The Shadow Warrior

by Ann Aguirre

  “You live to plague me, don’t you? I can’t believe you mentioned my…proclivities in front of Raff Pineda.” Dammit, he didn’t mean to say that.

  Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms, all bristling cat. “Yeah, well, I can’t believe you made Gray and me run like demons were chasing us because you were worried about an old flame who turned out to be your half-sister.”

  Sudden realization dawned, and he had a hard time suppressing the smile. Was she…jealous? He knew better than to inquire; he liked his fingers where they were. “Is that why you’ve been pissy? Mags, this wasn’t about Thalia. I was worried about everyone at Daruvar, especially when I found out Raff was in charge, and they were on rations.”

  “I am never pissy,” she growled.

  “Certainly not. Can we please go to bed?” He rose and offered his hand, keeping his expression neutral. Somehow she’d changed his mood from wild disorder to soft amusement, though if he told her that, she’d just disavow all credit.

  “Fine, but if you hog the covers, I’ll kick you onto the floor.”

  He didn’t say that was music to his ears. When he considered the matter deeply, he still wasn’t sure when or how she’d become so…necessary, or why her threats brought him so much joy. She took his hand tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure she had the right. A pox on all Animari nonsense anyway. He didn’t doubt that her lovers had died, but she didn’t deserve to spend her life alone.

  She’ll leave me soon.

  Gavriel knew better than to suggest otherwise; he’d take whatever she gave and be glad of it, hoarding memories in anticipation of loneliness to come.

  23.

  Mags shut her conscience up by reminding it what Gavriel had discovered.

  If she could offer comfort during a rough patch, she ought to do that. As a friend. The pangs quieted then. Things still hadn’t settled down in the fortress and probably wouldn’t until dawn or later. Thalia had won a decisive victory and claimed her crown; she also had no idea of what she’d lost.

  In the hall, she pulled her hand from his. “You take a shower. I’ll stop by the kitchen to find us something to eat.”

  Gavriel searched her gaze with serious eyes. “This isn’t an excuse to disappear?”

  “I can remember a time when that was all you wanted from me.”

  “Times change,” he said.

  Mags sighed, wondering why she found his persistence so endearing. “I’m not bailing. I really am hungry, aren’t you?”

  “Starving,” he admitted.

  “Then I’ll see you in fifteen minutes. Go on.” She nudged him toward his room while she headed for the kitchen.

  Like the med center, the kitchen was empty, so she rummaged to her heart’s content. There wasn’t much, which proved Gavriel had been right to worry about the workers starving. Supplies should start arriving soon, though. She did find some roast venison and guessed Raff must have done well when he was hunting. Mags claimed some for herself and got fruit and bread for Gavriel. Since they were supposed to be celebrating, she added a bottle of wine to her haul.

  The shower was still running when she got in. Naturally, Gavriel hadn’t built the fire, as that was a creature comfort, and he tended to live like an ascetic. She knelt, taking care of that task so the room would be warmer when he emerged. Then she set the food on a low table, arranging it in a way that felt both alien and domestic. She didn’t do these things for people. It was just as well she was leaving. Otherwise, she might start to fool herself that they had a future.

  Every instinct insisted she should go now, before he joined her, but she ignored that demanding voice and stayed. It’s one night. What difference can it make after everything we’ve been through? She stayed on the rug, which was as warm and soft as she’d remembered. Funny, his lovely carpet was the main reason she’d slept here the first time—well, that and a desire to annoy Gavriel. Now everything was much more complex.

  He emerged in a dark robe, his hair standing up, a towel in one hand. She must be the only person who’d ever seen him like this: messy, wet, and completely undone. When he saw her, he smiled, such an innocent expression, and her heart throbbed over the impossibility of it.

  “Dinner,” she said.

  He had said he was too tired to play bed games, and Mags respected that, but looking at him, she wished she could have him one last time. She was quiet while they ate and polished off most of the wine. Gavriel had only a glass and even that was enough to make him seem loopy, as he seldom indulged.

  Wearing a silly smile, he slid an arm across her shoulder. “Let’s sleep.”

  The bed was chilly, the sheets so cool as to feel damp, but with both their bodies beneath the covers, it soon warmed. Gavriel settled in against her and winked out with a quickness that she envied. In secret, she touched him gently, stroking his damp hair, smoothing her hands down his back. He stirred in his sleep and pressed closer, his face completely open and trusting.

  I’m sorry. If I say good-bye in the morning, I’m not sure if I can leave.

  Mags didn’t sleep much, and she roused fully just before dawn. He had an arm around her, his cheek against her back, and she tried to detach slowly enough that he wouldn’t notice, but Gavriel snapped awake, grabbing her wrist in a steely hold.

  “Trying to sneak away like a thief?” he asked in a low, silky voice.

  “I haven’t stolen anything.”

  His tone turned musing. “Haven’t you?”

  She rolled over to glare at him. “I don’t know what this is about, but—”

  “Did you forget? We’re partners. Together, we vowed to return to Kelnora, and you said you’d help me hunt down the loyalist stronghold if I helped you find Slay. You know where he is now, even if you didn’t rescue him, while my work remains undone. Are you planning to renege on our agreement because you got what you wanted?”

  Dammit, he had her there. Part of her was relieved to have an excuse to stay, if only for a week or two longer, but she couldn’t let that show. She donned angry emotional armor like it was second-nature. “Go to hell, Gavriel.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I didn’t know the hunt was still on. After what you learned about Thalia, I figured you wouldn’t want to work for her anymore.”

  He sighed. “It’s not for her. The loyalists have no compunction about killing their own, and if they’re allowed to—”

  “I get it. For the good of the people and all that.”

  “Why does it feel like you don’t believe me? What did I do to deserve this?” Lifting his face, he appealed to the ceiling like Mags couldn’t see reason.

  “You’re pissing me off,” she growled.

  At the hint of her anger, answering sparks snapped in his eyes, and he bit his lip, inhaling sharply through his nose. It was simple for her to recognize the visual signals of his arousal now, especially when coupled with his warming scent, cloves and cinnamon with a hint of copper. Mags didn’t hesitate; she pounced and pressed his hands flat against the mattress. He was already fighting, eyes bright with anticipation. Gavriel didn’t make it easy. He resisted with all his strength, until he was quivering and breathless when she tied him with cords she found in a drawer, doubtless meant for more murderous enterprises. His iron-hard cock revealed the depth of his excitement and by the time she bound his ankles, he was bucking at the air, soft moans escaping him.

  Sitting back on her heels, Mags surveyed her handiwork. “You look gorgeous like this,” she whispered. “Spread and helpless.”

  His body jerked, reacting to the words, to her husky voice. “What are you planning to do to me?”

  “That would spoil the surprise.”

  With no preamble, Mags feasted on him. She bit him all over, light on his stomach, painful on his thighs. She claimed him from head to toe, alternating soft strokes with harsh slaps, and Gavriel went wild, panting, straining against his bonds. For at least an hour, she tormented him until his cock was leaking nonstop. Then s
he paused to finish her leftovers from the night before, smirking as she ate.

  “You can’t…” he gasped. “Please.”

  She shut him up by feeding him a slice of fruit. “I can do anything I want with you. Haven’t we been over this?”

  He chewed, swallowed, still trembling. His whole body was flushed, marked from her hands and mouth, and it was hard for Mags to keep her craving leashed, but she knew it would be better when she finally let go. She returned to the bed and stroked a gentle fingertip down his aching cock, knowing that wasn’t how he wanted to be touched.

  “Please,” he said again. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Those were the magic words, as they melted the last of her self-control. She took him then, hard and fast, and she put her hand on his throat, just enough to give the feeling an edge as she rode him. This time, he didn’t wait for her order, moving helplessly on his own. She didn’t reprimand him. The depth of that desire was delicious, and she leaned down for a fierce, open-mouthed kiss.

  The orgasm surprised her. She hadn’t realized she was quite there, but suddenly, she was coming, gasping into his mouth, and trying her best not to say anything that would reveal how deeply he’d gotten to her. Odd to think that way with his cock jerking and spurting inside her, but that was sex. This feeling… she couldn’t let it grow. Quietly panicked, she rolled off him and untied his arms and legs, massaging them to make sure he had good circulation.

  Then Mags flopped backward on the bed, and she didn’t even have the energy to resist when Gavriel pulled her close.

  Gavriel breathed in Mags’s scent and put his face in her hair while his breathing steadied.

  His whole body stung—in a good way—and he felt used in the best possible sense. There was no doubt that she desired him, strange and miraculous as it seemed. Such a marvel seemed almost transcendental—that he could be wanted and not feared. She was so capable that she had no need of his protection, but the realization roused a flutter of unease. That meant she might well have no use for him beyond the bedroom.

  Outside, he could hear the staff stirring, hurrying through the halls. He barely caught the tail end of an excited cry. “The queen has returned!”

  Beside him, Mags stiffened, and he felt her gaze focused on his face. “You don’t want to greet Thalia?” she asked.

  “To hell with Thalia.” Once, he couldn’t have imagined saying such a thing, especially referring to her without a title, but it felt liberating. “Our paths have diverged, as you well know. I’m spending the entire day in bed with you.”

  “What if I have other plans?” Her tone was a challenge.

  “I can’t force you. But what else do you have to do?”

  She made a sound that could’ve been a laugh. “Not me, you. I thought you were in a hurry to root out the loyalists. Isn’t work your life?”

  “Not anymore.” Because Gavriel didn’t think she’d want to hear how she’d already changed him, he chose to say no more.

  That day, they stayed in his room like fugitives and had more sex than he could have imagined in his wildest dreams. He surfaced only long enough to get more food from the kitchen, then he went back for more of her wildly inventive games.

  His entire body hurt, and she was such a smug cat, gloating over his complete and utter ruin. Somehow, he was smiling too, wishing this interlude would never end. As he gazed into her golden eyes and stroked her dark hair, he finally put a name to the feeling. I love you, Mags.

  Gods help me, but I do.

  She wouldn’t want to hear that either, so he kept the feeling quiet, caught in his heart like a fossilized insect in amber.

  “This was a good day,” she said in a dreamy tone. “I should shower.”

  Maybe he was starting to become a little more Animari in spirit because he loathed the idea of her washing off his scent. Gavriel sat up. “We could bathe together.”

  “Your bath isn’t very luxurious,” she said dubiously.

  “If you prefer not to try…”

  “Let’s give it a shot. Is there a way to increase the water pressure?”

  He fiddled with the shower head and got a slightly better flow, but the equipment was ancient. Though he had mostly bad memories of his time in Ash Valley, he did picture the bathhouse with a wistful sigh, then he called to her. “I did the best I could. Come in!”

  She padded into the bathroom naked, comfortable with her body. He was learning not to mind either because her eyes smiled when they lit on the marks she’d left on his skin. His people took longer to heal, so he’d carry them for a while—secret souvenirs of what they did to each other.

  He had only one cloth, one towel, but they crowded into the narrow stall and washed each other. She was gentle now, as she never was in bed, and this felt good in ways he couldn’t have envisioned. Not arousing, but sweet and tender, all the care he’d never received from anyone else. Gavriel closed his eyes and tipped his head back while she washed his hair, not realizing that he was humming until she pointed it out.

  “What’s that song?”

  “Ah, it’s my favorite. I could play it for you, if you like.” How absurd, feeling shy about his taste in music when she was lathering his bare ass.

  Turning, he rinsed and took his time washing her, trying to convey without words how precious and vital she’d become. Mags never showed much of what she was feeling, so he couldn’t tell if his sentiments reached her. In time, they stepped out, clean and shivering.

  “We should change the sheets,” she said. “If you have any spares.”

  “I don’t know where they’re kept. The workers handle such matters here.”

  “Do you have someplace where you’d be in charge of that?” she asked unexpectedly. “Like a flat or a retreat that belongs only to you?”

  Startled, he shook his head. “Until now, I followed Thalia’s orders and stayed wherever she assigned me.”

  “That’s—”

  “Sad,” he finished, mostly so she wouldn’t. “I’m aware.”

  “Well, you can do something about it now.”

  “I plan to.”

  “Another round?” she asked.

  Hard to say if she was joking, but before he could reply, she tackled him. Gavriel hit the bed hard and twisted in defiance. At any point, he could have said the stopping word, but with her, he probably never would.

  In the morning, Daruvar crackled like a live wire with guests arriving nonstop. He ventured out because the food was gone, and when he returned, Mags was nowhere to be found. His heart nearly stopped as he raced through the keep in search of her. The workers drew back against the wall, staring as he ran past, but he didn’t care what they thought, or what they whispered about him.

  She wouldn’t have left. Not yet.

  They’d talked about finishing the job. He staggered when he spotted her in the corridor by the med center, deep in conversation with Callum McRae. The bear clan leader was standing too close to her, and Gavriel didn’t give a damn if he was a monk. A woman like Mags could make a man break a lifetime habit of celibacy; he ought to know.

  “I was just going to call you,” Mags was saying. “You’re here to congratulate the new queen, I reckon?”

  “Bunch of damned nonsense,” McRae muttered. “I should be at Burnt Amber, but no, here I am doing diplomatic bullshit with the enemy marching on my lands.”

  “I heard you’re taking the brunt,” Mags said. “Sorry to hear it.”

  McRae dismissed her sympathy with a curt gesture, and Gavriel didn’t know if he should slip away or keep listening. Now that he knew she hadn’t left like she’d tried to before, he could relax a little. With Animari senses, he realized, they probably already knew of his arrival, so he rounded the corner and joined them. He inclined his head in greeting, but remained silent, making it clear he wouldn’t interrupt. Mags touched his arm in welcome, but she was clearly trying to figure out how to break the bad news.

  The war priest sighed. “Spit it out a
lready. I’m heading back to Burnt Amber as soon as I do the bare minimum here.”

  “You mean the bear minimum?” Mags was grinning as if she’d cracked the best joke in the world.

  At first, Gavriel didn’t get it, but he laughed at the other man’s expression more than anything else. McRae half-turned like he was done, but Mags grabbed his arm.

  “Sorry, couldn’t resist. There’s no good way to tell you this, but…”

  Gavriel admired the succinct way she summed up the drug issue. He spoke for the first time to support her. “We kept a few vials as proof, if you need to see them.”

  Until now, he hadn’t known that monks cursed, but this one did, explicitly and in colorful detail. When McRae finally wound down, Mags was gazing at him in open admiration. “That was a thing of beauty.”

  “Whatever. Dead-Eyes and gray tar, my day just keeps getting worse.” Sighing, McRae added, “Send pictures of what you found, and I’ll take care of it. There aren’t many people with the power and opportunity to do this.”

  “Then I’ll consider the matter resolved,” Mags said. “By the way, I heard Joss was looking for you earlier. You better run, war priest. That woman is relentless.”

  McRae made an obscene gesture as he stomped away; he’d be loads of fun at Thalia’s coronation. It was petty but imagining the bear’s endless glower on that auspicious occasion put a smile on Gavriel’s face.

  With a graceful stretch that caught his eye and held it, Mags tucked her phone in her pocket. Right, she left it in the med center the other night.

  “I’m ready to go,” she said. “That was the last thing on my to-do list. Do you want to say bye to…anyone?”

  “Not at all. Let me get my things.”

  24.

  Since Gavriel was avoiding Thalia, Mags figured they should wait until the reception moved from the courtyard to the great hall.

  Once everyone went inside, she headed out and he met her beyond the walls, leading Gray. “Ready?” Gavriel asked.