The Shadow Warrior

by Ann Aguirre

  “You want to come, don’t you? I could make you do it this way. Just helpless and spurting and—”

  Jerking beneath her, he came. The words were too much, and he lost to her husky voice and the hot glide of her glorious body. An evil smile curved her mouth as she reached between their bodies. “I don’t remember letting you do that.” Then she smeared his fluid across his lips. “You’ll pay for this.”

  When she let go of his hands, he dropped them onto the blankets, no more fight left, but she wasn’t done, and before he could take more than a shaky breath, savoring the aftershocks, her thighs went across his face, and her pussy was hovering right against his mouth.

  “Lick me properly, Gavriel. If I don’t get off, you don’t sleep.”

  Somehow, that crude order sent a glow through his cock and it tried to rise, but there wasn’t quite enough fuel for the fire yet. He’d use his mouth instead. She gave precise, illicit instructions as he tasted her, and she showed him with rough hands exactly what he was meant to be doing. Mags moved on him and used him, until he could barely breathe for the rapid shifting of her hips. Her wetness smeared his face and her scent filled him up until she became his entire world, delicious and demanding.

  She liked it when he alternated lips and tongue, but never teeth, and a soft pressure on her clitoris made her cry out, head thrown back. He licked her through two orgasms before she finally shivered and slid off his face, legs trembling.

  “That was good. You’re a quick study.”

  “I should wash up.”

  She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “The water is dirty, and I want you to sleep, smelling of me. It won’t hurt you. But… it’s your choice. Say the word, if you prefer.”

  Somehow it felt like failure if he yielded already. This wasn’t a huge deal, and she was apparently going to sleep with his semen on her belly. Thinking about that sent a low-level shudder of arousal through him. “I think you’ve created a monster,” he muttered. “I cannot seem to be satisfied.”

  Her tone was gentle, surprising him after she’d just been so fierce. “You’re just making up for lost time. Come here.”

  Gavriel didn’t question, and they curled up together as they had that one night in the tent. “Are you not…disappointed?”

  “In what? Your cock isn’t the only good part of you. That was some great work with your mouth, especially for your first time.”

  “How do you know it was?” he demanded.

  “It’s obvious. You mentioned that I’m the first person you’ve talked to about sex. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together, and…I’m glad you chose me as your first.”

  “First what?”

  Magda didn’t answer, but the question haunted him. They weren’t lovers, but he felt at ease when she was close by, and she understood his desires better than he did. Though he was a bit sore, she hadn’t done any lasting damage. He traced the bite marks on his shoulders with a dawning sense of wonder.

  He wanted to do it again. To do more.

  If he wasn’t careful, this sexual obsession could distract him from his goal of destroying the loyalist stronghold. Already he’d taken one detour and now he was snowed in, unable to act—

  On behalf of the princess.

  Holy hell.

  Gavriel realized he hadn’t thought of Princess Thalia in—well, he wasn’t sure how long, at least not more than in passing. And remembering her didn’t summon the usual sorrow and despair, possibly because Magda Versai was all over him and the smell of her was about to drive him out of his mind.

  “You can’t sleep,” she said then.

  “What?” He started, illogically certain that she could see inside his teeming brain. It was all he could do to swallow his bewildered questions.

  “Do you need another round? I can use my hand and make it hurt a little.”

  “Ah, no. I was just thinking.”

  “About what? You can talk to me.”

  He considered that, before shaking his head. “Not tonight. But…possibly soon. And thanks for asking.”

  “That’s what friends do,” she mumbled.

  “Is that what we are?”

  Friends who fuck. The answer didn’t seem entirely wrong, but something about the definition troubled him as well. Gavriel couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him, but he could touch Magda. He did so stealthily, so as not to wake her, learning the softness of her skin and the sleek feel of her hair.

  These stolen moments felt fragile and infinitely precious, but like the rare spring snow, they would soon vanish.

  13.

  Judging by the milky light trickling through the round window, Mags awoke just before dawn. While she couldn’t say she felt 100% better, she’d recovered most of her strength. She was tender with a few still-healing wounds, but time would take care of that.

  That was all happening according to expectations, but what she didn’t figure was that Gavriel would still be sleeping deeply, curled up next to her as if this was something they did regularly. He didn’t sleep much, and she had reckoned that he’d catnap, then slink off to hide out among the refugees, unable to face her in the light of day.

  She took this opportunity to study his sleeping face, assessing each of his features like she might need to sculpt a statue of him from memory. Like most Eldritch, his features were sharp but delicate, with hollows beneath his cheekbones and a jaw sharp enough to shave glass. As she gazed at him, his pale lashes fluttered, so light as to be nearly invisible, then he was staring back at her.

  “What?” he snapped.

  Yeah, that was more like it.

  She made up something off the top of her head. “I never told you what went down yesterday.”

  “Ah, yes. We did leave matters unfinished.”

  Quietly, she summarized what happened, finishing with, “And they were carrying your picture, Gavriel. That worries me.”

  He didn’t seem alarmed. At least his features didn’t shift, and his posture revealed no tension. “It’s to be expected. I’ve been the princess’s right hand for many years. Tactically, it’s a sound decision. If they can eliminate me, they weaken her position significantly.”

  “But you’re not even working for her anymore,” she protested. “At least not directly. Yet you still have a target on your back. That’s some absolute bullshit.”

  “Are you worried about me?” he asked.

  “Would that be so weird?”

  He rolled onto his back, gazing up at the beams that framed the ceiling with an air of bemusement. “It is…novel.”

  “Your life seems like it’s been lonely.” Mags blurted that out before thinking, and like usual, she regretted it.

  Raff had told her once that she had no filter and she should work on not making people feel like shit. In all honesty, most times she didn’t care how others felt and it was better for her to speak her mind. This wasn’t one of those occasions; Gavriel had been injured enough by his own folks, and she had the odd notion that she should be careful with him, when she wasn’t fucking his brains out.

  The long silence got awkward, and just when she was about to blabber anything to break the tension, he finally sighed. “It started that way, and it’s become so again, but it wasn’t always.”

  “Oh?” That was as casual a prompt as she could manage, because she was interested, and there was no pretending otherwise. Mags wasn’t good at push-pull games, never had been.

  “How much do you know about the Noxblade guild?” he asked.

  On the surface, it seemed like a topic change, but she went with it. “Not much. You start training young and they teach you to become the best killers possible.”

  “Then you don’t know that many of us are orphans. Eldritch birth rates are low, so there aren’t too many unwanted children, but it does happen. A high-ranking person dallies with a servant, and they can’t afford to keep the child, or the reverse—and the noble can’t permit a scandal.”

  “Is that your story,
Gavriel?”

  He nodded. “One or the other. It’s how I came to the guild. Oriel, he wasn’t just my brother…he was also my twin. Incredibly rare among my people. So rare that they must have taken us as a bad omen, especially when it became clear that I was different.”

  “You mean your coloring?”

  “Precisely. He wasn’t like me, so I sometimes wonder why they didn’t keep him. But they sent us both away, and I’m grateful for the time I had with him. Growing up in the guild, I wasn’t lonely because I had Mistress Alana and Oriel.”

  “Mistress Alana?”

  “My mentor, I take my surname from her. As an outcast with no family willing to claim me, I have no other.”

  “Ah, I did wonder about that. Sometimes I’ve met Eldritch with a ‘D’ before their name. Does that mean they’re orphaned too?”

  “It can, but not always. If you’re speaking of Lileth, her name refers to a region instead. There are those who simply call themselves after where they’re from, if they don’t have a family name. It’s more common among the lower classes.”

  “You know you sound like an ass when you talk that way, right?”

  “I don’t make the rules.”

  “No, but you support a system that keeps your people living in the dark ages. I can’t believe this town doesn’t even have running water!” It was too early to pick a fight, but if Mags didn’t aggravate him this way, she might piss him off by being too sympathetic. This was the better move.

  Surprisingly, Gavriel sighed. “I’m aware. Believe me when I say, I had no idea things were this bad in rural areas. Lord Talfayen cared only about his own consequence and not all for his people.”

  “You think Thalia will do better?”

  “I know she will, given the opportunity.”

  Okay, that was a bit depressing—to confirm that Gavriel still had that woman on a pedestal. He seemed to think she could do no wrong, even though she’d basically wrung him dry, then cut him loose when it turned out she could use Raff next. For once, she held her tongue because this wasn’t a fight she could win.

  Mags made a noncommittal noise and changed the subject. Or rather, refocused it. As long as he was in a talking mood, she’d learn all she could. “So you were happy in the guild?”

  “Early on, yes. You judge my situation by your standards, but I knew no different, so I was happy to train, happy to learn what they taught. I had Oriel, and I wasn’t lonely.”

  “When did that change?”

  Gavriel sighed. “These questions are becoming bothersome. Are you writing a treatise on my life?”

  “I’m just curious. Eldritch ways are very different, and Noxblades are legendary among the Animari.”

  “Like the bogeyman,” he guessed in a bitter tone.

  “Sort of, I suppose. But there’s an element of admiration. We respect great hunters, Gavriel, and there’s no doubt that Noxblades can stalk with the best of us.”

  “I will accept the compliment, but I’m starting to feel a bit…exposed. You dig into me, yet you share nothing in return. Why is that?”

  A flicker of guilt started deep in her chest. “Habit? Among the pride, people know all about me already. At least, they know what I let them see. The rest is private.”

  “If I asked personal questions of you, would you answer?”

  She thought about that, then said, “Sure. It would be bullshit if I talked about building trust while refusing to let you in. What do you want to know?”

  A frisson of discomfort crawled down her spine. Probably she should have foreseen this. Gavriel wasn’t one to permit a power disparity, at least outside of the sheets. Now she knew too much about him and he was taking steps to get inside her defenses.

  When he spoke, the words were a dagger thrust to her heart. “Why are you alone? As I understand it, your people usually take a mate. Can you not find someone who is…compatible?”

  Memories came at her, hard. She had never spoken of this, and in fact, she’d even sworn Arran to secrecy after he uttered the warning. She didn’t want to be the pride’s tragic heroine, the story that could never have a happy ending. And at first, she hadn’t even believed Arran. It seemed so improbable, so absurd. Why couldn’t she fall in love?

  Though most gave the Seers credit for a certain accuracy and prescience, Mags thought she knew better. She didn’t listen.

  Until it was too late. Until she’d crossed the bridge, and then had to watch while it burned behind her.

  “Well?” Gavriel prompted.

  She swallowed hard. “You want to know my sad story? Fine, I’ll tell you. Not because I want to, but because it’s fair.”

  Once, as a child, Gavriel had been tricked into kicking a beehive—Oriel at his best—and he had the same feeling now; the buzz of imminent danger set all his senses alight. Odd, because Magda wasn’t moving.

  “I’m not sure how much you know about pride dynamics, but each Animari settlement has a Seer, not as powerful as the leader, but sort of…adjacent? Most leaders worth their salt consult their Seer before making important decisions, and the same is true for individual pride members as well.”

  He didn’t see what this had to do with her personal life, but he nodded. “They’re shamans or something, yes? They see portents and read auguries.”

  “More like, they dream the future. They don’t read bones or entrails these days.”

  “Right, so…” He drew the word out, encouraging her to continue.

  “When I came of age, my mother sent me to Arran. That’s our Seer’s name. She thought he could give me a hint as to where I should search for a mate.” Sighing, she closed her eyes, and he sensed that this was difficult for her to discuss.

  What could possibly cause the tiger woman so much pain? At this point, he regretted asking, but there was no way to disavow the question.

  “Is that customary?” He’d never had parents, so he had no idea if they usually interfered in such matters.

  “It depends. In my family, yes, because my mother was vehement about my passing along our good genes. Ideally, she wanted me to find another tiger and settle down.” At his questioning look, she explained, “Tigers are a bit rare among the cats. She was proud of that heritage and wanted me to preserve it.”

  “I had no idea there were such intricacies of lineage among your people,” Gavriel said, surprised.

  “It’s not the usual thing. People don’t ordinarily make it some big issue if an ocelot marries a lynx, like with Pru’s parents. My mother is a bit…special.”

  Her tone implied ‘obsessive’ and Gavriel nodded. “To please your mother, you went to visit the Seer, and then…?”

  She took a breath, and he heard the unsteadiness, so startling that he reached out, only to stop, because he had no clue what sort of touch would be appropriate for a pain he didn’t understand. Gavriel gathered his nerve to complete the gesture and finally settled for touching her shoulder. Don’t make me regret this.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she put her hand over his, completing the circuit, and suddenly there were fireflies in his veins. It didn’t even matter if she stopped talking because there was this instead, and it made him feel that stinging sweetness, like the day of the beehive when Oriel was alive and brimming with mischief.

  “Arran said I must resign myself to being alone. That I would be a good friend to many, but I must never love.”

  Her pain came to him so clearly that it was like taking a blow. “What the hell kind of prophecy is that? It sounds like Arran has his head firmly up his ass.”

  She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound, only bitterness and regret. “I thought so too. And when I met someone special, I pretended I hadn’t gotten that warning.” Her face was blank, like a wall of ice, but when he leaned closer, he saw the burning in her golden eyes, a hell she still hadn’t escaped.

  “What happened?”

  “He died.” Flat tone.

  Gavriel didn’t press, positive she wouldn�
�t say more. “That could be a coincidence. Terrible things happen, and you’re not to blame, just because you—”

  Loved him.

  Somehow, he couldn’t even say the words aloud. They would cut his mouth to shreds, as did the thought of her loving someone, someone precious whom she’d lost. He had no idea why his chest hurt. This is abominable.

  “We think more alike than one might suspect,” she said softly. “Because once wasn’t enough for me. I still didn’t believe it could be true, not really. Then it happened a second time.”

  Gavriel swore. “Is it…may I hug you?”

  “If you want,” she muttered, like he wasn’t dying to do exactly that.

  He wrapped his arms around her, fearing that she’d bite him, and then he’d be inappropriately aroused instead of suitably supportive. Offering comfort was all strange seas to him because Oriel had been the gentle one, the kind one, as if their unknown mother had split tenderness and rage in the womb, giving the entirety of one to each of her sons.

  Her breath gusted hot against his neck when she tucked her face against his shoulder. Perhaps it was easier to speak with her face hidden. Whatever the reason, he didn’t discourage it.

  “What happened after that?”

  “I stopped letting people get close to me. When I went to see Arran, he didn’t say ‘I told you so’, but he was so grave and sad. He actually said, ‘the signs are clearer now, Mags. There’s a shade on you and only death could stand against it’.”

  “…A shade?”

  “It’s a bit complicated, but my people believe in past lives. The gist of it is that I must have done something pretty terrible to be punished like this now.”

  Gavriel hadn’t known that, and he filed it away under interesting facts about the Animari. “Is there no way you can atone? A ritual or…” He gave up because his religious training was inadequate for Eldritch purposes, let alone for giving cross-cultural advice.

  She touched his cheek gently. “Unfortunately, no. Or I would’ve done it already.”