more.

Moving slowly, careful not to draw attention, Hannah slid backward from beneath the bed. The two men never noticed her ease into a crouch at the end of the bed, mostly out of sight. She held the knife before her, her body coiled in readiness, waiting for her chance. Feral glee rose in her chest. The knife fit her hand as if it had been made for her. So many times she’d watched it carving lines of burning pain into her body. Now it was hers.

The past six months had taught her about patience. About waiting. How to shift between long stretches of nothing into intense moments of activity. She’d spent too much time lying in her bed with nothing to do, only to have the door open and moments later find herself awash in agony and fear. Hannah had no problem holding her position, balanced on her toes, ready to move when she found her opening.

It came minutes later. Neither of the men seemed to be tiring as they fought. Each landed a few good blows, but only the stranger had drawn real blood. The right side of Glenn’s shirt was stained a deep red. Hannah saw a few splotches of blood on the stranger. Nothing that looked serious. They’d been wrestling on the floor. A kick and lunge to the side and Glenn managed to break away. He rolled to his feet, his back to her end of the bed. The stranger stood opposite her, facing Glenn.

Hannah moved in silence, a war cry echoing in her head. Surging to her feet, she dove for Glenn, ready to sink his own blade deep into his flesh. With eerie fluidity, he turned before she could strike. His free hand closed around her arm. Using her forward movement against her, Glenn spun Hannah around in front of him and dragged her close, her back flush to his chest, his arm tight to her throat. Pinned. She was too enraged to be afraid.

Glenn’s long blade pressed to the soft skin beneath her chin. She’d felt that sharp pressure too many times to let it paralyze her. In her right hand, somehow unnoticed by Glenn, she still held her knife. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. Maybe he thought her too weak to use it. It didn’t matter. Hannah was prepared to die right there if that was what it would take. She just needed to draw blood of her own before she went.

With a jerk, she raised her right arm to the side. Shock washed over the stranger’s face, chasing away the fear that had flashed in his eyes when he’d seen Glenn’s knife at her throat. His eyes widened as Glenn’s knife cut into the soft skin of her chin. Hannah ignored the blood dripping down her neck, Glenn’s arm across her throat. Ignored everything but the weight of the knife in her hand.

Determination a white hot flame in her heart, Hannah drove her blade in an angle behind her back, sinking it to the hilt in Glenn’s soft stomach. His knife slipped from her neck. Before he could shift too far away, Hannah ripped her knife as high as she could, slicing Glenn from gut to chest. Blood flooded from his body in a wet, hot rush, soaking her to the skin. Part of her, the part that was still an eager psychology student, recoiled in disgust. She’d stabbed someone. With a knife. Torn him open. The rest of her—the trapped, tortured victim—erupted with joy at the sight of her enemy’s blood pooling on the floor. She stepped away, putting space between herself and both men.

The stranger shot her an angry look as he moved forward. He drew an odd, dart-shaped thing from his pocket and drove the long, sharp tip into Glenn’s chest. A sucking rush of sound filled the room. Glenn’s body dropped to the floor, his skin draining of color. He looked like a wax model of himself. The stranger turned to face her. She couldn’t help raising the knife in his direction. Now that Glenn was out of the picture, the man in front of her was the biggest threat.

His hands rose before him, palms out. He might have looked less threatening if he hadn’t had a bloody knife tucked into one of those palms. On the other hand, she had her own bloody knife. Not that being armed made them even. This man was about twice her size. When he spoke, his voice radiated calm.

“You can keep the knife. But we need to get moving, so I’d at least wash off the blood. Do you have any clean clothes?”

With a start at the odd comments, Hannah looked down at herself. Blood coated her from her shoulders to her ankles. The knife was the least of it. The stranger opened the door of the room and yelled down the stairs. She heard a voice echo back.

“We’re almost clear to go,” he said to her. “If you can, get cleaned up fast.”