Shadow (Touched by the Fae Book 2)

by Jessica Lynch

  I’m so used to Nine’s detached personality. Most of my memories of him are that he was an emotionless Shadow Man who acted like a babysitter, a teacher, and an unwilling guardian at the same time, until I was fifteen-years-old and he simply disappeared.

  From as far back as I can remember, he always looked the same way as he does at this very second. He never aged and, except for growing his hair out, he never changed. Though I often wondered, I never once asked him how old he was. He looks like he’s maybe twenty-five—but he’s looked that way since I was a kid.

  I know I’ve grown up. I’ve definitely changed. I’m not the same little girl I was when Nine started to tell me stories of magic, of another realm, and a race of superior beings who could steal my soul if I let them touch me even once.

  Right now? My reflection is reflected in his wide, glowing eyes. He’s still not blinking. It’s like he’s trying to drink in my image, as if he’s desperate not to forget this moment. I recognize the hunger there, and the absolute despair etched into every feature on his beautiful face.

  Nine’s expression is wretched. I’ve never seen that look on his face before. And, okay, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve made very few personal relationships in my life. But I’ve known Nine since I was a toddler. He doesn’t let his guard down very often and, when he does, it’s the most intimate, revealing experience ever.

  My heart thumps wildly, beating against my ribcage. And this time? It has nothing to do with a panic attack.

  Whoa.

  “I won’t take your name,” Nine says in that lyrical voice of his. The harsh edge has been softened, but the way he watches me unblinkingly? The steel is there. “After this is done, it’s important that you keep something for yourself. It’s fair that way. So, if you’ll accept it, I’ll gladly offer my name instead.”

  I blink.

  Seriously?

  For a fae, giving up his true name is the ultimate sacrifice. It’s making himself vulnerable in a way that I could never really understand. With his true name, he’s returning some of the power he’s going to take back to me.

  I shake my head. It messes with the constant headache, but I don’t care. I’ve seen first hand what it’s like to have someone else control your true name. The loss of control every time Rys calls me Zella…

  “Nine, you don’t have to—”

  “My name is Ninetroir.”

  It slams into me, knocking me back, sending me to my ass. I just manage to break my fall as I land on my gloves, but I’m still stunned.

  He did it.

  He totally did it.

  I don’t even have to repeat it, either. Just hearing the way he murmurs his own name, the three syllables wrap around me next, warming me up in the chill of the dank sewer. It settles into my skin, reverberating in my throbbing head, burrowing into my heart.

  I’m sick as a dog, plus worried that I’m coming out of this mess even more screwed up than before, and still I know that I’ll never forget how to echo his name.

  It’s mine and, at that moment, I know that I would never give it back.

  I exhale. As a reflex, I almost thank him; at the last second, I remember myself. He’s fae. Ninetroir. There’s only one thing to say.

  “Do we have a deal now?”

  “Yes.”

  And, when he moves toward me, I only flinch a little. But I don’t inch away from him.

  I’m breathing heavy, and that doesn’t have anything to do with my anxiety or fear or the damn charmed peach, either. Right when his fingertip is mere centimeters away from my face, it hits me that I’m actually waiting for his touch instead of actively avoiding it.

  Crap.

  It was the look on his face that did this to me. I know it was—and I can’t do anything about it anyway. Besides, he wants this so bad. And I’ve already agreed.

  I gulp. Nine’s pale finger lands against my cheek. It’s chilly.

  Then he strokes my skin.

  It’s the most gentle caress I’ve ever experienced in my life.

  The next heartbeat, I totally get what he means by effects.

  Pleasure almost immediately replaces the pain. My stomach is still queasy, my throat raw, but a toe-curling pleasure starts low in my gut, a tightening coil that has my back arching as the heat spreads outward, filling me up entirely. It feels good.

  Amazing.

  When a husky moan escapes my lips, it has nothing to do with how shitty the peach made me feel.

  It has everything to do with how bad I want to climb Nine like he’s a tree.

  I’m delirious. Dehydrated, too. Scared out of my freaking mind.

  And super, super horny.

  It’s been so, so long since someone touched me like they wanted me to enjoy it. And I do. I really, really do.

  “There.” Nine’s whisper echoes all the way to my soul. I don’t feel like any of it’s missing, though there’s a rich, throaty note to his tone that tells me that he was just as affected by his touch as I was. “I think I got it all. Now, lay down, Riley. Sleep it off. Come tomorrow you’ll be yourself again.”

  No, I think. I won’t.

  I’ll be his.

  Like I haven’t been my whole life already.

  “Lay with me,” I mumble. Punch-drunk and weak as a newborn kitten, I can’t stay upright. I sprawl on my belly, patting the stone floor next to me. “Stay with me.”

  “I’ll stay,” he says. “But over here. It’s better that way.”

  He’s wrong, but I’m too tired to argue. “Okay. Don’t go, though. I want you here with me.”

  “I’ll stay until I can’t.”

  Spoken like a true fae. “Night, Nine. Love you.”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll only regret it later on.”

  I might. Doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. And, still coasting on the pleasure his touch gave me, I find that I just don’t have it in me to lie right now.

  From the time when I was a kid and all I had to look forward to were my nighttime visits with the Shadow Man, I’ve always loved Nine. I just could never tell him so.

  It feels so freeing to finally get that off my chest.

  On a peaceful sigh, after tucking my elbow under my head, I close my eyes.

  I don’t even notice when he finally does leave me. One minute he’s there, leaning against the ladder because he’s keeping his distance—and he’s not about to sit down in the sewer.

  Not that I blame him.

  The next time I find the strength to open my eyes again, I’m all alone. Did he whisper his goodbyes? Possible. I kind of remember his face, his whisper, his promise. Feeling dizzy and hazy, plus a little loopy, he’s gone and I’m alone.

  On the plus side, no Rys.

  I’ll take what I can get.

  5

  “You’re looking better.”

  He’s full of shit. We both know it. I don’t need a mirror to see how much of a disaster I am.

  At least I’m feeling better. I can sit up on my own now, too. I’ve moved further down the sewer, away from the manhole cover and the ladder that leads up above. It’s darker, colder, and the smell of vomit still lingers.

  I’ve gotten used to it. That, and the layer of grime on my skin.

  I stretch, wincing when it seems like everything aches. I guess I should’ve been expecting that. How long did I sleep anyway? I wipe my hand with the back of my glove, then shove my tangled hair out of my face. It’s dark in the sewer—well, darker—so I know I must’ve slept for a while.

  Plus, that’s Nine. Not Rys. If my Shadow Man’s here, that’s a pretty big clue that I made it through another sunset.

  “You’re back. Where did you go? I woke up earlier and you were gone.”

  “If I want to stay at full-strength, I have to leave when the shadows are gone. I can appear in a portal if necessary, or if commanded to, but the sun steals too much of my power in your realm.”

  I knew that. Nine told me that a long time ago, when he was in one of his rare
talkative moods. I kept asking him why he couldn’t stay with me all the time—and he finally gave me the answer. Though he never confessed back then that he was fae, he didn’t hide that he belonged in Faerie and I belonged here.

  Or, I did.

  “Anyway, I’ve brought you something.”

  Nine has a bundle tucked inside of his long coat. When he takes it out, it almost seems as if he’s removed part of his coat with it. It’s the same shade, the same strange material, the same shimmering texture. It’s an oblong shape, his pale fingers standing out against the pitch dark color of whatever he’s holding.

  Then he lays his palm flat, the material falls away, and I see what looks like a… a roll, maybe?

  I breathe in deep. Over the muted stink of old vomit and dirty sewer, I catch a hint of freshly baked bread on the thick air.

  I wait for my stomach to rebel. When it doesn’t, I decide I’m ready to chance eating again.

  Question is: should I?

  “What is that?” I ask suspiciously. “Where did you get it from?”

  “It’s safe. Human food. I won’t let you starve down here. And, unlike the precious Blessed Ones, I won’t resort to tricking you with food from Faerie.”

  That’s good enough for me. “Set it on the ground.”

  Once I have the bread in my glove, I try to give Nine back the black wrapper thing.

  Nine shakes his head. “That’s for you, too. Consider it a gift from me. Freely given, I want nothing in return for it.”

  A gift? For me?

  Really?

  I take a better look at it. Just like I thought, it’s silky, a real shiny, deep black color, and it reminds me of the blanket that I woke up with right before I ate the peach. It’s smaller, though. Like a scarf, only I have no idea what it is—or why Nine’s giving it to me.

  “Am I supposed to know what this is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “You will.”

  Oh, great. More riddles. “What’s it for?”

  “Whatever you want it to be for.”

  Whatever. Right now I want it to be a bread holder, I guess. Works for me.

  The bread is freaking delicious. I take the first bite hesitantly, waiting for it to turn against me the same way that the peach did. When it doesn’t, I gobble up half of the roll before realizing that I probably should make it last.

  It’s light, it’s fluffy, and it’s still warm. The only thing that would make this better is—

  “Water?”

  He holds out a vial.

  How did he guess?

  Mouth still full, I nod.

  This time, though, I don’t tell him to set it down. When he begins to crouch down, I actually stop him. Well, after I quickly swallow my mouthful of breath, I do.

  “It’s okay. You just surprised me with the bread. You can hand me that. I… I didn’t mind it when you touched me before.”

  Nine slowly rises. But, first, he sets the vial of water down on the floor. “You don’t mean that.”

  I kind of do.

  I kind of liked the way it felt when he touched me—the pleasure that drowned out the agony—and now that I’m feeling more like myself, it’s a shock to realize that I want to experience that again.

  The even bigger shock? That I was bold enough… reckless enough… to admit that out loud.

  I don’t know for sure what Nine did to me yesterday. I would’ve thought, before the whole peach thing, that I’d rather die than let another fae touch me again. That’s how strong my, well, my brainwashing was. He spent my whole childhood warning me against the power of a fae’s touch magic. Especially after I saw what it did to Madelaine, I hated the idea of letting one of those monsters get their hands on me.

  Then I ate the peach and I actually knew what it was like to think I was dying. My whole thought process switched in an instant. I would’ve let Nine do anything—and I mean anything—to me if it meant he saved my life.

  The question I’m struggling with now is would I have felt the same way if it was another fae offering to heal me? Rys?

  I don’t think I would.

  Nine’s caress changed something. There was affection in the gesture, and an unholy heat in his eyes that I know I didn’t imagine. He wanted to touch me. And I wanted him to.

  Not just because I was cursed. Not because I didn’t have a choice.

  But because it’s Nine.

  My Shadow Man.

  His touch might have erased the effects of the peach, but it did more than that. It allowed me to look past my hatred and fear of the fae and see the truth right in front of me. That the love and affection I had for my only friend has blossomed and bloomed into something way different now that I’m older and he… he’s different.

  The Nine I used to know would never have let me see that look in his eye. Just like how I can pick up on Rys’s overt lust, I know what I saw when Nine thought I was too sick to notice.

  He’s into me.

  And, the two of us alone in this sewer, he’s trying to hide it.

  Sure, a dirty, smelly sewer isn’t my first choice of a romantic setting, either, but now that I’m feeling even better than before—Nine’s bread a huge help—I want to talk to him about how he seems even more irresistible than he ever did before.

  I don’t get the chance, though. Before I can say a word, my expression gives me away.

  “Riley. Please. Don’t look at me like that.”

  I decide to play dumb. Because this conversation? It’s gonna happen whether Nine wants it to or not. He owes me that much at least.

  “Like what?”

  He shakes his head. “If I pursue this, then that means that I accept the Shadow Prophecy. All of it. Don’t ask me to do that. Not now. Not when you’re in so much danger.”

  I don’t know what that has to do with anything. I didn’t bring up the prophecy. Hell, I’d be happy to never mention it again—especially the way he tacks the word danger on at the end like that.

  “But you feel this, too, right?” I blurt out. “I mean… I’m not crazy. Nine, I need you to tell me that I’m not crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy. You never were. The asylum… you were there too long. It affected you too much. But you’re perfectly sane.”

  “Don’t sidestep my question. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  He keeps quiet.

  He does.

  I can’t.

  “I thought it was crazy, just how drawn to you I am. Then I thought it was because you were the only stable thing in my life since I was a kid. But these feelings I’ve been having… shit, ever since you first appeared to me back at the asylum… they’re not the sort of feelings a kid has. I… I—”

  I think I might get what he meant when he said the touch might have some other effects. This is bad. It’s like his touch was some kind of truth serum or something like that.

  I can’t lie. I want to. Spilling my guts like this a problem. A huge one. I want to lie.

  I can’t do that, either.

  “—I think I love you. And not in the way I should love a guardian-type figure. Love you like in the way that, if you asked me to be your ffrindau-thing right now, I’d probably say yes.”

  Is it possible to die of embarrassment? The peach didn’t do the job, but the pained expression that flashes across Nine’s features followed by the almost sad look he wears now might just be the nail in my coffin.

  Shit, that’s pity, isn’t it? I spilled my guts, said things I never should’ve said in a million years, and the Dark Fae pities me.

  “It’s the touch making you feel this way,” he says after an awkward silence, his voice harsh and low but still achingly beautiful—just like Nine. “It’s part of the magic. If it didn’t make the human have good feelings toward the fae giving the touch, it would make it harder to compel them into doing it again. Give it a few days. It’ll go away.”

  Part of me wants to believe that. But the part of me that used
to doodle Riley + Nine 4ever when I was like twelve… she’s not so sure.

  I decide it’s time to change the subject before I embarrass myself any further. If the effects of his touch mean that I’ve got a wicked case of verbal diarrhea, it’ll be better if I switch the conversation around so that Nine’s doing most of the talking.

  Besides, I still need a shit ton of freaking answers.

  “Um, okay. But, in the meantime, can you do something for me?”

  He bows his head. A quick, decisive jerk upward. A nod.

  Okay.

  “Tell me more about the prophecy.”

  “I’ve told you all you need to know.”

  Not really. Sure, I guilted him into explaining it while the two of us were hiding out in the cemetery, but after my visit from the Light Fae, I’m beginning to think I got the cliff’s notes version. There’s more to it, I know there is, and Nine gets so defensive whenever it’s mentioned, I’m convinced he’s the best one to tell me.

  “Ninetroir. Please.”

  I don’t add any kind of order. It wouldn’t be right. After everything that Rys has done to me, most of it because he controlled me with a word of his own, I absolutely refuse to make Nine do something.

  “You’ve said my name.”

  I nod.

  “But no command.”

  “You’re my friend.” Whatever he is—whatever my wayward psyche wants him to be—he’s probably the only friend I have right now. “It wouldn’t be right to make you do something. Trust me. I freaking know.”

  It’s a reminder that, no matter what, I’m still at the mercy of Rys knowing my true name. Nine wouldn’t let me tell him last night, but that doesn’t change the reality that, if the Light Fae does find me again, he could eventually use Zella against me.

  Nine doesn’t react to that reminder. Nope. He totally latches onto something else I said.

  Interesting.

  “I’ve never had a friend before. In Faerie, there are those working with you, and those working against you. Friends are for the weak.”

  “For the humans?”

  “Yes,” he says honestly.