Shadows and Shade Box Set

by Amanda Cashure

  I slide my blade over his forearm but fail to dodge his strike on my shoulder.

  “You call that a cut?” I taunt.

  He strikes, but I spring and flip. Landing with one foot taking my weight as the other I kick with all my power and strength, towards his ankles. He shifts his weight and somehow my foot hits his leg but ends up pushing me off balance. I fall backward, hitting the ground deliciously hard.

  “Come on, old man,” I taunt.

  Sure, I can hardly breathe, and I might need to throw up any minute now, but that’s buried under my desire to stalk each of his moves and somehow play them into something more. Play him into moving faster, into being harder on me.

  The world gives a lurch to the left, and my shoulder slams into the wall. I yelp with pain.

  Killian freezes.

  “Don’t stop,” I growl, thrashing my blade up and across his chest. Or at least where his chest would be – if I had any kind of depth perception left.

  He grabs my wrist and squeezes hard. Fighting it is instinct, but my weak mortal fingers succumb, and the blade falls. He’s not even watching that; his emerald eyes begin to blacken, and all of their focus is on my face. Before the blade has even hit the ground, he’s dropped my wrist and thrust me back against the nearest tree. He’s not quite grabbing my neck, with the palm of his hand on my chest. The tree almost knocks the wind out of me.

  Tree?

  We’re in the trees. Way in the trees. The field is almost out of view somewhere to the left.

  His fingers strain, pressing painfully, making me lean into his touch. My lungs suck at the air, looking for his lavender and leather smell.

  Nothing.

  Without the pain, there is nothing.

  The muscle in his jaw tics. Even though I should be scared – with Killian, everyone should always be scared – I’m not.

  Nope – not me.

  I’m smiling.

  He bends to my height, his breath skimming my cheek. Our chests heave in time, and I’m sure he can feel my racing heart under his hand.

  Can he feel the way he’s melting my insides?

  He kisses me hard and without a hint of pity for my weak mortal body. Without an apology for this twisted hollowness I’m drowning in. Just lust and fury and desire and…

  Darkness.

  That power he was locking down escapes, and ferocious Shadows engulf us both.

  Eagerly, I soak up every bit of passion in the press of his lips, the whisper of his breath, the slide of his tongue into my mouth. His hands hunt over my body, grabbing and releasing. Devouring. On my shoulder, on my neck, my hip, my ass. Over cuts and layers of bruises that make me wince and moan, but none of that slows him down.

  I pull at his shirt, at the buckle on his pants. Weapons drop to the ground, sliding from his belt with loud thuds. His skin is slick with sweat – he’s not the only one. I run my fingers over his muscles, pressing my nails deep into his flesh. My ability to breathe shatters as his hips grind against mine.

  I feel like the Dark amidst the Darkness – with nothing to fear because I’m just as scary as all the shit I’m scared of. Every breath feels alive with his power – and I know I shouldn’t be feeling it, but I am. And I want more.

  I bite his lip, and he responds by slamming me back against the tree – making me let go.

  Then suddenly, he pulls away. The Shadows recoil, and the world returns to color and shapes.

  “Shadow, shit,” he growls. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t stop,” I moan, sliding down the tree trunk as I try, and fail, to find my balance without him holding me up.

  A slow descent to the ground. I moan as feeling returns to my body.

  He squats in front of me, and I lean my head back against the tree.

  “You’re crazy,” he says, his lips so close that they skim mine as he talks.

  I take a shuddering breath, then he moves with sudden urgency. Pulling my sleeves back and inspecting the lines of blood. He runs his hands down my jawline, down my neck, pulling my collar back, then lifting my shirt – inspecting the skin everywhere.

  He presses his hands to my hips, and I wince. Yep, there are bruises there too. Then he runs both hands down my legs, pressing firmly. Legs, then arms, then back up to my neck and my jaw.

  “What are you looking for?” I groan.

  Talking hurts – talking feels real. Oh, how I love that groan.

  “Wounds. Nothing’s broken,” he says.

  “Yes, broken,” I gasp, shoving my arm in front of him.

  He just looks at it, then sits on the ground next to me. He lifts his knees and wraps his arms around them, hands clasped together with white knuckles.

  “You want pain,” he says, putting words to something I’m pretty sure was obvious.

  “It feels good,” I whisper.

  “Not to you, it shouldn’t.”

  “It feels real.”

  “Everything should feel real!” Grabbing my arm and pressing his thumb into one of the cuts.

  It stings, awakening muscles all the way to my elbow. Making my mind just stop.

  Killian equals making me hurt equals I still belong to him.

  I sigh and relax. Tilt my head back and just let him hold me. Let him shift to lean over me, blocking the sun. His other hand slips in behind my head, pinning my hair between his fingers to make it obvious I’m not allowed to move before kissing the fuck out of me again.

  He’s demanding, controlling, just a tad scary, and very unpredictable. Perfect. I groan into his mouth, which sparks a rumbling groan from deep within his chest.

  He pulls away and grips my jaw sharply, desire and lust and want written all over him.

  “You can’t be near me right now, get up. Get up, now!”

  He stands, snatches his weapons, and takes a step toward the cottage.

  One – and my wall smacks into me.

  I slam the last book closed and toss it across the room. It hits the wall, the centuries-old spine snapping and its pages fluttering to the ground.

  That’s it – the absolute last book. I’ve used every ingredient. Every instrument. Every book in here. There is nothing more.

  No substitute for the Spring or any way around needing its water.

  Nothing.

  I storm down into the sitting room, with a fresh Power Blocking Potion in one pocket and Kitten’s egg in my other.

  Across the stream and on the other side of the field, Killian is coming at me looking just as angry as I feel. He’s slipping weapons onto his belt and fastening it in place. Kitten’s shirt is slashed, blood on her arms. Her legs are struggling for each step. My heart leaps into my throat.

  Killian’s jaw is set in a hard line, his eyes meeting mine then flicking off toward the path. I rush down the stairs, but the others are nowhere in sight. Kitten looks close to death, hugging to Killian’s side. She looks like whatever just happened almost sucked her dry.

  And she looks giddy with it.

  She’s smiling.

  Aeons. My chest is tight, making breathing hard.

  Killian stops in front of me, and Kitten stops too, gripping his shoulder for support. She glances up with little reaction, just more smiling.

  “What happened?” I ask – whisper.

  Killian grunts, gripping Kitten’s wrist and prying her off of him before he hands her over. I fold her into my arms, her skin so cold under Eydis’ cotton/wool shirt that it shivers against my own. The fabric is quite thick, and she shouldn’t be cold.

  “One step,” Killian growls.

  Then he turns to march off down the path.

  Her head has lolled, her breathing taking on the depths of someone falling from consciousness, so she doesn’t see Killian stop. See him sag.

  “Please, fix her. I can’t,” he says, but he doesn’t look back.

  Doesn’t wait for a response. Just walks off.

  I scoop her up and carry her into the house. Her body is limp before I’ve even managed to get
her inside, kicking Killian’s saddle bag across to the couch as I walk.

  Cuts need bandages or tape. They need pure alcohol for cleaning. And salt – apparently. They need Killian. He did this damage, so he should be here fixing it, and normally he would.

  What in the bloody Aeons happened?

  I settle her on the cushions and rummage through the pack for his medical kit. Which better bloody be in here because I can’t be carrying her around the house searching for it.

  One step.

  How did we get to one step?

  How did she push Darkness this far – when the guy knows the stakes? When the guy is the definition of unflinching control?

  Was. Until we healed her arm.

  And he’s pushed her too far training before. I should have heard them leave the house, should have stopped him. What would she possibly have to gain from training right now?

  Relief floods me as my fingers find the tape and the last of his bottle of pure alcohol. Cuts mark her wrists, a few that tore shirt and never met skin. She doesn’t even flinch as I run the cloth over them. Carefully. Oh, so carefully.

  Shouting outside grabs my attention. Pax, Seth, and Killian storm into the view of the bay window. The stream, the open field, trees, and beyond them the border, and my brothers about to fight each other. Killian didn’t hold back, by the look of it. He went straight up to Pax and told him his mate’s unconscious – again – or that she’s injured – again – or that her bubble has shrunk – again.

  Or worse.

  What could possibly be worse.

  “She’s going to die!” Killian shouts, the boom of his voice echoes through the domain. “Let me take her through the Veil – the Queen –”

  “No! She can’t be in that place, she can’t see it, she can’t feel it, I won’t allow it,” Pax snaps back. His teeth are bared, and he manages one more sharp sentence that I don’t get a chance to catch before shredding through his clothes and running from sight in Thane’s skin.

  Killian takes off in the other direction – running.

  Darkness doesn’t shout, and he doesn’t run. Except when he’s losing that control.

  This is impossible. All of it. We aren’t enough. Not controlled enough. Not strong enough. Not brave enough and not smart enough.

  Not enough for her.

  Seth marches into the cottage, through the room, rummages in the kitchen, then comes out with a jar of dried apricots.

  “Emotional eating?” I ask, kneeling back down beside Kitten. What Seth is eating is on the bottom of my list, buried under the weight of everything else, so I don’t even wait for a reply. “She can’t die. I know he thinks she must – that it’s part of the prophecy – but there’s no logic to it. What advantage would her death give us? The one thing to fight a grimm is something that’s finally dead. It makes no sense!”

  His mouth is too full to speak, or maybe he has nothing to add, but he does nod. It doesn’t matter; nothing he could say would make any of this better. Gravity presses my anger down hard, just like it wants to press me down.

  I search the room for a blanket to cover her, to try and warm her. Seth catches my direction, grabs the small red and white patterned thing from the back of his seat, and helps me drape it over her.

  “How badly did Pax crack?” I ask, shoving stuff back into Killian’s bag.

  Seth shrugs. “Pax and Thane argued between themselves more than they did with me or Killian. They’ve almost burned through that sigil, enough to react anyway. Killian thinks he’s killing her, Pax thinks it’s the MateBond, and Thane wants to rip Logan to pieces.”

  “I hope there’s something bad in these woods – otherwise, they’re going to kill something good. Either way, something is about to die,” I mutter.

  I check Kitten for wounds, again. Just to be sure.

  “What about you?” I ask, not looking up.

  He perches on the arm of the couch, kicking his boots off and putting his feet on the cushion a little from her head. Just looking at her.

  “I’ve kissed her,” he says, reverence in his tone.

  “You kissed her on Pax’s orders in the stables,” I point out.

  He shrugs. “She tasted like wine then – lots of wine. But I’ve kissed her again, and again, and I want to kiss her some more.”

  “She doesn’t sour against your Seed?” I try, guessing at what he’s struggling to say.

  Or maybe I’m just struggling to understand or to believe that of all the people strong enough to feel true to a man with a seed that eventually, no matter what, digs down to find the secrets and lies being kept against them, it’s our Kitten.

  “There are only a few things I don’t do – second kisses are on that list,” he says, waving a dried apricot in my face.

  “I don’t know why you do first kisses. Has anyone ever not tasted like sour milk to you?”

  “Her,” he deadpans, pointing down. “And I don’t want to lose her, you know?”

  I turn my palm up – the seal is gone. We have about a week before our lives depend on returning to the White Castle. An uncomfortable week expending energy trying to fight the magic. Our only advantage is the strength of the pentad over other Sabers locked into a triune. It’s not an exact science. Like the bubble, I guess. Inches, paces, it doesn’t matter how it’s shrinking, or how often, just that it is.

  “What do we do?” Seth asks.

  “Ouch,” Kitten moans.

  She moves one hand to rub her head, then moans again.

  I rest my hand on her stomach, pushing her shirt aside to seek out her still cold skin and draw the pain away.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “I’m guessing Killian used too much Darkness around you,” I say.

  “You have that whole mortals-get-their-souls-sucked thing going on, remember?” Seth adds, offering her an apricot that she just frowns at.

  “No, he didn’t. It’s me – my fault,” she groans. “Help me up.”

  “What was it, and how was it your fault?” Seth asks.

  “It was kissing,” she manages.

  He had her in his arms? How could he be so stupid? He knows he can’t. No matter how much power she could handle, she still couldn’t handle him.

  I thought the damage was from training – what else is hurt that isn’t bleeding?

  I grab her arm so suddenly she startles, but I’ve already checked there. Already checked her stomach and her legs and … her neck… with my other hand I pull the collar of her shirt aside – revealing fingertip-sized bruises.

  She swats my hand away.

  “What else?” I demand, pulling at the tie on her shirt.

  “Roarke,” she snaps, swatting my hand again.

  I’m about to growl at her; all my patience is gone. She has to let me see, let me check. This is worse than simply sparring with the Darkness. I grab her other arm to stop her from pushing me away again.

  “Easy,” Seth says, resting his hand on my shoulder before I have a chance to wrestle with my Kitten. “Vexy, Darkness breaks the things he’s intimate with.”

  She yanks her arms free before saying, “I’m not a thing.”

  “That’s not what he meant, Kitten. Killian should know better.”

  “I made him do it,” she mutters, trying to get up, except I won’t let her.

  “What do you mean?” I demand.

  At the same time Seth asks, “How do you make a man like Killian kiss you?”

  “Where is he? This is important,” she insists – ignoring us both.

  “It’s not,” I tell her.

  Why won’t she see?

  “Okay, fine, it’s not important, but I still need Killian,” she snaps.

  We relent, helping her to her feet and watching closely as she leads the way. This is wrong, but the best chance I have at making this right is if I can get all of us together. So the vulnerable mortal can tell the king of Darkness that she is sorry.

  One Pace

  Kissing Darkn
ess still, somehow, used magic. I’d like to think that I’m just that chuckin’ awesome that I ripped through their pretty little potion because my soul wanted to be near Killian’s. But most likely, my bubble just has a mind of its own and shrinks whenever it damn well pleases.

  My hours are numbered, and each one is closer to being my last, and that sounds like something out of one of Cook’s tales – stick to the shadows and the shade.

  Oh, Cook. If you knew the trouble I’ve gotten myself into.

  Seth has his arm around my shoulders, keeping me safely within my one step limit, and Roarke is pacing ahead of us. The guy looks ready to explode. I don’t blame him – but it does scare me. Roarke does calm thinking things. Pacing – yes. Exploding – no.

  We stop beside Pax’s meeting space. The four logs and fire are roughly to my right, pebbled path to who-knows-what on my left, the stream then field then trees before me.

  Roarke puts his lips around his fingers and whistles – just like Pax. The sound is ear-piercing, and I literally hold my breath until Killian steps out of the trees. I have vague memories of where we were because I was much more focused on what we were doing, but I’m willing to bet that he’s returning from the exact same spot.

  Stalking, actually – the man is stalking toward us.

  My stomach knots. He’s pissed, and it’s most certainly my fault. I knew what I was doing. I knew I was pushing him, and I did it anyway.

  My body cowers into Seth’s side while my mouth decides to provide a distraction. “So, yay, I can't sense any of you anymore. Can’t even feel your power, but I’m still completely subject to it. It can still use me?”

  Seth hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my head back. His eyes are midday blue, highlighting how bleak the sky has become.

  “Why do you look so weak?” he says, then rushes to add, “When they hit me with a Power Blocker, it removed not just my connection to, but also my immunity to Allure. The potion wore off, and I found myself butt naked in front of the White Castle Dignitaries trying to pitch the idea of ‘Clothes Free Monday’.”

  I snort – absolutely loving the idea. Also not telling him I’ve filed it away as a potential future prank as I ask, “Why?”