Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  Their eyes met. “I am sorry it has taken me so long,” he told her in a gentle whisper, “but with everything that has happen and may happen, I feel as if I have to say it.”

  Confused, Haven glanced back to the door. She was afraid that any minute it would open and reveal what they had done. “Say it?” she asked. Her voice shook. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned forward. “I am in love with you, Haven.” A smile lit up his face. “Fallen completely and madly in love.”

  Haven pressed her lips together. The same words were on her tongue too. She refused to let them spill out.

  There was a loud thump as Keagan punched the wall in anger. The door shook from the force. Heavy footsteps stomped down the hall. After a few moments, another door slammed in the distance. Haven heart dropped.

  “Keagan left,” Avrum said. He turned to her again. “I think it’s safe for me to leave now.”

  Haven nodded. As much as she didn’t want him to go, she knew he had to. The guard outside her bedroom would find it strange if he never returned.

  “You should get some sleep,” he told her. “Morning is here, and you will need your strength for tonight.”

  “What will you do till then?” she asked. “Will you sleep?”

  “I was on my way to the attic to get in more practice with my sword before I came here. I need to be ready to defend you if the time comes.”

  Haven looked away. She didn’t want to think about Avrum and Henri locked in a duel. It made a chill run down her spine.

  “Haven, please don’t worry yourself,” he said, as if he knew her thoughts. “I made my choice a long time ago. I am going to help you leave here. It doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

  “But it does matter. To me.”

  “And that is enough to make me fight harder.” Avrum gave her a small, reassuring smile. He took her by the hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. “By this time tomorrow, you, Emma, and I will be far away from this place. There will be no more worrying or pain. It will be just us.”

  “Just us,” she repeated. She never thought two words could ever sound so beautiful.

  11

  Haven sat in silence from her place on the bed as Emma weaved her hair into a twist at the nape of her neck. The maid’s usual gentle fingers were stiff and snagged her curls, but Haven understood why and didn’t protest. Tonight was the night. There was no more time. Tonight they would make their escape.

  When Haven felt Emma’s hands fall, she rose to her feet. The dress that had been purchased specially for the occasion clutched her bosom and gave a deep swoop at her breasts. Pearls dangled from her neck and ears to match the delicate buttons that crawled up her back. Chantilly lace draped loosely off shoulders and the skirt of ivory satin swept the floor in a long train. But it wasn’t the dress’s priceless beauty that Haven loved, it was the length. The long skirt made it easy to hide what lied underneath―the short sword. It lay tucked inside her right high-topped boot.

  Emma moved from the bed to the nightstand where a tray of fresh baked rolls and pastries had been laid out. She still wore her plain black frock with the stained apron, but this time, a small leather satchel hung from her hip. She began to fill the purse with some of the treats.

  How very thoughtful of her. They were going to need food while they were on the run. Haven smiled. She was thankful to have Emma coming with her. Emma was her strength here. She wouldn’t be able to leave without her.

  Emma moved to the door, the satchel clutched close to her chest. “I should go,” she said.

  “Someone will be up soon to escort me to the party, I’m sure. They can’t find you here.” Haven touched Emma’s hand and offered her a warm smile. “I will meet you by the courtyard doors around midnight. The party should be at its peak and leaving then will give enough time to put distance between us and Greystone before sunrise.”

  Emma gave a nod, but her green eyes still held a great deal of worry.

  “It will be alright,” Haven whispered. “By tomorrow, we will be away from here. All of this will be nothing more than a distant memory.”

  As she watched Emma leave the room, she hoped―for all their sakes―that she hadn’t been lying.

  * * *

  Outside, the snow fell in clumps. From the center of the circular ballroom, Avrum watched as the band set their instruments in front of him and readied them for play. The many guest tables had been discarded for the evening, leaving only the long head table opposite the grand staircase. From the arched ceiling, elegant tapestries of burgundy and gold hung, and candles flickered from the crystal chandelier.

  Avrum couldn’t believe how different it all looked to him now. He saw no beauty in the room. There was no more glamour or magnificence. All he felt now was disgust. Disgust and loathing.

  How could he have been so ignorant?

  The doors behind him opened, and he turned. To his surprise, it wasn’t Henri that stepped through. It was Lysander. And he wasn’t alone. Hovering close behind was Keagan, his narrow face twisted in anger.

  “You were released?” Avrum asked when they approached.

  Instead, Keagan replied, “I was given specific orders to bring him here.”

  “By Henri?”

  He nodded. He shot Lysander a sidelong glance. “I can’t wait until Malcolm comes and decides your fate,” he spat at him.

  “Lord Henri wishes to embarrass me,” explained Lysander to Avrum, rolling his eyes. “Rather childish, I must say.”

  Keagan grunted. “The moment the punishment is given and the word is said, I will be the first man in line to peel the skin from your bones. I swear it.”

  “I cannot wait.”

  At that moment, the doors flew open again, revealing Henri and three other prominent men that Avrum had never seen before. Their followers flowed inside after them and spread throughout the room. Old power crackled around the three strangers, and Avrum bowed. It seemed that Henri’s guests had arrived.

  The band began to play, engulfing the room in a sweet melody. Despite the tune’s loveliness, it did not ease the fierce tension that has also filled the space. Henri, dressed in an elaborate red and gold embroidered jacket and shiny black slacks, glowed with pride at the front of the group. Avrum was surprised to see a sheathed sword dangling from his belt.

  “My friends, this is my second, Avrum Brenin,” Henri said, the excitement clear in his voice. His black eyes flicked to Lysander but with little interest. “He is the one who has prepared this lovely evening for us.”

  Avrum could feel that the oldest creature among them stood on Henri’s left. The man towered over the rest of them with tangled silver and russet hair falling past his shoulders. Most of his face was covered in a thick, braided beard. He wore a tunic of cobalt blue and a belt around his rounded middle. There hung a compass, a long dagger, and a rusted telescope. Even from where Avrum was standing, he could smell the sharp scent of sea salt that clung to him.

  “Brenin. A strong name.” The man’s voice rumbled like thunder in a violent storm and was thick with accent. His dark brows pinched at the middle, deepening the many creases on his tanned forehead. “They call me Gunnar, Tamer of the Seas.”

  The man on Henri’s right chuckled outright. “Gunnar, stop flattering yourself.” He grinned with perfect straight teeth. His yellow-green eyes glowed, reminding Avrum very much of a feline’s. “Call me Favian,” he said. “I don’t much care for the lord bit.”

  Avrum dipped his head to him in greeting, and then looked toward the last of the three. He was much shorter than the others and dressed in a pair of plain black trousers and robe. Thick dark hair was slicked back from his brooding face and curled around his ears. He said nothing.

  “This,” Favian started, gesturing toward him, “is Sir Alessandro Guerrero. His English is minimal, so he doesn’t speak often.”

  Sir Alessandro. Gunnar, Favian. But then, where was Malcolm?

  Avrum glanced at Lysander, wondering if he was thi
nking the same thing. From the look on his face, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  “Malcolm will be joining us later tonight,” said Henri as if reading their minds. “Until then we should enjoy ourselves. Keagan―”

  Keagan stepped forward.

  “Escort Haven down here, will you?”

  He bowed toward Henri, then the guests before leaving.

  “Now, as I was saying!” Henri moved to the center of the room and stretched his arms out wide. “The night is young! Let’s enjoy!”

  “Here, here!” Gunnar cried, raising his mighty fist. Together, they walked across the room to where the band was playing another merry song.

  Now alone with his friend, Avrum whispered to him, “Do you know of any of them?”

  “I know of them,” he returned. “Gunnar is the oldest of them―a true Viking, through and through. He is known from his travels mostly. Favian may be one of the richest men in Scotland besides the king, and Alessandro was a knight before he was turned. It’s a title he is still attached to.”

  “Will they be a threat to us?”

  “Still, I cannot say.” Lysander’s eyes glanced about the room. Servants were entering carrying trays of hor d’oeuvres and wine. “But what I do know is that they didn’t look very pleased to be here.”

  “Do you think Henri is trying to impress them too?”

  “Most likely,” he said.

  “So do we have a plan for tonight at all?” Avrum asked.

  “Seeing as I am still without a sword, I don’t have much.”

  Avrum looked down at his hip. It was still bare.

  That wasn’t promising.

  Keagan entered again, but with Haven at his side. Avrum’s eyes found her instantly and all the breath in his lungs ran away from him. She was radiant, draped in a gown of ivory silk and pearls. Her lips were painted a rose color, and her cheeks were dusted with powder. As Keagan led her to Henri, her blue eyes stayed with him. He could see the fear, hope, and determination in them.

  Keagan passed Haven to Henri, who locked his arm around hers and kissed the top of her head. Avrum clenched his hands into fists.

  “Remain calm,” Lysander warned him. “Your anger can ruin her chances.”

  As Henri introduced her to the others lords, Keagan returned. Avrum straighten his spine and inhaled through his nose to settle himself.

  Keagan pointed his sword at Lysander. “Let’s go, Frenchman,” he growled. He led Lysander across the room, leaving Avrum to stand alone at the bottom of the staircase.

  * * *

  Every minute that ticked by felt like years. Her cheeks hurt from the forced smile across her lips as Henri pulled her around the room by their linked arms. He had presented Haven to the three very intimidating, very bored looking men. Their names were unimportant to her. All she knew was that there was no Malcolm among them. Not yet, anyway.

  The worst of it all was that she couldn’t get near Avrum. He stayed at the foot of the staircase, watching her every movement. He couldn’t speak to her with Henri so close. How were they going to escape here alive? She wanted to tell him about Emma who was supposed to be waiting for her within the hour, but unless Henri surrendered her arm soon, none of that was going to happen.

  “Gentlemen, you see Haven here is my newest project,” Henri said as he ran his white gloved hand along her arm that linked them. “She used to live in the poorest part of the city. Sickening, really. But I felt like a rare and delicate flower such as she deserved much better than what she had been given.” That same hand traveled up her arm and across her shoulder. A finger traced the line of her jaw and lifted her chin. “I took her in as my own and gave her everything she could ever want.”

  Haven resisted the urge to snap her teeth at that finger.

  The shorter man in long black robes muttered something in Spanish, which received a disapproving look from the lord with reddish hair and strange colored eyes. Instead of chastising the other, the red-haired man said, “You have become a saint, Henri.”

  Henri waved that idea away. A grin stretched his lips. “It’s a small good deed,” he replied. “Besides, I think she has given me a great deal in return.”

  Haven jerked her arm, unable to stand the touch of him any longer. To her surprise, he let her go.

  “Still, sometimes she can be extremely ungrateful.” He threw his head back and laughed. It soared above the swell of the music, forcing some of the others to follow along.

  As a servant approached Henri with a tray of glasses and a wine bottle in a bucket of ice, Haven shank away from the group. She couldn’t take any more of their sparkling, judgmental eyes or the laughter at her expense. She watched Henri take the bottle and pop the cork with little effort. He did not turn as he poured glasses for the four of them, still chuckling.

  If he cared of her leaving, he did not make it known, so she continued away, crossing the room as casually as she could manage. Her eyes locked with Avrum’s, seeing the desperation there. She felt it too, and it kept all her control not to run to him.

  “How are you?” he asked when she reached him.

  “He speaks about me as if I am a work of charity,” she replied. “A helpless creature that he saved from a fated death. I am ready to leave. I need to leave. Is there a plan of some sort? Lysander―” She glanced around Avrum to find the Frenchman leaning against one of the frosted windows. Standing closely beside him was Keagan. That wasn’t good.

  Avrum stepped closer to her, his voice lowering to just a feathery whisper. “Lysander is being closely watched. He is not much help to us now.”

  “Emma is supposed to be waiting for me at the back door soon. I have to meet her there.” She couldn’t help her voice as it rose with fear.

  Avrum’s, though, remained calm as he glanced Henri’s way. “Smile,” he said, surprising her.

  “What?”

  He chuckled a bit, as if they had just received a witty response from her. “Keep smiling. We must look like we are enjoying ourselves to not cause suspicion. Now, smile.”

  Smiling was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment, but she forced her lips to stretch and a short giggle to escape. It sounded insane to her own ears.

  “Do you have your sword? Malcolm hasn’t arrived yet, but Henri assures us it will be soon. I want you out of here before he comes. I think he can be the biggest threat to us, and I cannot risk―”

  The ballroom doors swung open then. Haven leapt back, and Avrum’s hand caught her on the shoulder. She stared at the doorway, heart hammering against her ribs.

  A boy stood there, no taller than half the doorframe. He did not have more than twelve years to him, and his soiled clothes flapped around his twig-thin frame. His pale skin glowed bright. Although young and small, this boy was not like her. Not anymore.

  He glided passed her without a glance. His black eyes focused on Henri and Henri alone.

  Haven looked up at Avrum, whose face matched her own terrified one. Malcolm? She mouthed to him.

  He shook his head. “Not him, but close to him.”

  That’s when Haven saw them―the vicious scars that crawled up from his boney shoulder to his neck. They shined red, blue, and purple. The pattern reminded her strangely of wild ivy vines, the way they crossed and interlaced until they reached the boy’s right ear. Haven’s stomach knotted. Was this boy made by Malcolm too? He was so young.

  Haven and Avrum weren’t the only ones who had noticed that stranger’s entrance.

  “How did this boy get in here?” Henri demanded. The man who spoke Spanish before laughed, but from the twitch of Henri’s lips, he wasn’t amused. He glared at Keagan, who stepped forward immediately and waved his hand to the two other guard members at the top of the staircase. They hurried to the bottom.

  The boy ignored the men behind him and approached Henri. He did not bow. When Keagan reached to seize his arms, Henri held up a hand to stop him. The musicians’ song stopped abruptly.

  “Where is your master?�
�� Henri asked the boy.

  He didn’t even flinch at Henri’s stringent tone. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a sealed letter. With a growl, Henri snatched it from him, ripped the paper in one quick swipe, and read.

  Avrum’s hold tightened on Haven’s shoulder.

  As Henri’s eyes flicked across the words, his face drained of all emotion. He lowered the letter and stared at the young man in front of him. “He’s not coming?” he muttered. His hands shook, and when the boy nodded, turned, and walked out, pushing past the guards, Henri didn’t even look up. “He’s not coming.”

  “Who’s not coming, Henri?” the Viking guest asked.

  Henri didn’t respond to him. The shaking in his hands grew, traveling up his arms and down his spine until his entire frame was convulsing with anger. His eyes flashed black, thin lips curled back to expose pointed teeth, and blue veins popped out of his translucent skin.

  “He’s not coming,” he voice rose until he was shouting it. “He’s not coming! He’s not coming!”

  When Keagan took a step closer, Henri whirled on him, grabbing him by the arms and tossing him across the room as if he was no lighter than the letter he had ripped before. Keagan’s skull slammed against the marble wall with an audible crack. He collapsed, blood pooling where his head had landed.

  Haven yelped as Avrum spun her around and seized her by the arms. His eyes were wide with fear. “Go!” he told her, frantic. He pushed her toward the doors. “You need to go now!”

  This time she didn’t hesitate. There was a crash and more frantic shouting as she ran through the ballroom doors and down the deserted hall. She could see Emma at the end with the satchel over her shoulder. She waved for Haven to hurry and held the door to the courtyard open.

  When she reached Emma, Haven lifted her skirts and pulled out the sword from her boot. It felt strange in her hand, but she held on tight. Without Avrum, it was all they had for protection now. She just prayed that she wouldn’t have to use it.