Sucking in a sharp gasp, I walk straight into Roarke. Because he, of course, was standing still, but I was trying to walk forward while looking backward.
He steadies me, not looking down, his attention still on the remaining two of his brothers. “What are we going to do?”
“Maybe warn me before you suddenly stop next time,” I mutter.
But he was clearly talking to Killian and not me.
The big guy says nothing, mounting up and riding way back down the track. Way back. Almost out of sight back. Like he doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t want to go too far away either.
“Reach the inn before dark. I need a drink,” Seth says.
“Not about that,” Roarke says, but there’s a smile on his face – he wants a drink too. “And not about the BeastSeed either. About her.”
Me?
That’s why Pax rode off. That’s why Killian is way down the track.
Me.
Roarke grips my waist and hoists me up. I go from being on the ground to being in the saddle before I can object. Moving toward his own horse, he begins to tie us together.
“Nope, give me the reins. I’m sick of being led around,” I grumble.
Because if Killian and Pax can’t stand to be near me right now, then it’s more than okay for me to also demand some space.
What little of it that my bubble will allow, anyway. If bubbles had feelings, I’d be letting this one know exactly how much it sucks.
Roarke eyeballs me, hesitating.
“She’s got to learn.” Seth makes a clicking noise and urges his own mount forward.
“Pull back to stop, little nudges with your feet to go,” Roarke says, looping the reins over the horse’s neck and offering them to me. “Pull back to stop, little nudges to go.”
“I get it. Pull back to stop, little nudges to go,” I repeat, which seems to make him happy.
He mounts up and starts moving. Just walking. And without any instruction, my mare moves too.
My mare. Probably should think of something better to call her than ‘my mare.’
And I try, but my mind keeps swinging from Pax to the dead guy with his throat ripped out to said dead guy running his tongue along my face and back again.
Shivers rake over me, and I pull my thoughts to a small gray bird that lands on a nearby tree. A tree just like the one I was pinned to.
Killian sidles up next to me, and I jump because I hadn’t even heard him coming.
He grunts.
“Don’t,” I say, because that’s his usual command. “I know.”
“You should have fought,” he says softly.
I fix my gaze on him, trying to judge whether he’s rubbing my nose in it or chastising me. “Fighting makes things worse.”
“Fighting never makes things worse.”
“That’s because you can fight! You don’t even need to fight! You have Saber strength and Elite speed and chuckin’ magical powers. I have nothing. Submission is my only defense.”
“Submission is defeat.”
“Not if it keeps me alive.” Even as I say it, doubts creep over me. Alive, but broken.
Damaged, like the marks left on me by Lord Martin. Beaten again and again. Scars around my wrist so bad that Pax can’t even stand to look at them. Ridges and depressions in my back from lashings over lashings until my flesh was torn apart. I’ve learned to live with that. But the lord never went any further.
He wanted to, and I evaded him. At first he wanted me to kneel and enjoy it – and he didn’t chase me when I ran. That was when his wife was still alive. In the two years since the woman died, the willing part of Martin’s desires had morphed into demand, and I had become better at hiding in the shadows.
This other guy, the one strewn dead across the forest floor… I refuse to weigh up the price of survival-through-submission if Pax hadn’t intervened. Refuse to weigh it up – because I know that no matter what the cost, my actions still would have been submit, submit, submit.
Killian grunts again.
Grunting. The guy survives on grunting and four word sentences. Is that what it takes to battle the Darkness, grunts?
I try it out. A soft noise rolls over my vocal cords.
He looks sharply at me, one eyebrow cocked. Then grunts.
The sound is forced up from his chest like he’s pushing the air out. Mine sounds a little like I’m saying a raspy, “Herm.”
I try again, with a bit more volume, and he echoes my noise. He still sounds better than me, more determined. His grunts always say something – express something. What is my grunt trying to say?
I’m confused, and it sucks.
Everyone seems mad at me, and it really sucks.
I’m vulnerable and that’s messing with their lives, and I hate it, and that sucks too.
It all boils down to ‘it sucks.’
I grunt again and get a full face, eye to eye, clearly happy about something smile from Killian.
“I like you,” he says, and I grunt a thank you. At least I hope it interprets as ‘thank you’ and not ‘chuck you.’
He laughs, a heavy comforting sound that seeps into my soul and settles the nerves rattling around inside me. Settles everything. I breathe a sigh of relief, even though I’m not sure why.
He fishes through his saddle bag with one hand, producing two long strips of dried meat and holding them out to me. There’s a chance that one is meant for me and one for him, but I snatch them both up anyway.
“You should rest. I can tie you to your horse,” he says.
I look down at the mare in horror but have to swallow my mouthful before I can say anything. “That sounds like torture – not rest. Besides, I thought you’d be the last person to offer rest.”
“I want to see you push yourself. Struggle and thrive. No one can do the impossible. You’ve had two hours of sleep in two days.”
“Thank you for noticing – but no, I’d rather stay awake for another week than get tied to anything.”
He grunts, nods, then slows down to ride at the back of the line once more – too far away for proper conversation.
I’m not tired. Not tired, I tell myself as I chew through the rest of my meat.
Seth is at the front of our line, then Roarke, me, then Killian. The youngest brother leans back in the saddle, almost laying flat, and looks at me upside down.
“You know, I should call you Splat,” he says.
I look at him blankly.
“Because the way you fell out of that tree was like you went ‘splat’ – or maybe ‘rock.’ You did drop like a rock.”
“You do that, and I’ll start calling you asshole,” I say.
He lets out a chuffing noise.
“You can do better than that,” he says, sitting up and nudging his horse to the side of the track, so he can snap a twig from a spindly little plant.
He twists, throws it, and even though I know it’s coming and try to block it, it still smacks me in the forehead.
I moan, rubbing my face with one hand and stretching out to break my own stick free. A bigger one than his, which I’m rather proud of. I toss it at the guy, he’s only a horse length in front of me… and I watch helplessly as it sails off course and hits Roarke in the back.
“Sorry,” I burst out, but the words are lost under my laughter.
“What are you hitting me for?” Roarke demands, rubbing his lower back.
“It was his fault,” I say, pointing at Seth. “It’s always his fault.”
“Not this time, Splat. You only have your own crappy aim and weak mortal arms to blame for that.”
“I’m not Splat. Roarke, tell him to stop calling me Splat.”
“I could call you Shit-shot,” Seth says.
“Shit-shot is pretty accurate,” Roarke agrees, still rubbing his back.
“What’s wrong with Puppet?” I ask. I don’t add that I rather like Roarke calling me Kitten, but have no fondness for being called Puppet. But if my options are Pupp
et and Shit-shot, then it’s a no-brainer.
“Nah, Puppet doesn’t suit you anymore. Pretty sure puppets do what they’re told.”
“Shade. My name is Shade.”
“Yes, but technically that’s a pet name too. One your cook gave you,” Roarke says.
“Cook, her name was Cook – she wasn’t my cook.”
I don’t have the energy for this. They’re not making any sense. I let my eyelids droop shut for just a second. A long blink.
Okay, so sleep would be good right now.
“That can’t have been her real name,” Seth says.
I open my eyes, checking first that Seth doesn’t have a new stick aimed at my head. He’s right. Fifteen years living with her and I have no idea what her real name was. Which makes me feel crappy.
“We met the woman – Cook was a fitting name for her, plus she was also your cook,” Roarke says.
“Right – that’s the rule then. You can’t call me something unless I am that thing.”
Seth chuckles.
“Useless.”
“Pain-in-the-ass.”
“Trouble.”
Killian, then Roarke, then Seth.
I don’t reply, because I’m too busy yawning. Yawning is more important than dealing with these three.
“I like trouble,” Seth says, that wicked grin on his face. “What’s another word for trouble?” he asks Roarke.
“Disturbance.”
“Don’t you dare,” I growl.
“Annoyance.”
“Asshole,” I counter.
“Bother.”
“Fool,” I say.
“Are you naming yourself?” Seth asks. “Because they’re pretty shit names.”
“No! I was naming you,” I shout, but then I have to smother another yawn.
“Unpleasant. Vexation. Worry,” Roarke continues.
“Wait, vexation,” Seth declares. “Vexy. I like it.”
I glare at Roarke’s back. “What does vexation mean?”
“Something that worries, annoys, irritates, makes you angry, that kind of thing,” he says.
“Is that what you think of me?” I demand, specifically of Seth.
“Yes,” all three guys answer.
I start ticking through my options. Things to call them. Annoying things.
Or at least I try to, as my eyes droop shut and my legs relax.
“Whoa,” Roarke says, his horse knocking into mine and jolting my eyes open.
I’m leaning on him. If he wasn’t right here, I would have hit the ground. And he wasn’t right here a moment ago – he was a little ahead of me. Technically I should have fallen into his horse’s ass.
I blink up at him, asking, “Not that I’m complaining, but where did you come from?”
“Just luck,” he says softly.
He puts one arm around my back, and the next thing I know I’m in his lap, my little pony’s reins dropped and forgotten about.
I lean into his chest and admit Killian was right. I need sleep. But this is so much better than being tied to a horse. This is soft and secure, with a gentle rocking motion as his horse continues to walk.
“Roarke?” Seth asks, and through one partially opened eyelid, I see him ride back to retrieve the pony.
“I can hold her,” Roarke says, tucking my head into the space underneath his chin. “We’re only walking, the horse will be fine. We don’t need sleep for days, I’m focused – I can control it, and she’s in pain.”
I stick my hand in the air like that will help get their attention. “I’m not in pain – just tired.”
Roarke grabs my hand and guides it down into my lap. I’m not sure how he’s holding the reins, or if his horse is well enough behaved to keep walking – no reins needed right now. But he has one arm wrapped around my back, hand resting on my stomach, and the other comes up to brush the hair from my face. The main reason I’m not completely sure what’s going on is because my eyes are closed, and I’m leaving them closed.
Roarke puts his palm on my forehead, and my world turns to white spots and weird sparkles. The tension in my chest, the ache in my arm, the raw burn of my legs – all gone.
“Okay, I was in pain,” I mumble…
The land feels wrong.
Tormented.
Drained.
Suffering.
Still looks the same. Same kind of green paints the leaves. The blue in the sky is unchanged. Azure and cobalt.
But there’s suffering in the bones of this realm.
I flick my attention back to the girl. To her sleeping features and Roarke holding her like a treasured pet. He meets my eyes, his expression pressed thin.
He fears himself. That no matter what distance he keeps, or how tightly he has his magic locked down – only letting out a few lines of Allure, or a few minutes removing the pain – that he will hurt her.
He can fall in love. I cannot, but maybe if I could, I would understand his fear.
The Darkness seeks a mate – the magic intervening and forging a soul-bond. When a person can taste the fear in others, and you can see the way they see you, it’s hard to be near them for long periods of time. And I can’t expect anyone to be near me. But bonds between two Darkness souls make us see each other differently. Once made love possible.
Once. Not anymore. A soul-bond requires two DarknessSeeds, and there is only one left.
Me.
Not saying that the BloodSeed, or Elite SeductionSeed with a death wish, or that one time with the BlaiseSeed that set me on fire, weren’t good. That I can’t enjoy another’s company in short doses with no long-term expectations.
And maybe the only reason I’m even thinking about all of this is because I’m jealous.
Of Roarke. Of his feelings.
Of them all.
Of my Shadow.
38.5 miles from Potion Master Eydis
I’m not sure how long I’ve slept. Only that Killian’s in my view and something feels off about him.
“Why’s he in a bad mood?” I ask, my voice soft from sleep.
“I thought I felt you stirring,” Roarke says, before his gaze moves from me to his brother. “What makes you think he’s in a bad mood?”
“His horse is kind of stomping,” I say.
Roarke lifts the reins and guides his horse toward my pony; the guy looks like he’s half considering Killian as we move.
“Awake, Vexy?” Seth asks, his voice so gentle I have to look twice to work out if he’s teasing me or not. And I’m still not sure.
I push myself free from Roarke, slip out of his arms, and land on my feet. With help – but I’m going to ignore the fact that he bent to the side to guide me down. “Yes, Sethy, I’m awake,” I say.
“Oh, Sethy. I like it,” Roarke chimes.
Roarke’s on his horse behind me, and Seth, holding my pony’s reins, is mounted in front of me. Both are glaring at each other, a look of challenge in Seth’s gaze. I opt for the only exit, which involves practically chasing after Killian, as the two guys start trying to kick each other off their horses.
Killian stops and turns to watch, his brow drawing down with annoyance.
I twist a little as I run, trying to glimpse the action. What Killian finds annoying I generally find funny.
That is exactly the moment I smack into my invisible wall, bounce off it and land in the dirt.
I groan.
Killian laughs – followed by Seth and Roarke laughing even louder.
Pulling myself to my feet involves a lot of dusting dirt, leaves, and twigs off my clothes. By the time I’m standing, Roarke has ridden past me, and Seth has stopped in front of me.
He dismounts, still laughing, then grips my waist and hoists me onto the mare.
“You can call me anything you like,” he says softly, guiding my foot into the stirrup. “But he can’t.”
He pats my thigh before leaving my side and throwing himself onto his horse. Clicking to get us both moving.
Our little
track grows wider and begins to smell heavily of a campfire. That might just save us from the two younger brothers still spontaneously trying to tip each other out of their saddles. Killian rumbles, and suddenly I have Chaos riding close on my left and Allure on my right.
“What is it?” Seth asks, post moving into bodyguard position – note to self, that specific rumble from Killian translates to ‘something’s wrong.’
My pony is dwarfed between their two full-sized horses, and I have to crane my neck to scan the forest around us. But there’s nothing. Just trees, trees, and more trees.
And a smoldering pile of…
“What’s that?” I ask, covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve.
It’s not wood, and it was never intended as a campfire. Whatever it is, it’s lying clean across the track, and it was once some kind of living, breathing creature.
“A wolf,” Killian grunts, steering his horse around it without a second glance.
“A what!” I gasp.
Roarke’s hand comes down heavy on my shoulder before I can… I don’t know, dismount and inspect the creature. Does it have coffee and ash fur? Golden eyes? It doesn’t look nearly big enough, but –
“It’s a timber wolf. Native to these woods,” Roarke says.
I inhale. Just a regular wolf.
We can’t all go around the tortured creature – it’s right in the middle of the track – but Roarke moves forward, grabs my pony’s reins near her cheek, and guides us quickly to the edge of the path, while Seth stays back.
“Why is there a barbecued wolf in our path? Can BeastSeeds set things on fire?”
“No, but they can make a creature stand still while they burn to death,” Roarke says.
My stomach flips low, bile rising in my throat.
“Where’s Pax?” I gasp.
“Rengurra,” Killian calls back, his horse trying to move into a trot or canter, but Killian holds him back. Which makes the thing throw its head around in defiance.
“How do you know?” I demand.
“Because he already pissed on the carcass,” Killian says.
Oh. Well, okay then.
Killian gives his mount his head, and we all surge forward with a fresh urgency to make it to our destination sooner rather than later.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 39