Windstorm (Nightwraith Book 1)

by Gaja J. Kos

  The Fae, however, merely smirked at me before the air around him began to shimmer like a sea of crushed diamonds. He dissolved the glamor he had been keeping around himself, layer by thick bloody layer, the change elegant, so effortless it stole my breath away.

  His short black hair flowed out, now touching the prominent line of his jaw, and gained a stunning purple hue—as did his eyes. His face shifted, too, gaining a rough edge, but one that did absolutely nothing to dampen its allure. Quite the contrary—it made him even more handsome, as hard as it was to believe something like that was even possible.

  Intricate tattoos snaked up his neck from beneath the collar of his black shirt, creating a stark contrast to his pale, unnervingly flawless skin. And although his physique had been impressive before, the male standing before me now, despite his civil, polished clothes, was a warrior. Muscles bulged beneath the smooth, dark fabric, ruthless and utterly captivating, stirring fear and lust in equal measure.

  He was without a doubt the most feral, stunning male I had ever seen.

  I kept on standing behind the counter, my magic prepared to act at the first sign of ill intent, but for the life of me I couldn’t peel my gaze from the breathtaking combination of danger and temptation the Fae emitted.

  At least now I knew what had lain behind the smirk.

  If anything, my bravado would have gotten me killed even sooner, as dumbfounded as I was right now.

  Yet the male didn’t make a move towards me. There were no vines of power shooting my way, though the promise of death was there, lurking in the depths of those entrancing eyes.

  Oh yes, he certainly knew I was demon. And like all representatives of his species, he hated my kind with a passion.

  I swallowed. Heavily. But even more so, I tried to ignore the growing heat that blossomed in the vee of my thighs.

  The gods must have been having a fucking party on my account.

  After what felt like ages had passed of my embarrassing gawking, the Fae asked, “You’re Liva Kasun?”

  The disbelief in his words was as thick as his Irish accent.

  Well, well, well.

  He used my father’s surname, not the one I was known for in the demonic circles. If he’d come to hunt me down, there wasn’t a chance in all the realms he would have made that mistake. Unless he was playing me…

  I studied him through narrow eyes. The tense stance, the slightly furrowed brows, coupled with the surprise lining his deep, melodic voice… The Fae truly hadn’t expected me to be a Nightwraith.

  Though the question remained—what was he going to do about it now?

  “You’re the witch expert on inanimate objects?” he tried again after I failed to answer. “The material empath?”

  “I am.”

  He took a step forward then, and another, weaving between the displayed antiques with liquid grace. Involuntarily, my fingers fumbled with the thick, embellished ledger on the counter, but I kept my right hand hidden beneath the wood, close to the eighteenth century dagger I kept tucked on a hidden shelf there. I wasn’t a fighter, not like Lena, and I couldn’t take particle form like Lana, my other sister could. But my father’s Kolduny magic combined with a blade was usually good enough to fend off any attacks. Or at least good enough to give myself a bloody chance to seek refuge in my place of power.

  But that was against enemies who had walked the earth for millennia. The dagger or my magic might not have been sufficient against someone as powerful as the male before me, but together, they stifled the impulse to curl up into a ball on the ground and beg for a swift death.

  And since he hadn’t attacked me outright, I was hopeful.

  Painfully slow, the Fae prowled forward, his gaze brushing against the many objects in the store as if I were invisible. Which, in turn, made me all the more alert.

  One of the first lessons Lena had taught me back in my late teens before I had decided to put some distance between me and all things demonic, was that you never took your eyes off your opponent. The way the Fae was acting, so casual and unhurried, made me wonder if my initial assessment of his strength had been a gross understatement. Needless to say, the thought chilled my very bones—but it didn’t snuff out the fire burning deep inside my core.

  I cursed under my breath. I didn’t spend my life devoted to beauty only to be killed by its allure.

  Not when I was only twenty-six, a fledgling, still, in Kolduny and demon terms alike.

  So I squared my shoulders, forced myself to stand straighter, and asked, “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Purple eyes swept over me. They took in the long, blonde locks I had pinned into a messy updo, traveled down the length of my neck to the tight, beige dress that hugged my form and showed off the swell of my breasts. Heat flooded my cheeks as his gaze lingered on the plunging but tasteful neckline for just a second too long before, finally, the Fae met my not-exactly-determined stare.

  “I am in need of your services.” He crossed what little distance to the counter had still remained, bathing me in the potent, unique blend of his power that made my head spin with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. “I want you to help me find my brother’s killer.”

  Chapter 3

  “You want to hire me?” I blabbed.

  I should have guessed it the moment he had used my father’s last name that his appearance in my shop had something to do with my magic—the lighter variety. And maybe I had. But the stinking layers of fear buried the thought before it could even fully form.

  To think that a Fae wanted to hire me… I would have laughed if I wasn’t so shocked.

  Just to be sure, I rephrased his words into a question, emphasizing the me part. The Fae’s purple eyes met mine immediately, and the look he gave me practically dripped with disgust.

  Oh, yes, he definitely hadn’t been counting on doing business with a half demon. And it seemed he didn’t exactly appreciate me questioning his judgment, either.

  Unease grew in the pit of my stomach like a summer’s storm. But instead of reaching across the counter and snapping my neck for being so crass as I half expected he would, the Fae reached behind his back instead. He threw something that must have been shrouded in glamor up until now on the counter.

  Something that landed with a sickening plop.

  Bile rose in my throat, my eyes watering in response. Oh, gods, I so did not want to look down and see all the gory details.

  Watching violence through the essences of inanimate objects I merged with was disturbing enough. I really, really had no desire to add another nightmare to my long, fucked-up list of things I could never un-see.

  But luck just wasn’t on my side today. The damned thing was already in the periphery of my vision, writing itself in the creases of my memory.

  “Motherfucker,” I hissed through clenched teeth, and peeled my gaze away from his.

  Simply fighting the impulse to throw up all over the place demanded my entire concentration. I forgot about the fear, the threat on my life this male represented. I even forgot about the unnerving warmth pulsing between my thighs.

  All I saw was the bloody heart lying on top of my beautiful, once spotless counter.

  “My brother,” the Fae growled, as if I didn’t put two and two together yet.

  I swallowed audibly. Helping people find their loved one’s killer after the usual routes failed to produce any leads wasn’t new to me. In fact, the majority of my cases went down that particular dark path. But there was a rule my clients had to respect if they wanted my cooperation: I never, never dealt with bodies. Or parts of them, for that matter.

  My stomach did another unpleasant roll, and I gagged before I could suppress the impulse.

  My mother would probably sneer at me right now, utterly disgusted by how weak I was to shy away from blood and gore. With all her power, with all the power my father had, as well, she never could comprehend how one of her children had turned out the way I did. And, in this moment, I kind of shared her sentime
nt.

  But, Fae or not, there was literally a bloody heart lying right in front of me. How the fuck was I supposed to be okay with that?

  Curling my fingers around the edge of the counter—the clean part, that was—I took a couple of steadying breaths, painfully aware of the purple gaze that was monitoring my every move. His attention certainly didn’t make me feel any better, but, eventually, I composed myself enough to release the death grip I had on the wood. Without words—not that I was in a state to produce any—I skirted past the Fae to the other end of the room, then locked the front door and turned the sign to CLOSED.

  My magic kept monitoring the male behind me, but since no alarms were going off inside my core—none that spoke of any murderous intent, at least—I took the time to drop the blinds as well. In all honesty, I doubted the Fae had released the hold he had on his glamor. More than likely, he had only created a wormhole for me to see through. But I still didn’t feel like taking any chances. If some passerby were to peer through the window and see the warrior male in all his lethal, magnetic glory…

  I shivered, then gave myself a mental slap. No use pondering over things that weren’t going to happen. Even if they were a welcomed, although slightly disturbing distraction from the reality that looked at me with purple eyes—and the fucking heart resting on my counter. The warm sunlight whispered its silent goodbye as it brushed against my skin one last time, then yielded to the soft darkness that filled the entire store. Only three chandeliers with their candle-shaped bulbs kept the shadows from reigning completely.

  “Right,” I exhaled once the store was as secure as it could be, my back pressed to the door. “You do know I work only with inanimate objects, yes?”

  Annoyance rippled from the Fae, and for a moment there, I thought he was going to pounce. Roomful of antiques or not.

  Magic bubbled inside me without delay. The caged demonic tendrils hissed in warning, not liking his attitude one bit, but, like before, nothing happened.

  Gods, this never-ending suspense was killing me.

  I reminded myself that he could have murdered me a thousand times by now, yet the thought didn’t succeed in reassuring me of anything but the lethal nature of the male before me. There was only one way to move on from this standstill before the anticipation drove me mad, so I straightened my spine and slowly walked closer, keeping my gaze on the chiseled planes of his face the entire time.

  “I’m not saying I will take the job,” I said carefully as my heels clicked against the tiled floor. “But I can offer you the same treatment as I would anybody who came in here, asking for my services.”

  All that impressive muscle bunched beneath the black fabric of his tasteful suit and shirt as the Fae crossed his arms. And stared at me in silence.

  Great. Just great. He clearly wasn’t going to make things any easier.

  “Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” I tried even as annoyance flickered to life inside me. “What’s your name?”

  This time, the Fae didn’t only arch one eyebrow, but both. “I can hardly see why that’s of importance.”

  The death wish that must have sprouted roots somewhere deep inside me brought me another step closer to him. His power seeped through the fabric of my clothes, rubbing against my skin.

  Once again, I stifled the thought of how good it felt, despite the hard edge his energy carried. That was a path I had no desire exploring.

  My body, however, didn’t get the memo. Ignoring the heat that touched my cheeks, I lifted my chin and locked my gaze with his.

  “It’s part of the initial conversation. You can give me your name or you can leave. Anonymity isn’t an option here.”

  Silence spread between us, thick and laced with such violence that the demonic tendrils danced in response. I tuned them out, not wanting to hear about my poor lack of judgment from them, as well, and instead channeled as much determination as I could to flood the gray of my eyes.

  Damn it all to Chernobog, but I wasn’t going to be bullied into anything. Especially not by someone who was in need of my talents.

  Lana always did joke that I had a strong stubborn streak—the kind that would get me in serious trouble someday. She was referring to dear old mum, of course, but, given what I was doing right now, her theory seemed to hold true in other areas just as well.

  So, faithful to my stubborn self, I stood my ground and concealed the heavy breaths whizzing from my lungs as I waited for the Fae to reply.

  Much to my surprise, it didn’t take him all that long.

  “Cian. My name is Cian.”

  I waited for a moment, expecting gods-know-what, but the Fae remained quiet.

  “Well, then, Cian,” I said, trying not to think too hard about the heart resting on the counter by his side. Or just how the sound of his name rolled so sweetly off my tongue. “Please follow me upstairs.”

  Chapter 4

  The walk up was torture. Pure, utter torture. My magic sizzled inside me, observant and tense to the point of severe discomfort, as I led the way, Cian a looming presence right on my heels. But there wasn’t much I could do about it.

  With all the wards set up on the narrow stairwell—painted a deep violet shade that reminded me all too much of the Fae—I needed to keep the male close. Since the barriers would be triggered by anybody else’s energy but mine, proximity was the only way for strangers to reach the upper level, and that was definitely something I would need to amend. If I lived long enough to perform the spells, of course.

  In my defense, none of my other clients even came close to the Fae’s threat level. Not. Even. Close.

  Humans, werewolves, vamps, even a few woodland spirits I had crossed paths with so far, were all creatures of power, but they could hardly match my own. If any of them tried to pull a stunt behind my back, I could blast them down the stairs with my protection magic before they managed to lift a finger. Cian, on the other hand… I wasn’t sure even all of my wards and magic combined could stop him.

  The stairwell opened up into a wide landing, the single door there lined with a beautiful silver shimmer. I breathed somewhat easier when the heat of Cian’s body lapping against my back receded, but I wasn’t in the clear yet. And inaudible groan uncurled from my chest.

  For the hundredth time, I questioned my judgment, but even as I entertained the idea of a deeply encoded suicide streak I must had been born with, I let loose a vine of energy and sent it flying into the barrier sealing the door. The two magics entwined, recognizing one another after a series of carefully constructed checks. When all that was done, the ward pulled away, granting passage, yet at the same time standing sentry like a loyal bodyguard. One that was ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.

  I spared the magic a loving glance, then crossed the threshold and peered over my shoulder to tell Cian it was safe to come in.

  To my surprise, the Fae was studying the shimmering ward, his almost classical yet rough features drawn in thought. For a moment there, his purple gaze almost seemed…appreciative as he took in the barrier’s unique form.

  Naturally, it all evaporated the instant his eyes met mine, and I found myself staring at the exact same, painfully blunt disgust as before.

  I bristled inside.

  Damn it, I hadn’t chosen to be half demon. And, lethal or not, his attitude was really getting on my nerves.

  He’d come here because of my abilities, and had clearly noticed that I wasn’t exactly your typical, average user when it came to wards, either. Yet none of that meant shit in light—well, in dark, more likely—of my heritage.

  But what could I do? Scream how life wasn’t fair?

  Right, like that would go over well with a bloody near-immortal, perched on his bloody high horse. With Yelena as my mother, I knew full well their reasoning was very, very different from mine, instead following a logic I had a hard time believing I would ever understand.

  All in all, it was useless.

  Luckily, Cian decided at that precise momen
t to step into the room, effectively relieving me of my thoughts. His eyes skimmed across the small but cozy office I had set up here.

  Every bit of furniture was carefully chosen to make the room more airy, but the pieces were still antiques—not those modern monstrosities with bland, straight surfaces that supposedly gave the illusion of extra space. I didn’t think I could suffer such a piece even if my life depended on it. Of course the objects’ pasts helped greatly in creating the welcoming effect the office emanated. Each and every one of them had had a pleasurable life, and their past experience fuelled the atmosphere, aiding me when dealing with clients who were lost in grief.

  Yet a part of me wondered if their cheerful, languid nature would be enough to withstand the tint of the Fae—or my preposterous reaction to him.

  Keeping my distance, I motioned Cian to take a seat in the pink Elizabethan upholstered armchair, while I stalked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. The full aroma of the wine filled the air not a second later, calming my nerves and clearing my head.

  I peered sideways at the Fae. “Care for a glass?” He stayed silent, so I shrugged and poured one for myself. “Your loss,” I muttered as I crossed the room.

  I sat down in the armchair opposite his and took a long sip of the wine, swirling the liquid in my mouth, before I placed the glass down on the club table, already regretting that we had to part so soon. Cian observed me the entire time, no doubt repulsed by my decision to drink on the job. Just another insult to add to the atrocity that was my demon blood.

  In all honesty, I would never had turned to wine if it were some regular client sitting opposite me. But with the image of the torn-out heart burned into the back of my eyelids, I desperately needed to keep those particular thoughts as far in the background as possible if I wanted to focus on our talk. I kind of doubted Cian would understand even if I had explained it to him.