These guys’ lives must have been so boring before they met me.
I don’t linger in the water. Food awaits, and even though the guys packed various rolls, pastries, fruits, and meats for the trip, more eating never hurt anyone.
I dry with the towel that Roarke discarded, the inn’s towel. Black is a really odd color, though. Before fetching fresh clothes, I fold my old ones – and something crunches within the fabric.
I pull it out. It is the paper Jada had slipped into my hand while the boys grabbed their gear and prepared to run into the night. The Sealer seemed like the guys’ friend, even referred to their mother endearingly. But there was no time to ask someone to read the note, or even risk pulling it out before we left the White Castle. Or during our rushed midnight ride. Then Pax stole all my thoughts away.
Even if I could read Common, this thing would still be lost on me. It’s in Silvari scribble. I fold the thing back up, or rather, half-roll, half-fold, and stash it in the small pocket on the front of my pants. That’s one of the ways to tell if a garment is made for servants or masters. Servants’ pockets are big enough for rags and cleaning supplies, everyone else has these tiny little things – what does a normal person even put in there? A shopping list? Emergency monthlies cloth – because when that goes wrong it’s a genuine emergency?
Getting dressed and undressed one-armed is a little more time-consuming than I’d like – but not impossible. Putting my hair up into a presentable band, however, is impossible. I open the door, then jump out of the way as Roarke stumbles backward. He flails for a second before regaining his balance.
“Were you leaning on the door?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“That’s a stupid thing to do.”
“Apparently.” He looks me up and down, then settles his gaze on my hair.
“Help?” I ask, holding the thick piece of elastic out for him.
His cheeks dimple. “My pleasure.”
Then he snatches a brush up out of his bag and expertly pulls the knots from my just longer than shoulder length blonde locks.
“Can I cut it?”
“What?”
“When’s the last time you took care of your hair?”
I run my fingers through it, trying to process what he’s talking about.
“A few weeks ago, actually,” I say.
“No, I’m not talking about the last time you hacked it off.”
I shrug. It’s not something that’s ever worried me.
“Cook’s method of hair cutting was to gather it all up in one hand and use a knife to saw through it,” I explain.
“Why? Didn’t the woman own scissors?”
“Anything to look less appealing in Martin’s eyes.”
Anything.
“I see,” Roarke says, slowly, like other, more important thoughts are rushing through his mind. “I’m cutting it.”
He steers me toward the fire, then fetches scissors from Killian’s saddlebag – not sure why Killian packed them – and gets to work. As the hair comes away in his fingers, he tosses it into the fire.
“Stay still,” he orders.
“I am. You really don’t have to do this. It’s fine.”
“Yep, I do – it’s not fine.”
I leave him to it, listening to the rhythmic snip-snipping noise and scrunching my nose up at the faint smell of burnt hair. I give the almost-healed line on my arm a scratch, the one left by a knife when my bubble and I first met.
“Done,” he eventually declares.
I run my fingers through the light locks. There’s something almost giddy inside me at the feel of it. I can’t even see it – but it feels so good. It’s shorter, just above my shoulders, silky through my fingers, and a little wavy.
“What’s it look like?” I eventually manage to ask, still shaking and combing my fingers down the strands.
“Like hair,” he says, smiling with delight. “Real hair, not a rat’s nest in a band.”
I’d mention that I’ve woken up with rats in my hair, and that’s a million times worse than you’d think. I’d also hit him, but I still need him.
I hold my splinted arm up, again asking, “Help?”
“Here, rest it on a pillow.”
He grabs one of the pillows and lays it on the edge of the bed. Kneeling, I do as instructed, and he kneels opposite to me, gently unravelling the bandage.
“If it hurts, tell me,” he says.
“I will,” I agree, but I’m going to try not to. Not because his offer isn’t welcome – but because I’m more than confused about what I want from these guys.
He twists my arm, making me grind my teeth against the stabbing reminder that I can’t fight, can’t even bloody fall, without hurting myself. Then it’s gone, so subtly drawn away that white specks barely touch my vision. My jaw relaxes.
“I was fine,” I say.
“I shouldn’t be using my power on you,” he says, which actually sounds like he’s arguing with himself.
“Then why did you?”
He refuses to look up from his hands as they gently brush along the length of cloth, unravelling it.
“If you’d stop getting hurt, I could stop intervening with your pain.”
“Have you ever considered that I hurt myself at timed intervals in our relationship just so you have to let your guard down around me?” I blurt out.
He freezes, his gaze snapping sharply to meet mine.
I stare back into his beautiful dark eyes and wait for him to realize that I’m not serious. How could he even entertain that someone might do that?
Unless that someone was Killian.
His lips press together, trying to smother a smile.
“You and Seth were cut from the same cloth,” he says, turning his attention back to the bandage.
It feels like a compliment, though I’m not sure if it was intended to be.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For comparing you to Seth?”
I snort a little. “No, for the hair and the arm.”
“I was going to thank you, actually. None of the others let me near their hair.”
I open my mouth to ask about the note – after all, words and knowing stuff is Roarke’s thing – but then there’s a tap on the door. After the briefest pause, Pax and Killian wander in. They’re clean shaven and wearing towels, with wet hair and the day’s dirty clothes in one hand. Pax runs his gaze over me, stepping close to examine my bare arm. It’s bruised down the middle, but the swelling’s gone, and really, it doesn’t look broken at all.
Roarke grabs the hair-cutting, and possibly other-stuff-cutting, scissors off the bed and tosses them toward Killian. A normally deadly action, but Killian snatches them out of the air like it’s nothing.
Which Roarke must have expected, because he wasn’t even looking.
Pax and Killian stow their things away in their bags. Everything neat. Everything ready to grab at a moment’s notice. There’s even a clean escape straight out our window to the horses – I just hope they don’t expect me to make a two-story jump in the middle of the night.
Roarke straightens the splints on either side of my arm and rolls the bandage to firm everything into place.
“Done,” he says, getting up and offering me a hand.
I’d accept, but I’m already halfway up.
He heads for the exit, and I hurry to follow him out into the hall where Seth is waiting.
The youngest brother gives me a lopsided smile, the kind that says he’s up to something. I have just enough time to take a step back, but not enough time to run. He reaches out, grabs my shirt at my middle, and the next thing I know I’m pinned to the nearest wall. He’s still smiling, his grip on my shirt instantly releasing.
Chills run down my spine. Good chills.
Maybe that’s exactly the reason I don’t run – that, and the second of hesitation in his eyes.
“Sorry, not sorry,” he says, his voice a silky whisper.
His lips ar
e on mine, his body pressing into me.
Chuck – my head shouts, but my body presses into his, raising up on tiptoes. My fingers thread through the waist of his shirt. Searching for skin. Finding it and brushing along his side – up his back.
He pauses, letting out a shuddering breath that whispers across my lips. One hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip tightly.
“What the chuck,” I say. The words should be full of shock, and I should be pushing him away, but I’ve only enough energy to gasp.
“Can you just go with it?” he whispers.
“Go where?” I ask.
His seductive smile is so full of emotions that it lights up his blue eyes. Midday-sky-blue. Gorgeous.
“Wherever you want to go?” he asks, pulling his hand through my hair, then trailing it down my neck, down my spine. Pressing the palm of his hand against the small of my back. “And can I come too?”
My hips are pressed to his and my everything responding to his curves – one curve actually. The curve in the front of his pants.
Subtle but warm power floods through me. Alive. His power makes me feel alive.
I open my mouth – then there’s a flicker of movement. Someone walks out of the room, and Seth presses his lips into mine again. I let him. Soaking in every second of him. Every touch and sensation. My body melting in his hands. His power washing over my skin.
My stomach does a backflip – this can’t actually be happening!
“You hurt her, Seth, and I will kill you,” Pax deadpans, walking past.
Seth pulls away, turning to his brother like I’m not even here anymore. Without him to keep me balanced, I stagger, my knees weaker than I’d realized.
“What? That’s all you’ve got?” Seth demands, chasing after his brother.
Pax says nothing.
“No bite? No blood?” Seth adds, completely abandoning me.
I stand dumbfounded, watching all of them disappear down the narrow stairs and toward the dining room below until an invisible wall slips in behind me and starts pushing me in their direction.
What the chuck!?
Five heart threads.
Not possible. And in a few hundred years, I’ve seen bloody everything. But not this.
Not her.
Pax has two – but Pax has a wolf. That’s something else entirely.
Seth pulls back, leaving her with wide eyes and short, desperate breaths.
I almost feel sorry for her. Crimson, nearly gold threads recoil from her every fiber to settle back deep within her chest. Actually, I think I do feel sorry for her.
What an interesting emotion.
Those threads will never connect. Never reach from her being into Seth, into Pax, into whoever else they are meant for and entwine with the heart threads meant for her.
How does the mortal world have the word love when their bonds are so devoid of power?
In the dining hall, Pax chooses a table closest to the stairs. Twenty-seven Silvari are seated around us. Seven of them scrutinize me and Seth. They don’t know who we are. Why would they? Without royal colors on – not an option anymore – we’re just Sabers passing through.
Eight women flutter their eyes at Roarke, sending the heavy scent of lilies and roses across the room. Lust.
Normal.
Roarke smiles at the nearest lady, a youthful beauty wearing a shift that sits low across her cleavage. He even blows her a kiss before sliding into the seat opposite Pax. I inhale twice to check – and confirm.
No burnt-rose scent – the tell-tale sign one of them will be in his arms tonight. A sign that his power has latched on and it will be a fight to keep the girl alive.
Pax’s gaze flickers to meet mine, and I shake my head slightly.
No, he’s not interested in any of them.
They’re all merely Silvari, so we’d have to stand in his way. He’d try to fight us. He always has. If his lust latches onto someone, the results are often deadly. He tries to control it, and we all try to stop the worst. Mostly. We can’t keep him entirely from his desires. He can’t keep his damned self completely or permanently from his power any more than I can lock away my connection to the Darkness or Seth can stop acting like an idiot.
Which means he should at least be interested in the big-busted woman – but he’s not.
Because of Shade.
“You’re responding to her, too,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest and try not to look aggressive. Roarke shuts down when I get aggressive.
He swallows hard, looking to Pax for his opinion. Pax remains neutral.
“I can keep my distance,” Roarke says – but he’s not denying my accusation. He could try. I was expecting him to. But he’s not denying that he has feelings for her, and he’s not fighting us about it either.
Pax steeples his fingers and presses them to his forehead. “I trust you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe she’s only letting me near her because I’ve used my power to take away her pain too many times.”
“Or maybe she actually likes you,” Pax shoots back, not looking up from between his fingers.
And he’s got the self-control of a throwing knife in mid-air.
My opinion comes out as a low growl.
Roarke runs his hands over his face.
“New rule,” he says. “I’m not to be left alone with her.”
Pax finally looks at him. “I trust you.”
“Please don’t,” Roarke says.
The conversation hangs like that, and I have no clue what to do. Pax needs to control this. He’s the Alpha, so he makes the rules. If he says it’s a rule, we obey, unconditionally, uncontrollably.
“Why don’t we let her decide?” Seth asks.
“No,” we all agree.
Silence.
This conversation is going to be left open.
Seth turns toward the stairs.
“She’s fine,” I grunt. The girl’s sitting just out of view – it’s not like she can go far, and we can all sense her there.
Seth turns back and sits down on the bench next to Roarke.
With one last glance at the room I note seven swords, twelve concealed knives, three bows on the bow rack by the door, and one man fidgeting with a long dagger that he has resting on his table.
People are usually wary of Pax. He tries to rein it in while in public, but the heavy feeling of something deadly sharing a room with you is hard to completely remove. Having been in his wolf form today, it’s probably even harder for him to suppress the sting it would have on these common folk.
But I’m not sure if that’s the only reason for the heavy firepower among the locals. They have walls between them and the dangerous side of the forest. Why do they need to be armed just to walk from their homes to the inn?
“Are you sure he’s mated with her?” Seth asks, looking to me for the answer. “I kissed her and didn’t even see teeth, and he’s practically giving Roarke permission…” He trails off, clearing his throat instead of finishing his sentence.
I let out an ‘of course, I’m sure,’ noise, then slide onto the seat next to Pax and pull back the sleeve of my shirt.
The Release Seal is still fresh and bright on the palm of my hand – but more important than that are the four puncture wounds that are still visible on my forearm.
Pax reaches up and lowers my arm to the table, not looking at the marks that sit pink against my skin. He lets out a long sigh, tinged with a hint of morning dew – sorrow.
I grunt at him, because I just as much put my arm in the wolf’s mouth as he had control over the thing in that moment.
“Why’d he do that?” Seth asks, and seeing no response in me, he turns to Pax. “Why’d you bite him?”
“Killian suggested her removal from our company,” Pax says, swallowing the beginnings of a growl. “Which isn’t happening. She doesn’t go anywhere without one of us.”
“And you trust us with her?” Roarke asks, each word soft and slow.
It’s not like Pax’s protective wolf never allowed us near his last mate. I held her hand to walk her daily through the market when she was heavy with child, supporting her weight when she grew tired. Their babe was an unknown exercise – the toll it took on a full Saber Alpha female was extreme. She labored to walk, sometimes to breathe, because the babe was so strong.
But the way Pax lost them both, I had fully expected he would be inseparable from his next love – even though that love was unlikely to be a true mate. I expected that he would remove himself, even from us. Unable to trust this world at all.
And over the next eight hundred years, finding another love was inevitable. Surely some of the other Seeds would be strong enough. An OverrideSeed or even a HealingSeed – both of them have powers that can accommodate those around them. It was bound to happen, love. Not a mating. But love. When it did, we would let him leave us.
But not now, not with so much at stake. Not a true mating and not a fucking mortal.
Pax nods once. “Because she needs all of us to protect her.”
“You’ve got a problem, though,” Roarke begins. I flash him a warning glare – which he ignores. “You and your wolf are barely going to be able to kiss her. This guy might be able to.” He slaps Seth on the shoulder. “The luxury of having a power that seeks to affect things – not people. But a kiss is about all he’s going to be able to steal, and you or I... I don’t even know what would happen to her. I wasn’t expecting her to survive when you took her into the bedroom that day. I felt your release of power.”
“I was trying to warn her away.”
“You were barely restrained,” Roarke says. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She wants you.”
She wants you too, dumbass.
“I was very restrained. We need to remember the consequences,” Pax says in a low growl. “All of us.”
“Well,” Roarke says, scratching the back of his head. The cinnamon scent of regret laces the air. “If you pick a strong one, full of determined lust, which she isn’t, they can usually hold out until you’re fulfilled –” He stops, faltering as Pax begins to growl.
Conversation cuts off at the tables around us. The fear grows thick. They can leave if they want, I don’t care.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 42