Seduced By Shadows

by Slade, Jessa

  When he turned back, Sera was also clothed, her coat balled in her lap. “So no euthanasia?”

  “You still think I would?”

  The faintest hint of color rose in her cheeks. “That’s not why I said yes.”

  “You didn’t say yes. You said now.”

  Her blush flared higher. “I’m liberated. Possessed, but liberated.”

  “This is a good time to be alive,” he said with proper seriousness.

  And surprised himself with the truth in his words. Another decidedly lethal turn in his thoughts. If anyone was in danger tonight, it wasn’t her.

  In the lazy air, the scent of sex hung close. He took a few steps away to lean against a tree, leaving the daybed to her. But even from that careful distance, he still saw her swollen lips, the redness at the joining of her slender neck and shoulder where he’d set his teeth. His fingers itched to run through the tousled blond strands, where sweat and friction had knotted curls into her hair.

  What had he done?

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud, if softly, until she speared him with a glare. Her senses were sharper, thanks to the demon. He’d have to be more careful. Now. He snorted to himself, determinedly silent.

  “It’s over then?” Her tone was more demand than question.

  The words stung. “So it wasn’t mind-blowing for you too?”

  Her previous blushes paled in comparison to this one. “I meant this possession of mine.”

  “Ah. That.”

  “That. The reason we’re here. The reason why we . . .” She gritted her teeth on whatever words threatened. “That was the reason we did it, right?”

  He shifted. “We had to do something. I’ve never heard of a demon and its chosen dancing on the edge of the Veil so long and not ending up with a corpse and an unbound demon in search of another soul.”

  She nodded, as if eager to explain away the night. “You said the chosen has to be rooted in this realm or risk being drawn into the other when the demon ascends. What better than drinks, dancing, and sex?”

  “Usually it’s a lot of beer with whiskey chasers, a game of pool, and a fight in the parking lot.” When she wrinkled her nose, he shrugged. “All other demon-ridden have been male. And bloody knuckles have a way of reminding you what this world is about.”

  “So it is done?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “The reven, the sign you are possessed, is on you. With the demon bound to your flesh in this realm, you don’t need to fear being sucked back into hell.” As she’d said, only that danger had brought them together in the first place. “But you still have to master your changed senses, hone your abilities, test your limits.”

  She bit her lip, bringing back the color. “So, not done?”

  “Did you think you’d just walk away again?” A spurt of anger sharpened his voice more than he intended. They were talking about her deal with her demon, not what had happened within the confines of the daybed. “If you had died tonight, your soul would be forfeit. That still holds true. Like your demon, only in the fight can you hope for salvation.”

  She flinched back with each pronouncement, and he realized he’d advanced on her, his voice rising with each step.

  He rocked to a halt. Slowly, he reached out and wrapped his finger through the cord of her necklace. The stone spun, secretive and mute, as defiant as its bearer. “But the choice is yours. Just as when the demon first approached you.”

  She pulled away. Despite the marks of loving still on her, shadows stalked behind her hazel eyes. “And you are just another demon offering me damnation and worse.”

  If he hadn’t checked the axe, he might have wondered if it had sprung open to jab him in the gut. Just as well the alleged talyan bonding had faded into myth. “Welcome to worse.”

  “Your promises have come to naught.” Corvus struck the flint in front of the torch. A blue-white flame flared to life out of the invisible propane. “The demon is not djinn.”

  The Worm squirmed, as worms were wont to do. “Entirely unexpected. The signs all indicated—”

  The sinister hiss grew louder as Corvus widened the flame. “I’ve grown weary of your signs. Battles fought by signs are only won in ballads. Crappy ballads.”

  The Worm flinched.

  Corvus held the tip of his finger to the flame. The black marks peeking out from beneath both sleeves flared yellow. The Worm sucked in a breath, then gagged at the stench of burning flesh.

  Just right. Corvus balanced the torch in a vise and reached for two thick glass rods. So many small acts before the final effect.

  In the same way, he’d insinuated his final plan into the dreams of the pharmaceutical researcher and the executive. He’d barely called on the confusing miasma of his djinn-infused aura to charm them. With just a few suggestive words, he’d opened a path to the center of their souls and bent them to his need. One man lusted for immeasurable wealth; the other longed to be a hero. Together, they spread a spiritual plague through the city. The world would come to curse those early unwitting carriers of doom, but at least a few innocents would be spared the coming annihilation.

  Well, not actually innocent, and not spared, precisely. But their deaths would be kinder than what lay ahead.

  He softened both canes in the flame and spiraled the transparent black into the matte. Dark and darker, like his endless servitude. How appropriate the crow had come to him as his last work in the darkest days of all.

  The Worm cleared his throat. “Actually, the strain of the demon changes nothing.”

  Corvus tipped his head. “True, nothing ever really changes.”

  “A complication only.” Eagerness rose in the Worm’s voice. “The league has its newest talya well guarded, but the weakness in the Veil remains. Our work doesn’t require informed, or even willing, participation.”

  “You should know,” Corvus murmured. More loudly, he said, “True again.”

  “My formula for the chemical desolator numinis performs exactly as we wanted. Soon we’ll have the critical mass we need to punch through the Veil.” The Worm straightened. “So our agreement still holds.”

  Corvus put down the glass. He took up the ring he’d laid aside and slipped it over his finger. “Why do you covet it? You cannot cozen the demon’s power for yourself.”

  The Worm’s gaze fixed on the ring. “Of course I can.” His hands jerked at his sides, as if he reached for something just beyond his grasp. “The power, channeled through human flesh, is just that: power. Neither good nor evil, nor repentant.”

  Corvus stroked his thumb over the smooth stone.“Are there more twistings to you than I knew, my Worm?”

  If the Worm even heard the name Corvus had given him, he didn’t object. “Once we have the siphon through the Veil in place, we can focus the etheric energy however we wish.”

  Seeing the glint in the Worm’s eye, Corvus tilted his head. “Such grand plans.”

  “Damn right,” the Worm snapped.

  Just as well he’d never been tempted to share his ultimate intent, Corvus thought. Seduced by the prospect of power the Worm might be, but still too small to appreciate the terrible might that, once unleashed, would free them all.

  Damned indeed.

  “We still need the talya and her teshuva to mark the flaw in the web of souls. And soon,” Corvus warned. “My desolator army is nearly complete.”

  “And our next opportunity could be decades away.” Impatience overrode the last of the Worm’s trepidation, and his writhing fingers stilled into clenched fists. “I’m already working on it. She’ll have no place else to go and no time to balance the demon’s energies. Once we have her, I can trace the link through her teshuva to the demon realm and place the tap in that weakened point in Veil. I’ll get—we’ll have everything we need.”

  “I have faith.” Corvus smiled.

  The Worm smiled back.

  When he had gone, Corvus returned to his glass. With each translucent layer, the disquiet in his soul sunk deeper out
of his awareness, leaving him floating free of the murk. The Worm could never understand. Corvus doubted even the white-hot tip of the torch was bright enough to enlighten the man.

  Meanwhile, he basked in a glow of satisfaction. He’d always known this day would come.

  The playwrights of this era shied away from deus ex machina conclusions. The Greeks had loved the practice of actors, masked as the gods, descending from wires overhead to make their long-winded proclamations and neatly wrap up their complicated morality tales. Today’s playwrights found such a finish too unlikely, maybe even disturbing.

  They didn’t believe that overwhelming, unearthly forces would come down and end their play.

  Little did they know.

  He found himself curious about this new demon-ridden warrior. He’d never bothered with the skulking talyan and their paltry teshuva, too fainthearted to reach for their desperately sought-after release. They should thank him for hastening their conclusion. But this one was powerful, the Worm said, and a female. Perhaps he needed to see this oddity.

  He took his high spirits down from his tower into the streets. His passage rippled out in waves of frenzied darklings that would feast well before morning’s light.

  No sense letting the talyan get lazy now. Their teshuva hadn’t much longer to repent.

  Archer paused on the sidewalk in front of the refurbished old hotel, when Sera halted, staring up. “Betsy said it was almost a full moon.”

  In the early-morning sky, the wan moon hung between the angular spears of the hotel’s Gothic crenellations, a fragile bubble over a field of needles. “Who is Betsy?”

  “A nurse where I work. Worked. She told me the crazies would be out.”

  “Not knowing she’d be talking about you.” The inadvertent cruelty of his words made him wince. “Never mind.”

  “Demons.” Sera shook her head. “She’d probably find comfort in finally hearing an explanation for all the suckiness in the world.”

  “Working with humanity wasn’t explanation enough?”

  She dragged her gaze down from the sky. “What the hell is your problem?”

  Hell. He didn’t answer.

  She scowled, the pale moonlight in her eyes eclipsed with violet demon glow. “I thought you brought me here so I could learn how we fight to save the world.”

  “We’re fighting to save our souls,” he reminded her. “The world is collateral damage.”

  “Collateral salvation, you mean.”

  “Guess that depends whether anybody survives.”

  She shook her head, blond hair sifting over her shoulders. “Are all the other demon-ridden like you?”

  “God forbid.”

  Archer didn’t turn around at the voice behind them. “Will you set her a better example, Ecco?”

  Zane stepped up on the other side of them. “We’re just getting off the hunt—worst ever, I gotta say—but Liam said to wait for you.” He turned to Sera. “Your honor guard, ma’am. I’m Zane.”

  She murmured some appropriate response. Ecco did not introduce himself.

  Archer put himself between Sera and the two men. “Emphasis on the guard?”

  Zane ducked his head. “Niall said you weren’t exactly sure. . . .”

  Ecco growled. “Thought we might have to take her out. Since you couldn’t.”

  “You might try.” Sera smiled sweetly, but Archer, his demon ascending at the hinted violence, felt the sudden race of her pulse. From the curl of her fingers, he knew the fierce rush of the demon rose in her too. “Unless you’re no better at the wet work than the undercover detail. Maybe you should stick to doll making.”

  Zane choked.

  Archer smirked, his demon subsiding. “Shall we go up?”

  Zane jumped forward to swipe his entry card at the door. The heavy glass etched with the @1 insignia swung open with a dull clang, and they filed in.

  Archer almost bumped shoulders with Ecco as the other man tried to fall into place behind Sera. Their stares clashed. After a heartbeat, Ecco gestured him ahead, lips twisted with insincerity.

  Archer narrowed his gaze, then stepped past, following Sera through the retro Metropolis lobby.

  The elevator rose thirty-five floors in strained silence.

  Archer glanced over at Sera. She’d been looking at him, but her gaze slipped away before he could do something—take her hand, coldcock Ecco, something—to reassure her.

  Zane cleared his throat. “I remember the first time I met the league, with a mischief-class demon newly embedded in my soul.” He pitched his voice as if he spoke only to Sera, although of course they all heard. “I was piss-myself scared, sorry to say.”

  Sera gave him a fleeting smile. “Seems reasonable.”

  “But you shouldn’t be scared. Not of us. And the teshuva are pretty chill too. Kinda like living in an efficiency apartment with a roommate who works days while you work nights. You share the same space and sort of help each other out, but you never even see the other guy.”

  “He must be the one who keeps leaving the toilet seat up,” Ecco said. “Asshole.”

  “Anyway,” Zane said, “that just leaves bad demons to worry about. And you’ve already racked up an assist in a feralis takedown.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “You keep score?”

  He flushed. “Well, not officially. The reckoning’s all in the soul, I suppose.”

  “And the hash marks in your flesh,” Ecco growled.

  Sera glanced at him. “Don’t you heal? I thought that’s the demon’s half of the deal.”

  Ecco smiled, full of teeth. “Doesn’t stop it from hurting like hell.”

  When her gaze slid to him again, Archer kept his eyes fixed on the elevator doors, which thankfully opened. Ecco and Zane stepped out, but Sera balked on the threshold. Archer tried to see the room as a newcomer.

  Decades ago, the league had converted the old hotel to apartments for its talyan. When Niall had taken over as leader, he’d opened the penthouse suite with its massive sunken living room as a gathering space, trying to foster community among the almost pathologically re clusive fighters. The hotel wasn’t the tallest or finest in the city, but the wall of windows framed an impressive swath of skyline and morning light.

  Despite the elegance of sleek modern furnishings in black and chrome highlighted with crimson, Archer didn’t think any particular awe of the decorating held Sera in place, clashing violet lights in her eyes.

  Maybe her reluctance had something to do with the couple dozen large, powerful men—variously scarred and reven marked, and at the moment liberally sprayed with ichor—rising from their scattered seats, all with violet-tinged gazes fixed on her.

  When Zane had said they’d waited after rounds, he’d meant they’d all waited.

  Archer put his hand at the small of Sera’s back. He paused while she angled herself a single degree toward him, toward the comfort—or at least the familiarity—of his touch. He noted how every man’s eyes flicked to that point of contact.

  Only then did he guide her forward to the man standing in the middle of the room.

  “Sera Littlejohn,” he said. “This is Liam Niall.” He cast his gaze wider. “And the Chicago league of the teshuva, those who would repent.”

  The talyan fighters stood motionless, but tension lapped the room in almost visible waves.

  “ ‘Pleased to meet you’ seems a little . . . ,” she responded, hesitating, then finished, “beside the point.”

  Niall’s lips quirked up. “Hello is fine. Truth is, we’re as surprised to meet you as you are to find us.A woman, with a powerful enigma-class demon.These are puzzling times indeed.” He shook his head. “But we are very pleased to meet you. It isn’t every day—or every decade—that we welcome a new convert to the league.”

  “I think that’s probably a good thing.” Sera’s sideways glance took in the room of silent men.

  “Not if we’re going to stay ahead of the bad guys,” Niall said.

  Ecco hovered
nearby, if a man with biceps the size of tree trunks could hover. “We are the bad guys. We’re just not the really bad guys.”

  Niall shot him a quelling glance. “Don’t scare her.”

  “Too late,” Sera murmured.

  At the same moment, Zane said bracingly, “She’s not as nervous as I was. I about puked the first time I smelled a malice.”

  “Thank you, Zane,” Niall said with a wry twist to his lips.

  Sera shifted uneasily. “I guess I have already seen some of the nastiness.”

  “Not the worst, you haven’t,” Ecco said.

  She slanted a glance at Archer. He folded his arms and leaned against the column that separated the elevator entryway from the steps down into the living room. He’d done his part, shepherding her through the possession, bringing her into the fold. The camaraderie Niall and Zane dangled with their tag-team routine, even Ecco’s ominous hazing, wasn’t something he could offer her.

  It had been a mistake to claim her so blatantly in front of the others. Just because the destroyer in him sent portents through his dreams that something—some demon, someone—was coming his way, didn’t mean she belonged to him.

  A man who lived forever—until he was brutally slaughtered by unholy minions of darkness—didn’t find dating an easy proposition. Girlfriends wondered who’d left the ichor stain on the shirt collar. Wives grew suspicious when their husbands didn’t grow old.

  Worse, the demon’s dread of compounding its burden of sin turned every touch into an inner battle that, over the years, became not worth waging.

  But a female talya . . . Every man in the room eyed Sera as if she were the fantasy haunting his lonely dreams. If Bookie was right about the last female talya disappearing into antiquity, maybe something in their demonic DNA was waking up. The hungry stares roused a protective instinct Archer thought eradicated in his lone-wolf existence.

  At least he could tell himself his unsubtle claiming would give her a bit of breathing space in this room of rogues and killers. Of course, what his mind told itself had nothing to do with the primal impulses raging through his blood.