I turn to the lanterns and the only thing that should be important right now – something more scary to focus on. Kitten’s bubble.
The chart in chalk on the bench, beside the word ‘Rearrange’ that’s been traced over by her finger when we were alone. Blissfully alone and with eighteen steps.
The chart is too steep. Steps dropping too quickly. Angrily, I stare out at the night – night again. If it’s linked to her sleeping, she’ll lose another step in the morning. I’m torn, wanting to refuse her sleep, but I can’t. She won’t stay awake even if we try to make her – all I can do is watch and wait.
I drag out a box and start piling everything in the room that’s not essential into one corner. Clearing space to focus and get the job done.
“Bow to the bold. Those stand and hold…” I sing along softly, absently, as I work through the night.
Five Paces
I trip up the stairs, across the veranda, and into the cottage, unable to open my eyes properly or see through the pain and tears, and just hoping Seth doesn’t drag me into the wall or a piece of furniture. He closes the door with a hard thud behind us. The thing is going to fall off its hinges before we’re done here.
“What the chuck did he do that for?” I demand, blinking back the moisture and wiping my cheeks as I follow Seth into the kitchen.
The house is empty for all of two seconds before the door opens again. Roarke lets himself in, then closes the door, not even glancing at us.
“Going back to work,” he mutters, then jogs up the stairs two at a time.
I turn sharply to Seth. “Explain?”
Seth shrugs, popping up to sit on the bench, and acting like this isn’t important. “You have a pretty amazing singing voice.”
“Nope – I suck. And I wasn’t singing,” I say.
“Yes, you were. You sang the whole chorus before Killian shut you up.”
He’s right, the words did slip from me. But it felt like I was moving my mouth and the sound was vibrating between Roarke and me. More Roarke than me – because he can sing.
“Why was I singing? I don’t even know the stupid song.” It’s a rhetorical question because I know I was singing because I was relaxed, drunk, and enjoying myself.
And at this point I really regret it.
“Allure,” he says, stabbing his thumb towards the roof.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t feel any Allure.” I groan, moving closer to the bench.
Someone pads up the stairs, probably going up to Roarke. I look up at the ceiling, trying to guess who it is – the steps are too light for any of my guys. Seth grabs my arm before I can move, tugging me back to stand between his knees, then wrapping his legs around my ass to keep me here.
He shrugs. “I don’t know why he started singing. He never sings anymore. He did when we were kids, before the Seduction part of his Seed kicked in. Ever heard of sirens?”
I nod.
“AllureSeeds were the beginning to that myth.”
“I don’t get it. He likes drawing people to him. He likes the attention. He likes walking around with no shirt on and his pants rolled up and wet and all.”
Seth’s lips tweak to the side as if the gravity of something he knows but I don’t is just hitting him.
“Sirens only sing to lure in their equivalent of a soulmate – a Harmony. They make plenty of Silvari swoon and fall into their arms. It’s like puberty, you can’t control it. Singing makes those around him fill with lust and fall to his feet. I’m guessing you didn’t see Teegan and her triune edging closer?”
I shake my head. “My eyes were closed.”
“That’s why Killian cut you off.”
“Me? Why didn’t he smack Roarke in the head? It was Roarke’s fault!”
“Who knows why Killian does anything?”
“Roarke started singing when he knows he shouldn’t,” I moan, blaming Roarke for the ache in my skull just as much as Killian.
“Singing makes Roarke happy. Like cleaning weapons calms Killian and running calms Pax.”
Now I feel like an ass. Of course, Roarke should be allowed to sing. It’s not his fault.
“An Allure mate is the other half of his harmony. Two Allures working together can sing an audience into whatever feeling or state they want. He’s had Allure partners before. Even married one, but never the other half to his harmony. I’m sure he’s convinced it’s a myth.”
“That wasn’t…” My sentence fades away, words failing me.
Seth shrugs. “I’m not the best guy to ask for answers here.”
A tight fist of overwhelming self-doubt snatches at my heart. “Nope, not asking because it’s not possible. One MateBond thingy is impossible enough. Since when does a Saber take more than one mate? I bet never – right?”
He nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth ever so slightly, like there’s something he’s stopping himself from saying.
“So that settles it. It doesn’t happen. That was just some weird reaction he has to singing with mortals or something.”
He hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my head back, meeting my gaze with a gentle expression that can’t quite mask the fact that he’s hiding something. I can’t deal with unraveling two Elorsins at once – so I let him keep his secrets.
“You’re scared,” he says.
I wrap my fingers around his, but I don’t actually pull them away from my face. His touch is soft and comforting.
“We have rules, Vexy. Whatever is happening, you won’t be hurt by it.”
I swallow hard, searching for words that just don’t want to come out.
“I’m hurting Pax enough already. I don’t need to hurt Roarke too. I don’t want to – and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to fix the damage I’ve done to Pax –”
He cuts me off, suddenly leaning forward to grab my waist and lift me effortlessly up and into his lap. For a split second, I feel like I’m just going to slide right off him, then he shuffles back, and I’m perched securely on my knees, on the bench, and in his lap.
Pretty sure I just squealed though.
He chuckles at me, wrapping his arms around me and pinning me in place. “What if I told you we all want connections with you?”
I note his careful use of the word connections and not bonds. Bonds is a word that freaks me out. More than that – the future freaks me out. Short and laced with the prophesied end of my life. A prophecy they have no idea about.
“I’d say you’re all crazy. Seth, I’m going to d –”
He cuts me off hard with his lips, like he knew what I was going to say before the words even left my mouth. Nothing is leaving my mouth now, as his lips brush in complete tenderness over mine. His hands run up my spine and into my hair. Then down my spine to cup my ass and press my hips deeper into his.
Both my arms settle around his neck, completely at his mercy and direction and loving it. Loving every touch, every stutter of his breathing. The way his tongue lazily parts my lips to explore my mouth. Each movement in control but equally as demanding. Maybe if my heart would stop pounding so hard I’d be able to think, to push him back and insist on whatever it was we were arguing about before all the kissing started.
What were we talking about?
I can’t gather enough give-a-bralls to care. Not when he’s kissing me, one hand staying in my hair and the other settling heavy against the small of my back. His hand slides under the waist of my pants and presses to my ass. He can damn near hold my whole ass cheek in one hand, which surprises me.
I never pictured myself as being trim, or toned, or sexy in any way. Just a soot-servant.
A soot-servant who happens to be madly kissing the Seed of Chaos and madly enjoying it.
I don’t know how long we sit like this until suddenly he chuckles and shoves me off his lap. Sending me sailing backward to just barely land on my feet. I meet his gaze in pure shock, and he just laughs harder.
“You’re baking sweet bread, re
member?”
“What? No, I’m not,” I gasp, partly because my heart is racing in shock and partly because I feel thoroughly ripped off right now.
“Warm raisin bread for lates,” he adds, but he runs his thumb over his lips as he speaks, giving away everything.
I fold my arms over my chest and tap my damn foot. “If you can’t handle me kissing you back, then don’t put me in your lap,” I growl.
He gives me that lopsided smile, saying, “I’m not allowed to take your clothes off – so we need to bake bread.”
I growl at him, hard. I don’t want to talk about bread. I don’t want to make bread. What I want is to keep kissing him – but I can’t tell him that.
“I’m not making bread. I won’t even be awake for lates – what kind of crazy people have a meal at midnight?”
“Immortal ones who don’t need to sleep,” he says.
Reaching up behind him, he drags down a nasty-looking jar of starter. Wet flour and bacteria. How all bread begins – unless you’re poor, then you’re lucky to just have the flour and the water.
“Okay, you measure the flour, and I’ll work the starter,” he says, but he doesn’t hop down off the bench.
So the argument is over – and the kissing.
In a huff, I drag one of the bags of flour out of the larder. One that Rose’s team purchased in the village – whatever village that might be. I have no idea. I grab the scoop from the shelf and level out a cup.
He has the jar open, waiting for me to pour flour onto the bench beside him. Which would be far too easy and far less fun.
I keep a straight face, my gaze on the spot as I tap it with my left hand. “Here?” I ask. “Because we really should do this properly.”
My left hand stays on the bench, while my right hand and the scoop lift – then flick – and cover him in a puff of white powder.
Puff – snow cloud.
I’ve barely made the move when he launches, wraps me up in his strong arms, and begins shaking his head like a chuckin’ dog. More flour fills the air.
I squeal, getting flour in my mouth, and pinch my eyes shut, feeling us move across the kitchen and my back press against the larder door. When he stops shaking, and there’s less risk that the flour’s going to go into my eyes, I open them just a peek.
His chest is rising and falling in heavy breaths. A broad smile is on his lips – the kind that makes his blue eyes come alive. One arm wraps around my back, the other pressed into the cupboard beside my head.
I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the copper in the air as mischief unfolds and his orange-cherry taste settles on my tongue.
“We,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, slipping deep within me and down. Down to places that shouldn’t get excited when being hugged by a guy covered in flour. “We should do it properly.”
“It?” I gasp.
What are we talking about now?
I’m blaming this on the wine. Yep, definitely not my fault.
“The wine made me do it,” I say. “No, you made me do it. You started kissing me first.”
He chews on the inside of his lip for a second.
A very short second – before those lips are against mine again.
Again.
No complaints here. But the gentle distract Shade kisses of moments ago are gone, replaced by hot passion that seeps into us both. His hand trails down the cupboard, making a sound almost like he’s digging his fingernails in. Trying to stop himself.
Control – gone.
I grab his shirt, somewhere near his hip, and ball it into my fist. Sure, he could pull away from me with ease, but I still have to try. He can’t push me away this time – because there’s a door pressed to my back. He pauses for the barest of seconds, then reaches down to hook his hands under my ass and lifts me up off the ground. My legs wrap around his waist, and the very reason he pushed me off his lap sits hard against me.
Oh, it makes sense now.
And I also feel rather dumb about it. Of course, it makes sense. A small part of me regrets not tumbling in the sheets with someone before meeting these guys – I am drastically underprepared for this.
I pull the hem of his shirt up, exposing skin to run my hands all over.
He moans, pulling back from our kiss enough to say something. My lips chase his, trying to convince him to shut up. Heart-racing need runs through me, matching his. I slide both my hands under his shirt and push up, wanting it out of the way.
“Vexy,” he moans. “If you start taking my clothes off, I’m going to start taking yours off. Then Pax is going to kill me. Thane probably won’t, but Pax will.”
“Kind of the point,” I gasp.
He chuckles. “You’re trying to kill me?”
“Nope, I’m trying to get you to take my clothes off,” I admit, delirious with kissing and wine, not much else on my mind.
He kisses my lips, then my cheek. Trails his touch and soft-pressed kisses like smoldering fires down my neck and along my collarbone. “No,” he whispers into a kiss.
“Yes,” I gasp in return, arching my neck back to give him better access.
“We have rules,” he moans.
“I trump your rules.”
He chuckles softly at that, lifting me high enough to rest his forehead on my collarbone and caress my chest with the brush of his soft exhales. “Sorry, Vexy, you don’t.”
I pull at his shirt again, and a loud fabric tearing sound fills the room.
“Did you just rip my shirt?” he asks.
“Just a little bit,” I giggle.
Then I pull again, the small tear easily running straight up the seam on the side. It shouldn’t feel this good destroying his clothes, especially because I’ll probably want to wear them later, but the sound makes me giddy and reckless.
He presses his lips to mine, stopping me with a long kiss before saying, “Stop destroying my clothes.” But he doesn’t remove his lips from mine, so the words are muffled and more funny than serious.
Which makes me laugh, and him lean back with a broad smile. His blue eyes are alive as he runs his tongue across his lips.
“What do I taste like?” I ask, before realizing that’s kind of a weird question.
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth before focusing on me again.
“Like something I can’t have,” he says, moving back and letting my feet fall to the floor. I’m about to growl at him, not again, when he adds, “Quick, Killian’s coming.” He tugs me to the side and opens the larder door. “Quick,” he repeats, giving me a shove inside.
Uncontrollable giggles burst from me, apparently I’m easily amused when drunk.
Somehow we both manage to fit. I’m curious as to why we’re even in here but enjoying the mystery – so I take a seat on another large sack of flour with my back against the wall and only a few handspans between my head and the roughly-crafted larder ceiling. Seth has no room to sit, and definitely no room to stand, so he kneels in front of me. Copper in the air, and a huge smile on his face, then shuts the door and cuts off almost all the light.
There’s just a sliver around the doorframe. He also cuts off the circulation of air, and it’s pretty obvious a family of mice calls the larder home.
My foot brushes against a crate of Silvari wine, and without thinking, I grab a bottle and pop the cork, taking quick sips of the thick red liquid… mmmm….
Wine, I think, which sets off more light giggles.
He mouths something that looks like, ‘Play along,’ before moaning, “Ohhh, Vexy. Mm, there. Oh, more.”
He rubs his arms up and down over his body, throwing exaggerated shoulder movements and even a head flick. My eyes nearly pop out of my chuckin’ head.
What the bralls is he doing?
“Kiss me, Vexy,” he says with a seductive drawl on the last syllables.
Killian’s boots make the floorboards creak, somewhere in the sitting room, and getting closer.
Seth smacks his lips in a kissing noise,
and I finally get it.
The aim of his game is to piss Killian off. Which is a little crushing because I’d much rather be actually getting naked right now. I mean, wouldn’t it be better to earn whatever beating Killian is about to give us?
Seth looks at me and smiles, deep and playful, and I’m unable to resist. I part my lips and let out a desire-filled moan. Falling into Seth’s game.
“Oh, Seth,” I murmur, followed by some sounds that belong behind the hay bales.
I take a long sip on my wine, then put the bottle down. Filling the larder with breathy exhales and running my hands all over my body.
The hand movements are overkill since no one can see us, but Seth was doing it, so I do it too. Only I’m pretty sure I do it better because for the third time tonight he’s drawn in close to me. Maybe he’s drunk too, or some Allure is playing at the air. Because he’s doing a really shit job at honoring the don’t-get-too-intimate-with-Shade rule.
He grips my knees, his fingers pressing firmly to part them wide and move himself into the V.
“Vexy,” he gasps, just a tiny bit louder than needed.
His gaze lowers to my lips, watching intently as I gasp, “Seth. Oh, Seth.”
I’m good at this game.
“Vexy,” he whispers.
“Mmm, yes, Seth, yes. That feels so good. Don’t stop,” I say, pitching my voice in all the right places.
Killian stops at the larder, the tips of his boots visible under the poorly-made door.
A wicked smile takes over my features, and I mouth, ‘You started it’. The sparkle in Seth’s blue eyes doesn’t waver.
“Fuck, Seth, lick me,” I moan – hard. The words deep and raspy, probably from too much giggling earlier.
Seth’s eyes widen, and in the same instant Killian rips the door open. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t rip it right off its hinges. He fills the frame completely, and Seth tries to jump out of the way, but Killian ignores him and reaches for me. He grabs my collar and pulls me out of the larder, slamming the door shut and latching it.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 106