Shadowed Fire (Veil of Midnight Book 1)

by A. Vers

  His friend smirks.

  I know what they are seeing. A young woman in her late teens, pretty, fit. My tank top is torn from the attack on the consulate, and my body is dirty and coated in sweat. I look like I’ve been running from something big and bad. But more than that, I look vulnerable. Easy prey.

  And I want to kick their teeth down their throats.

  The shifter licks his lips in disgusting appreciation and reaches for me.

  My hand moves. His eyes bug as the first blade sinks into his stomach. A small gasp leaves him.

  His friend rocks forward. “Hey, what—”

  I wrench the dagger free and hurl it as I sidestep the shifter’s falling body. It sinks to the hilt in soft flesh. The other male’s hands flutter around the wound, his eyes wide.

  Walking to him as he drops to his knees, I place a hand on his shoulder and grab the hilt. I twist the blade. He chokes and blood leaks from the corner of his mouth.

  “You really should have just kept walking,” I seethe, glowering down at him. His face grows pinched. Full of pain. I rip the blade free and he crumbles.

  There is no remorse. Not even a drop.

  I always expected my first kills to bother me more. But my worry over Nix is too great. He’s here somewhere, and from what the two dead supes said, they already know it.

  So I leave the bodies where they lay, slide my knives into my boots, and take off into the smoke.

  Chapter 34

  It’s slow going getting to the rear of the warehouse. Though I don’t come into contact with any other guards, the paths all dead end into pallets or tall shelves. Twice I have to clamor up over stacks or metal racks to keep going in the direction I need to go.

  How I know which way… That I can’t think about.

  Soon the strange humming from outside grows more distinct, filling my ears until I wouldn’t be able to hear an ambush even if it came.

  I barrel around the closest stack of pallets and slam to a halt, a whimper rising in my throat.

  Nix is dead center of the room, his limbs spread eagle as smoky dark tentacles hold him aloft before the giant mass of roiling black energy I had sensed with my amhara. Though Nix’s russet skin is paler, he never makes a sound.

  I peer closer, squinting.

  Blood streams from his temple, nearly invisible next to the crimson of his hair. Unconscious.

  Damn.

  From out of the shadows, a loathsomely familiar figure prowls forth. Clad now in older armor, Rorick embodies the kind of Hallow look the world has grown to fear.

  With his dark hair shorn, and his scars, he’s a million times scarier than his son.

  He walks closer and swings his fist. The meaty thwack of flesh hitting flesh makes my teeth grind. Nix’s head rolls. His eyes spring wide, real flames burning in their depths as they fix on the man before him.

  Rorick stalks around him. “Good. You’re awake. I was afraid my men had been a bit too rough with you.”

  Nix glowers.

  The older assassin continues his slow glide. “How many did you bring with you? Hmmm?”

  “I brought no one,” Nix says, his tone lifeless. My heart skips a beat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Rorick tsks. “Lies, Phoenix. Lies.” He peers at his son, a maniacal cast to his features. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

  “You didn’t raise me,” Nix tells him. “You cast me away, remember?”

  Rorick seems to pause. “Ah. That’s right.” He grabs a handful of Nix’s hair and wrenches his head back. “Because you killed my family.”

  Nix doesn’t deny it. And after the vision during the ritual for Chol, I know Rorick is right. Somehow Nix was responsible for the fire. It was why he refused to use that other power for so long. Why he lets his Hallow magick eat it.

  “And you still don’t deny it?” Rorick asks, his tone contemplative. “Even after all these years?”

  “Why should I? You wouldn’t believe me then and you won’t now.” There is a wealth of fatigue in those words.

  A new surge of understanding wells in me for Nix. This, this is what wore him down. What made him fear letting anyone in. His own father wouldn’t listen, he didn’t care enough about his son to hear him out.

  Damn Rorick. Damn him to the darkest parts of the Seven Hells.

  The older assassin lets him go, his face twisted with disgust. “You always took the easy way out.” Nix’s jaw flexes, but otherwise he remains silent.

  “Most unwise to come alone, Phoenix,” Rorick continues, spitting to one side. “If you had brought me the Prince as well, perhaps I could have bargained to be the one to kill you.”

  Nix snarls, his lip peeling back. “Getting soft in your old age, Father? Never thought you to be the sentimental type.”

  Rorick laughs, but there is little sanity in the sound. “I see Eremet still has not told you the truth.”

  Nix goes still. “Told me what?” he asks icily.

  The smile on the assassin leader’s face grows broad indeed. He turns to face Nix. “Oh come now,” he all but croons. “Surely you have guessed?”

  Nix watches him, his keen gaze tracking every move the other man makes. “You speak in riddles, old man.”

  Rorick turns to him. “Indeed.” He walks to a nearby table and opens a long black roll of fabric. Inside there is the soft glint of numerous blades. My blood goes cold.

  The assassin selects a long spiked blade of shining silver. He idly twirls it. “All these years he has let you suffer needlessly. Made you believe that you are something—someone you are not. And why? Only to save his own skin.” He looks at Nix, waiting.

  “Enough,” Nix snaps, his eyes simmering with anger.

  Rorick walks to him and presses the sharp point under his jaw. He forces Nix’s eyes up. The assassin leans down. “You know of what I speak, Phoenix. You can sense it. The truth.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nix tries to jerk back.

  Rorick smiles. “Yes, you do. Say it, Phoenix. Say what you have always known.”

  Nix clamps his lips so tight together they turn white.

  Rorick snarls. “Say it!” Nix glares up at him, his gaze filling with fire. Rorick slashes his cheek, drawing a bleeding line in that gorgeous russet skin. Something inside me snaps wide. I start over the concrete, anger boiling in my veins as blue fire arcs down my arms. “Say it!” Rorick demands.

  “Go to hell,” Nix grinds out.

  I slink closer, one boot in front of the other as my vision narrows to the knife in Rorick’s hand. Nix turns his head, his face lined in emptiness and rage.

  His eyes halt on me, locking in mine. He pales.

  Rorick stands up, his head turning.

  “Fine,” Nix snaps.

  His father turns back to him, unbalanced glee filling his face. “Say it, Phoenix. Tell me what you have always known.”

  “That I hate you?” A tinge of disdain drips from Nix’s words. Rorick makes a noise and backhands him. I pull the blades from my boots.

  “You insolent little shit.” He presses the knife into the hollow of Nix’s throat. “Say it.”

  Less than a foot separates me from Rorick. I take another step.

  Rorick spins, knocking my knives from my grasp with a downward slam of his forearm. My arms go numb. The blades clatter on the stone and I bend fast. Rorick sweeps his foot out, driving me back.

  Nix snarls, pulling and twisting at the thing holding him. “Get away from her,” he says, his voice like ice despite what he is. Despite the flames rolling in the depths of his gaze. Hells, I half expect them to be marching down his arms by now.

  Rorick sneers at me, his hand holding his dirk in a loose underhanded grip. “You are the girl from the embassy,” he says, almost absentmindedly. “I thought I recognized you.” Some of his humor fades. “You’ve been protecting these two bastards when you should have left them to burn.”

  I crouch, lips peeling back in a
feral exposure of my teeth. Inside me, my blood is still heating. Responding, I realize, to my rage. “You’re the only one that is going to burn.”

  Rorick swipes with his knife. My arms fly up as I suck in my breath. The dirk sails past me, missing my navel by inches. Nix thrashes behind him, his eyes wild.

  The assassin steps, and I backpedal, careful to keep him in my sights. He slashes. I jump back again. He keeps coming in a flurry of motions nearly too fast for me to follow. Something burns along my bare arm.

  I wince as the first trickle of blood flows free. The arc of ice blue fire spills over my hands before I can stop it.

  Rorick smiles, stalking me over the concrete. “An elemental, perhaps?” he asks.

  I spin, booted heel flying for his leg.

  He lunges away, and the kick barely clips his flesh. One finger wags. “Now, now,” he admonishes.

  I snarl, my anger building. Everything burns. But I know he is just playing with me. Taunting me.

  No.

  My eyes dip behind him, locking on Nix.

  The Hallow is nearly mad looking, his teeth bared and his eyes luminous in the darkest corners of the warehouse.

  Rorick is baiting him.

  He couldn’t get Chol, the only other person Nix has ever let close. But here I am. Still with his son, protecting him. Trying to save him.

  I look at Nix.

  Gods.

  With every ounce of anger that boils inside of him, he grows more and more feral. Unstable. He is going to go berserk, I realize, my fear pushing out the rage. Fear for him.

  My eyes dart frantically, searching for a way to end it. A way that would be fast enough that maybe I can save the Hallow who has grown to be such an important part of my life. But I know only one way to get him free.

  And we need more blood than what has been spilt so far.

  I let my guard down, bracing my body and knowing it won’t help in the slightest.

  Rorick, grinning insanely, takes the opening and drives the knife toward my chest. I turn, letting it slice into my skin in one long burning line. Nix bellows, the sound animalistic and wrong from a human throat.

  My power rushes to the surface, called by the blood now flowing along my skin or maybe the desperation I can hear in that one sound. A sound that will be with me forever.

  Bright icy light fills the small space, obliterating the shadows.

  A high keening sound rips through the space, and the humming grows until it is all I can hear. I want to cover my ears, to cry out.

  But Rorick turns inside that blue glow. Faster than I can follow, he spins the blade and stabs it into his son’s stomach.

  “No!” I scream, lunging forward as Nix arches, his eyes wide.

  The assassin leans into him. “I am not your father. But I will kill you like you killed my family.” He wrenches the blade free, and Nix begins to crumble, his eyes showing too much white as they slowly dim.

  Something in me disintegrates as the fire in him seems to go out. Extinguished.

  I leap across the space, pounding my fiery fists into every inch of Rorick’s’ body I can reach. He whips around, backhanding me with force. It rocks me, leaving me dazed. I scream again, launching at him to scrape my nails over his face. His skin rends under the onslaught, gouging horrific lines of vibrant blood that sparks and sizzles under my power. My power…

  Feeding the fire with my rage, my desperation, blue flames scorch up my arms, over my hands, and along his skin. He roars in pain.

  And still I twist the flames to my will, building it and turning it into something it was never meant to be. I grab his face, holding him so he can’t go anywhere.

  Making him feel this—this emptiness. This ache.

  He screams frantically, his voice fading into hoarseness as his arms batter at my body. There’s a sharp burn in my side. I barely feel it.

  But it makes the inferno hotter.

  He falls to his knees as he made his son do the same, blood and clear fluid tricking along his skin and his jaw slack. I let him go.

  His face is in ruin, the skin melted and deformed. There is no motion in his body. No rise and fall of breath. I slam my boot into his gut, but he never makes a sound. It feels so good to just hit him, that I do it again. And again until I collapse, breathing wildly.

  But somehow it will never be enough.

  Chapter 35

  “Say…ah.”

  Nix’s voice is thready, weak from behind me. Whipping around, I rush to him.

  His eyes flutter, taking in my expression. He raises a hand and brushes my cheek, the motion tremulous and jerking. “No more. No more,” he whispers. “S’ enough.”

  I try not to look down, to not look away from the faded hue of his eyes. But I can’t stop myself.

  His midsection is glistening black in the dimness. I choke. Gods above. There is so much blood. So much. Tears scald my face, sizzling as they meet the fire still burning on my skin. But oddly Nix remains unscathed when I touch him.

  No. Not oddly. Seraphim.

  Phoenix.

  The fiery bird of rebirth…

  Son of a—

  I pull him into my arms, my hand going to his bleeding stomach to staunch the flow. But it’s so much blood. My fingers shake, and my stomach turns at the slickness coating him. “Nix,” I hiss. He groans. “Nix, I need you to burn.”

  He makes another inarticulate sound. I try to hoist him higher, holding him up. But he’s so much larger than I. My head falls to his. “Please, Nix. You have to burn. You have to.”

  “Can’t…” he gasps out feebly, blood dribbling from his lips.

  I kiss his forehead hard, anger and worry at war in my insides. “Please,” I whisper against his skin. “There is no other way.”

  “Could…hurt…” he pants, “you.”

  A volley of swear words try to fly free.

  Instead, I pull away and stare at him. My fire swirls around us, soft blue and pulsing with every erratic beat of my heart. “Burn, Nix. Or so help me…”

  His lips tremor in amusement and then he coughs. Blood sprays from his mouth and my arms tighten around him on reflex, like I can stop it. Stop this.

  “Please. I’ll burn with you. Just like at the consulate. I swear. Just please, you have to burn.” I start to rock, holding him against me as tears scald my cheeks. “Please.” The last is a furtive croak.

  A small caress slides over my jaw. “Kiss me…and…I’ll burn.”

  My heart somersaults as I pull back to peer at him with uncertainty, tears pooling in my eyes. But he remains watching me with that same feverish gaze.

  What else can I do?

  Shifting a bit so I can reach him, I kiss him without thought. Without care of the repercussions or the pain it will cause me. I kiss him in desperation, in hope. But most of all I kiss him for the man he could’ve been. The one I can still see staring out at me when he doesn’t think anyone is looking.

  His fingers are shockingly cool against my cheek. But his lips still hold a warmth that is solely Nix. I inhale the ash and sunshine scent of his body and let the leash on my power go.

  I feed it into him, spilling it from my mouth to his. His back arches off the concrete, the hold on my face turning more solid. Stronger.

  He makes a sound, a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan that would make me tingle at the worst of times. And I relish the sound with every fiber of my being.

  I wrap my arms around him, my blood-slick hand diving into his hair until his feir tickle my skin. The little beads are no longer completely silent. Now they chime softly. It makes me kiss him harder. He groans again, his mouth opening gently beneath mine. Soft licks of heat spark under my hands. I jerk back in surprise.

  Nix smolders in my arms, his body fading under a wash of orange, yellow, and rich blue. It rolls over him, dancing and waving merrily as it tastes the blood on his skin. Every droplet sizzles and fades like it was never there in a cloudless haze of heat. His crimson hair waves in a breeze onl
y he can feel. But Gods, for a moment, I can too.

  He burns in my arms, as the Phoenix of legend burns to be reborn.

  And yet, the heat never becomes unbearable. Where his fire meets mine, it turns a soft purple, rolling and playing as only something so wild can.

  The dark mass and Rorick’s fallen body fade under the light. Under those ever reaching tendrils of flame. And I pray they are consumed by it; devoured under the wave of shadowed seraph fire.

  ***

  I don’t know how long Nix burns. Only that, after a time, a distant wail cuts into the stillness, jarring me from the lull I fell into hours or minutes before.

  My head raises, and every muscle is stiff. I blink blearily.

  The warehouse is a smoldering ruin. There is no sign of Rorick or the shadows, but a large pile of ash sits in a slightly cleared place nearby.

  Relief fills me. He’s dead. The asshole is dead.

  “Sayah?” A masculine cough, and Nix jerks in my arms. I focus on his face, noting the smooth quality of his skin. The near flawless texture. And the dry, flaky state of his shirt. He grimaces. “Gods. What happened?” he croaks.

  My lips tremble. I pull one arm away and lift the edge of the material over his stomach.

  Perfect, russet muscle with not even a hint of a scar greets me.

  My eyes raise. He watches me in silence, confusion resting just behind the fatigue I can see quite clear in his face.

  “Sayah?” he asks again.

  I laugh, and then begin to sob. His eyes widen and he tries to sit up, wincing and dissolving into another coughing fit. I flutter my hands uselessly around him. “Hold still,” I say, harsher than I intend.

  He waves me off and finally manages to ease up next to me, but his skin is flushed and his hair damp from perspiration now. “I’ve never been much of a resting kind of guy,” he murmurs. “But I think I could sleep for about a week.” He peers at me under the fall of his hair. “You want to tell me what happened?”

  In the distance, the wail grows stronger.

  His head turns, cocking slightly. “Shit.” He starts shakily to his feet, urging me up with him. “On second thought, answer that later.”