Shadowed Fire (Veil of Midnight Book 1)

by A. Vers

The prince raises a hand weakly. “I didn’t tell him.”

  Nix rights himself with a soft moan. “He didn’t have to. I saw it when we fought—whatever those things were. Remember?”

  My head just shakes and I move to the alley’s end. “It’s a mimir ability, but it’s a one faze in twenty-four hours kind of thing. I can’t use it a lot. And I’ve never tried to move so many.” Nix makes a sound of disgust, and I frown. “The reason we all feel like roadkill is because it takes energy from everyone to use it. I should’ve asked before, but there wasn’t exactly a chance.”

  They fall quiet behind me, but soon their scents and heat radiate on each side of my body. It soothes me in a strange way.

  “As shitty as I feel,” Nix mutters, “it got us out of the pub, so I can’t complain as much as I would like.”

  I stare at him over my shoulder, but he doesn’t add anything else.

  “With the hunters here, we need some place to go and recover,” I say and glance over at Chol. “You keep saying no. But between your amour, and my fazing, we are dead on our feet. Nix can’t keep both of us upright, keep himself from the guards, and stave off the assassins. We’re going to Wicked.”

  Chol stiffens, dark patches of color high in his pale face. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  I spin a little. “It’s a club, right? Like they have in the human world? That’s why you don’t want to take me.”

  His beautiful moonlit eyes search my upturned face before glancing away. “It’s a club, all right. But it’s not like anything you will find on Earth.”

  “It’s a skin club, Sayah.” Nix’s voice is a rich rumble in the dark. “A haven for succubi and incubi to—barter their specific skills.”

  His words seem to echo or maybe it’s just me. I stare at Chol from so close, but the golden Prince won’t look at me at all now. A skin club? Skills?

  My gaze tracks over Chol’s modern dressed form, taking in the width of his shoulders and the lean taper of his hips in his jeans.

  “Oh,” I murmur, color high in my face. “Oh…” It takes a second to work past the lump of lead forming in my chest. “So you will--I mean have you…” I trail off, unable to say it.

  “It’s how we feed,” Chol grumbles. In those few words is a wealth of hate for what he is. For who he is and what he has to do.

  Some of my tightness eases, but the strange jealousy never does. “Well, if that is how this has to be done…then maybe we can kill two birds with one stone?” Every word is like acid, but I force them out.

  That catches his attention. “What do you mean?” he asks, expression contorted in disbelief and a touch of anger.

  I hold up my arm and pull down my sleeve, flashing my bracelets. “Can you charge these too?”

  Ѻ

  Nix stalks down the dim hallway into the pulsing front interior of the strangest place I have ever seen. Velvet benches and long glass counters offer a wealth of things I have no names for. A dark archway leads off to the side and soft laughter and clinking glasses flow through it as though from a distance.

  Wicked.

  Aptly named.

  Twin hosts, one male and one female sashay out from behind the long cabinets. They are clothed in a skin tight dress for the girl and poured on pants for the male. Both wear thick collars around their necks with a bejeweled ‘W’ in the center. The girl appraises Nix and Chol in obvious interest as the male casts covetous glances my way. Chol presses into my side with a baring of his teeth.

  “Welcome to Wicked,” they intone, their voices in musical harmony and not an ounce of worry in their features. They look at Chol. “Do you seek a meal or a banquet, kin?”

  Chol exhales, and, for a moment, I don’t think he will answer. “A banquet.”

  They beam and move back to the counters. The male pulls out a long wand made of shimmering crystal. He waves it over the backs of the guy’s hands before gesturing for me. I step closer. His palm is warm, like Chol’s, but soft and devoid of hard labor. The little wand passes over my skin and little tingles zip through my body. When I pull back, a glimmering ‘W’ emblazons back for a moment. It fades to a soft shimmer in the dimness.

  The girl passes me a slim bag and a golden key. Chol makes a choking noise but doesn’t say anything. I take the items slowly. The bag is paper and very light. But the way Chol keeps darting glances at it, I can’t bring myself to look inside.

  The twins bid us have a pleasurable evening and Nix grips my elbow, pulling me through the archway into the club.

  It takes everything in me not to turn around and walk back out.

  Scantily clad males and females move through the room. Bits of lace, velvet, and silk cover their--sensitive regions. But that’s it. No other cover. No nothing. They rest in tangled piles in the darkest corners, hands roaming and lips pressed tight. But they all have one thing in common.

  They all look like Chol.

  Everywhere I glance there is an abundance of gold and platinum hair, silver or gold eyes, and tan skin. They strut about, taut muscle and lean bodies carved from shades of honey, sepia, fawn, and hazel wood. Delectable fragrances pour through the air, a wealth of sweet scents and mild flowers. My head turns this way and that, eyes wide.

  Chol grabs my face, making me look at him. His eyes are already backlit in gold light, and his skin is too hot. Feverish. “Stay with Nix. Please.”

  I nod, the motion stilted in his grasp. “Of course. Now what?”

  He searches my eyes for a moment longer before stepping back. “Now you leave.” His hands move to the zipper on his borrowed sweatshirt, gaze hard. It slides down, baring his sky blue shirt. He pulls the sweater from his body. My mouth goes oddly dry.

  His fingers contort around the fabric and his eyes glow a brilliant gold in the dark. It’s like looking into the human sun. Soft sounds echo through the room and men and women turn all along the edges of the chamber. They start closer. “Nix, get her out of here,” Chol grinds out between his teeth.

  Nix’s hold on my arm returns, pulling me away from the prince. I try to turn, to keep him in my sight.

  Fingers close over the top of my head, forcing me to face front. “As difficult as it is,” the Hallow’s voice is wry, “he doesn’t want you to see him like this. Respect that wish.”

  His words have the desired effect, and I stop trying to turn. Nix releases me a bit so we can walk normal and leads me through the masses of surging beings. We slip down an adjoining hall. My last view of the golden prince is his torso completely bare, hands in the hair of a slim brunette, and his gaze locked deep in hers as she goes up on tiptoe to meet his lips with unbridled force.

  Chapter 16

  I huddle in the hot water of my bath, trying to expunge that last view of Chol from my mind. But it’s damn hard.

  There was no hesitation in his frame, nothing but the grace with which he stood there and the need burning in his eyes. It wasn’t just the other beings that frequent Wicked for a good time, it was the succubi and incubi too. All of them pushing and shoving to get closer, to taste his power. His kiss.

  Personally, I didn’t know they could seduce each other, but with Chol’s unparalled beauty, I guess it makes sense.

  I press my damp fingers to my lips, and a memory of that soft bottom swell makes me groan and slump deeper into the water. It flows over my shoulders in sweet scented foam, but even the delicate oils cannot assuage the unwelcome rise of jealousy. Jealousy I have no right to feel.

  A soft knock raps on the door. “Sayah?” Nix’s voice flows through the thin wood on the other side of the curtain around the tub.

  “Yeah?”

  The door cracks and I can just make out the edge of the frame over the material. “I thought you would want your bag.” Something dark is edged into view around the panel, but he snatches his rich fingers back just as fast. His steps ease toward the door.

  My heart slams and I slosh in the tub. “Will you stay?” I ask quickly, unwilling to be alone with my emotions
or traitorous mind. “Just until I get out?”

  He stops moving. “You want me to stay in here?” The words are soft and carefully devoid of any inflection.

  “Please?”

  He remains quiet for long enough that I believe he left. Then his shadow grows more visible outside the curtain as he sits down in the open doorway.

  I lean against the rim of the tub with a hard sigh. “Why do they all flock to him?”

  Nix exhales, and the curtain waves in a small draft of air as his boots stretch out on the floor near the tub. “He is the Cambion prince. I would be more worried if they didn’t,” he mutters.

  “But how is it possible?” I ask. “It wasn’t just the humans or arcanes. It was his own people. I thought succubi and incubi couldn’t seduce each other?”

  “They can’t. Normally. But Chol isn’t quite normal, as I’m sure you have figured out.”

  I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Lady Delancre is a succubus, right?”

  He shifts a bit. “And his father is an incubus, which makes him—”

  “Rarer than I thought,” I finish, mind whirring.

  We fall quiet as I work through what he said.

  Not the son of a human and a succubus, as I’d thought. But a true cambion. Both blood lines live in Chol’s veins. It makes him powerful. It makes him— “Is that why he’s hunted? Because of his blood?” I can’t quell the note of anger in my voice.

  “Part of it, yes.”

  I don’t wait for him to say more. He won’t, even now, in what amounts to a honeymoon suite in a skin club. His loyalty is to Chol. Not me. And though we have fought together a handful of times now, he still won’t trust me with all of his charge’s secret, and I am no longer willing to ask him to.

  “Do you think he will ever be free?” I ask, watching his boots.

  He’s quiet for a time. “I think we’ve been running for so long,” he begins, slowly, “that even if he was…he wouldn’t know what to do.”

  I snort. “I wouldn’t either.”

  His boots slide back. “I always thought if we could get out--really get out… The first thing I would do, would be to just breathe.”

  “Like a vacation?”

  One boot taps softly. “Maybe.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “Where wouldn’t we?” His voice is light, sardonic. But I catch the desperation under the easier tone.

  It squeezes my insides in sympathy, and I fight that off too.

  “I’m getting out now,” I announce.

  Nix stands without a word, walks out, and closes the door behind him.

  Climbing from the water, it streams off me in a floral glide. I dress and pad out on bare feet to the bedroom. One massive bed dominates the far wall with a mountain of pillows and ruby blankets. Glowing crystals cast everything in a mix of red and gold. Like fire. Nix perches on the edge of one of the velvet armchairs, head in his hands. He looks up as I walk out.

  His eyes are a gorgeous compliment to the lights, and his ruby and scarlet hair picks up the fiery swirls, bringing the strands to life. He radiates tension and a masculine energy that makes me clamp my lips closed. “Feel better?” he asks, achingly deep voice barely a whisper in the quiet.

  I shrug and slip past him to collapse in the other chair. As tired as I am, it seems—odd--to climb into the only bed with him sitting here.

  “Mind if I go next?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  He rises with another careful look in my direction. “Door is spelled. Only open it for Chol.”

  “Okay.”

  He moves to the bathing room and closes the door.

  I slouch deeper into the plush fabric and gaze around the room in fascinated discontent. It’s hard to find the room as the next part of my adventure away from home when every inch is made for a couple. The high bed, the softly rolling fireplace, even the small kitchenette sports a bouquet of some sort of wild blossom and a bottle of the Asmodean Fíanac.

  My eyes lock on the ruby liquor with a glare. “Not that I have any one to share you with.” Chol flashes through my mind again, and with a disgusted huff, I climb to my feet and walk over.

  The little sack sits to one side of a tray of fruits. I poke it with a finger. It topples on its side and something blue and lacy falls to the marble.

  My fingers shake as I pick it up.

  Heat scorches through me at the barely existent fabric. Gods above.

  Quickly shoving it back into the bag, I drop the whole thing in the receptacle and try to breathe past my heartbeat in my throat.

  Wicked really is…wicked.

  My gaze falls to the bottle of Fíanac. A sip can’t hurt. Right?

  Cool condensation scrolls over the decanter as I uncork it. Rich berries, citrus, amber, and something spicy perfumes the air. I raise the bottle to my lips and take a cautious pull.

  It courses through me like Chol’s magick, heating my insides and dispelling some of my tension. I take another sip. And then another. The tray of small blood-red fruits wait on the low bar beside the ice bucket. I take another sip of the demon wine and eye the fruit.

  The bowl of stew from the Inn feels like days ago. But running and battling for your life makes you hungry.

  Picking one little red piece, I shove it in my mouth and groan.

  Flavor explodes over my tongue in a delicate wash of juices. Its sweet, succulent, and unbelievably good. And Nix has to try it.

  I snag another and rush headlong for the bathroom door. No water runs on the other side. With a quick bang from my elbow, I stumble inside.

  Nix turns in surprise, wet hair dripping over his bare chest. His jeans are un-buttoned and low over the sculpted planes of his hips and stomach. Where Chol is all lean, graceful muscle, Nix is obscenely well-built.

  Every ridge is thick, full, and the same amazing russet hue as his arms. The crimson markings covering his biceps and shoulders spread over his chest, like whirls of flames or vines. They disappear over his broad back and the urge to walk behind him and see the rest leaves me quaking.

  Heat blossoms along the current of the Fíanac. It dances behind my navel and into my cheeks until I shift.

  He moves closer, towel in his grasp and his eyes darting beyond me to assess the suite. “Sayah? What’s wrong? Is it Chol?” His voice rolls through me like thunder.

  I stand in the doorway, bottle in one hand, dripping fruit in the other and stare. “Ummm…no. Nothing like that. I’m sorry--” I try to back away and run into the doorjamb. It jars my spine and he is just there, holding my arms, the keen sweep of his gaze on fire.

  Or maybe that’s me.

  “Whoa.” He takes in the bottle in my hand with a rueful curve of his lips. A cloud of ash, leather, and sunshine pours from his partially dressed frame, clouding my head even more.

  Why does ash have to smell so good?

  “How much did you drink?” he asks.

  I flush, and it leaves me strangely dizzy. “A little,” I whisper, trying not to stare at the rich color of his full lips.

  He regards me for a moment before fumbling the bottle from me, hefting the weight, and setting it on the table beside the door with a resigned sigh.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  His question drags my eyes back up to his. Flecks of citrine, gold, amber, and crimson weave in and out of his irises. This close, the long lines of his eyelashes are a delicate curve. Thick and framing his eyes until they gleam. A faint shadow of hair rims his jaw, adding to the rugged quality that is simply Nix.

  I groan, and it’s shaky. “You’re beautiful too. Why? Why do you have to be beautiful too?” It seems so important that he answers that.

  His body goes taut. “Sayah?”

  With my hand empty, I reach for him. My fingers curve over the scalding swell of his bicep. His skin ripples under my touch. “You’re hot.” The words are insanely funny and it leaves me giggling and pressed to the solid front of his body.

  “Okay,
that’s definitely enough of the Devil’s Wine for you.” His arms are strong and capable as he lifts me against the hard wall of his chest. I curl into him, inhaling his fragrance in heavy pulls.

  The little fruit in my fingers seems to grow heavier. I offer it to him. “I was bringing you this. You need to eat.”

  His steps halt in the middle of the floor and he stares down at me. “Even drunk you’re more worried about us than you are about yourself.” His words puzzle me.

  “I’m not drunk,” I say finally.

  He rolls his eyes and the effect is dizzying as the bright colors whirl. “Yes, you are. And Chol will kill us both if he comes in and you’re like this. So time for bed.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. I’m pouting but am no longer sure why it matters. “I’m not tired.”

  He carries me over to the bed and lays me out amongst the pillows before taking the little fruit and putting it on the nightstand. “Uh huh,” is all he says as he shifts one thin blanket to cover me.

  I stare at him. “Nix…”

  He watches me, seemingly waiting for the rest. There is nothing like being the center of his attention, of having every ounce of that fiery gaze locked on you or his heat spiraling into your body from so close.

  A haze flows over me. Not amour, not the Fíanac, but him. Just Nix. His strength, his loyalty… His dangerous edge.

  I grip his shoulders and press my lips to his cheek as a thank you for being nicer than he has to be. But the motion is clumsy and my lips graze the corner of his mouth. His full, soft mouth.

  I pull away, eyes wide with what I’ve done. Gods above. “Nix… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

  He stares at me.

  His hands close over my cheeks, searing me and holding me still. He’s big this close. Broad and strong. His hands are the same, heavy and calloused. Rough. Each touch is like a miniature inferno, heating me and scalding me until I can’t breathe past the flames. Flames he doesn’t mean to spark, and ones I shouldn’t feel.

  He searches my eyes before wrenching away. “Sayah…” His head shakes. “You’re drunk and Chol will be back soon. Go to bed.”