Seduced By Shadows

by Slade, Jessa

“Skip to the point, man,” Jonah said.

  Bookie glowered over the rim of his glasses. “The continued tenebrae activity is due to persistent damage in the Veil. And she is the one preventing the Veil from sealing.”

  “The Veil is always in flux after a crossing,” Ecco said. “Although not so long, usually. Her teshuva—”

  “Not her teshuva,” Bookie snapped. “She.” His gaze narrowed on Archer. “Sera.”

  Archer felt a chill go through him. “How? She’s human. Demon-ridden, yes, but still human.” Suddenly, the distinction seemed terribly elemental to him.

  Bookie frowned. “In the ESF reading, Sera’s soul force radiates outward into our realm, conjoined with the demon, just like any talya/teshuva possession. But her soul force also cascades backward along her teshuva’s remaining umbilical. Through the Veil. Into the tenebraeternum.” He gave a little shrug, with an expression like reluctant admiration. “You could almost say that instead of the demon possessing her, she is riding the demon.”

  Archer stiffened. “No one would choose to be possessed.”

  “That’s your occupational myopia. If you’d look around, you’d see people are capable of more than you suppose, all on their own.”

  Reluctantly, Archer considered Sera’s history. Between her mother’s suicide, her career in death, her accident, her relentless delving into mysteries with no answers, maybe she hadn’t chosen to bargain her soul, but a conspiracy of circumstances had cut off any other path.

  Niall asked, “What does this mean to Corvus’s plan?”

  The pages in Bookie’s hand crinkled as he clenched them. “I can’t say. I just thought it was interesting. Has to make one question Sera’s intent, unconscious or not. And, actually, the true strain of her demon since it apparently crossed over in response to Corvus’s tweaking the Veil.”

  Valjean straightened. “You think we’ve been harboring a djinn all along?”

  Archer took a step forward. “No.”

  “Djinn or teshuva, the flaw in the Veil remains,” Bookie said, “so it doesn’t really matter either way.”

  Jonah sputtered. “She’s conspiring to free all the denizens of hell, and you don’t think that matters?”

  Archer spun on the other man. “Sera does not want to destroy the Veil. She fights for us.”

  Jonah scowled. “I won’t risk losing my soul just because you’ve lost your head fucking a djinn whore—”

  Archer punched him. He aimed the short, vicious blow for the neck wound. Fragile, new flesh parted under his knuckles, and blood sprayed. Jonah reeled back, falling to his knees.

  With a harmonized shout, the other talyan piled on Archer, pinning his arms. He braced his legs against their weight so they couldn’t take him down but stood unresisting.

  He stared at Jonah through narrowed eyes as Niall helped the other man to his feet, hand clamped over the reopened wound.

  Niall scowled at Archer reprovingly. “He wasn’t hurt enough?”

  Archer cocked his head, assessing. “I could punch a hole in the other side, even him up, since he’s such a stickler for appearances.”

  Jonah croaked something unintelligible. Niall led him to the lobby chairs and handed the bleeding talya a decorative pillow. “Hold that against your neck until it clots.”

  Ecco chortled. “Now we see how our fine gent here is part of her connection to the demon realm.”

  Bookie, who’d put half the room between himself and the scuffle, halted his retreat. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you saw the link to the demon realm in the spectrograph. What I saw on the ESF recorder down in the lab were three strands. The thin umbilical of Sera’s demon, and piggybacked on that, Sera’s bright soul line. And then the third line, stronger and darker than the others. Archer.”

  Archer remembered the braid of light pictured on the screen, the three strands in an intricate weaving dance. “The third strand would be the malice.”

  Ecco shook his head. “No way would the emanations from a single malice show up as such a high-amplitude wavelength. And it’s the amps that get you. Sound like anyone we know?” He hooked his thumb meaningfully at Archer.

  Everyone stared at Ecco. He shrugged. “Shit, guys. I’m not just a pretty face, and I do know my malice.”

  Bookie wrinkled his lip toward a sneer. “And you think he is linked too?”

  “The bond between them is damn strong, emphasis on ‘damned,’ ” Ecco said. “Just ask Jonah. When he stops foaming blood.”

  “Ecco,” Archer said softly without turning to look at the man, “I don’t want to hurt you too.” But he would. He figured that part went without saying.

  “You’re an arrogant asshole,” Ecco said, “but you don’t lie to yourself. If Sera is the bow, you’re the arrow. The power and the point. She held the fissure in the Veil, and you rammed the malice back through.” He secured his grip on Archer’s arm. “Kinda like the aforementioned fucking that’s got you wound so tight around her.”

  A bone-deep tremor shook Archer—every atom of his being coursed with demonic fury. He held himself stone-still, though the room around him glimmered with the black-light effect of hunter’s sight.

  “I suppose there is historical precedence,” Bookie said grudgingly. “If you consider that women have always been in charge of life and death. And, anecdotally at least, a woman had first dealings with a devil and suborned her mate later.”

  Ecco laughed. “I so dare you to say that to Sera’s face.” The big talya tightened his grip another notch, as if he feared his next words would be even less well received than the last. “She might have the soul connection to the dark side, but when Archer saw she was in trouble with the malice, he jumped in with annihilation on his mind. If Eve had him around, farmer boy here would’ve made her apple pie.”

  Valjean, hanging off Archer’s other arm, grunted. “Explains why we’ve never seen this phenomenon. No female talya.”

  Ecco nodded. “And no way was I going to have sex with any of you lot.”

  “When was the last time I thanked God?” Valjean let go of Archer. “This is all very titillating, but we’re no closer to finding the djinn-man. How Archer and Sera send demons back through the Veil won’t save us if all the demons come pouring over to our side first.”

  Niall glanced over the tense group, his gaze narrowing on Archer. “We’ll find Corvus and stop him. We’re going to trap him.”

  “Liam.” Despite the arcing demon energy, Archer’s blood froze. “No.”

  “Trap him?” Valjean perked up. “Have to admit, it’d be easier if he’d come to us. Why would he—?”

  “Not Sera.”

  Archer stiffened, hearing the words screaming in his head spoken aloud. He glanced over at Bookie.

  The historian shook his head. “You can’t use her as bait. We can’t risk Corvus taking her from us.”

  From his chair, Jonah snorted, spurting blood.

  Niall frowned at him. “I said hold that pillow tight.” He turned his attention to Bookie. “Corvus wants to exploit her teshuva’s connection to the tenebraeternum. He doesn’t realize he’d be stealing half a weapon that could destroy him.” His expression remained impassive, as if he weren’t discussing sending Sera to her likely doom.

  Archer spurred his demon, felt the ripple through his body, and fixed his gaze on Niall. The league leader should know the other half of his new weapon wouldn’t be passively aimed. “I won’t let you sacrifice her.”

  “It’s what we do, who we are.” Niall’s gaze never flickered, his demon latent as he spoke the cold truth. “And it’s all our souls at stake.”

  Into the tension, Bookie said, “The probability of catastrophe halved is still fifty percent too high. Why hand Sera to Corvus on a silver platter now? Give me time to finish my work.”

  Archer knew what Sera would say to that idea. He wrenched out of Ecco’s grasp and stalked toward the door.

  Niall called out, “Where are you going?”


  “The birnenston is making me crazy. I’m leaving before I do something I might regret.” He glanced at Jonah on the way past. “Which is not you, by the way.”

  Jonah flicked him off with vigor, and Archer was grudgingly glad he hadn’t killed the man.

  He had enough undying regrets. But if the only way out for him had to be paid with Sera’s gold head on a silver platter, he would live with those regrets. However long—or short—that might be.

  CHAPTER 21

  When Archer slammed through the safe house door, he left a glimmering violet outline of his palm embedded in the wood. He must be radiating on all wavelengths, overwhelming the house energy sinks, to leave such blatant demon sign in his wake, but he refused to name the emotions that narrowed his vision to the woman before him.

  He curled his hands into fists, wanting to reach for her, but fearful of what marks he’d leave this time.

  Sera, focused on her laptop, didn’t even glance up.

  He towered over her. “Get up. We’re going.”

  She pecked a single key on the keyboard. Still looking at the screen, she said, “Can’t,” and held up her arm with the tracking bracelet.

  He slipped his fingers between the manacle and her wrist. The contrast between the slick coolness of metal and fine silk of her skin hummed in his senses. He snapped the bracelet in two.

  The halves fell to the floor with echoing thuds.

  “Oh dear, my unbreakable titanium alloy.” She lifted her gaze from her bare arm, still cradled in his grasp. “Bad day?”

  “Getting worse,” he growled. But the warmth of her penetrated his icy rage. The tug that lifted her to her feet was only as abrupt as simple male arrogance required. “Come on.”

  “I was in the middle of something.”

  “Yeah, you are. What do you think’s making it worse?”

  A flicker of alarm crossed her features. She stopped being a deadweight. “Where are we going?”

  “Away.”

  “Let me get my bag.”

  “Now.” He’d made clear to Niall he wasn’t okay with the baited-trap idea. It wouldn’t take long for Niall to figure out that “wasn’t okay with” meant “was going to stop it.”

  Luckily, the house was almost empty, and he’d yanked the telephone landline on the way in. By the time Niall connected with a talya close by, Sera would be safely away.

  Archer didn’t want to hurt anyone else today. And he didn’t want to wonder why he was willing to kill for this blond wisp of a demon-ridden woman at his side—just because his experience with demons and her link to the other side combined into a weapon unlike any found in talyan archives. . . .

  More than two millennia of league knowledge—not to mention his almost two centuries of numbing annihilation—had been thrown into utter confusion, and all because of her.

  Two cab rides and a fast walk with several doubling backs brought them to the greenhouse. Sera glanced over her shoulder as he unlocked the door. “So whom am I watching out for here?”

  “Anybody who looks like a bad guy. Or a bad guy pretending to be a good guy.”

  “Right. That about covers it. Except for the good guy pretending to be a bad guy.”

  “We don’t have any of those.”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  When he glanced down, she was looking at him. He pushed her into the building and locked the door behind them.

  She rubbed her hands up over her arms, and he realized he’d dragged her out of the house without her coat. Preoccupied with his suspicions, he hadn’t even offered his.

  “Let’s get you something warm to drink.”

  She waited while he made tea, then turned to go out to the greenhouse. “You coming?”

  Their night in the garden flashed before his eyes. He’d brought them here because this place had always been his refuge. Jonah might’ve been right about the losing-his-mind part.

  As for Ecco’s theory . . . The talya’s crude comparison of offing demons to sleeping with Sera struck him as wrong. Not just borderline sacrilegious, but missing some vital aspect. Rather than trying to think it through, he followed her.

  She took one of the wandering paths. He waited until the tension across her shoulders eased before he spoke. “I’d shackle you again to protect you.”

  “I know you’re old-fashioned—really old—but that’s not your call.”

  He tightened his hands around the teacup. “What was I supposed to do? Until I destroy Corvus—”

  “You can talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  He noticed distracting her wasn’t on the list. Too bad. “Even Bookie thought the baited-trap idea was bad.”

  She frowned. “Did you see him today? He didn’t answer my e-mail. But Liam seemed to think my idea had merit.”

  Archer didn’t want to discuss how the meeting had gone down. He certainly wasn’t going to correct her mistaken notion that everyone else was against her self-destruction too. “I just need a little more time before you sacrifice yourself.”

  She trailed her fingers across the leaves. The hazy light leached the color from her eyes so they gleamed as silver as when they’d made love under the showering water. “And I just want what’s happened to me to matter , to know it isn’t all pointless.”

  “Oh, it matters,” he murmured.

  “Before, you didn’t think anything mattered.”

  He turned his face to the sky—so he didn’t have to meet that probing stare. “Maybe you’ve changed things for me.”

  Like the fact he would never be allowed to return to the league.

  Attacking another talya, it happened. Angry, hurting men with superhuman powers sometimes got cranky. As long as no one died, no harm, no foul. And they were hard to kill.

  But to betray the purpose of the league, the mission of the teshuva to seek redemption . . . A demon not repenting was a djinni, its possessed just another djinn-man to be hunted into a better-late-than-never grave.

  And all because he couldn’t forget the feel of her beneath him, beside him; couldn’t forget, again, how to feel.

  He slugged back the rest of his tea. “Warm?”

  She nodded, a faint frown creasing her brow.

  “Good.” He didn’t want to guess whether the heat in his own skin was the memory of hers or the unholy promise of hellfire to come.

  “You have changed,” she said. “The demon rides you hard. Ever since Zane’s death.”

  He stiffened. “Of course, I’m keeping the teshuva on simmer. In case you forgot, we’re under siege.”

  “You’ve always been under attack. Something else is wrong.”

  A hint of violet played at the corners of her eyes. He knew she was calling on other-realm senses to monitor his response. The demon might not confer mind-reading powers, but the constriction of pupils, the dilation of blood vessels, the tinge of nervous sweat, could be every bit as damning.

  She studied him. “You told me once you had no brothers. But all the talyan are your brothers now.” She took a breath. “Zane’s body might be dust already, but you don’t have to forget him. You’re still allowed to mourn.”

  “I don’t have time to mourn.” Honest enough, although maybe he should convince her he needed time alone—with her—to work through Zane’s death. Maybe a couple weeks immersed in her welcoming body, how had she put it?—affirming life.

  But she shook her head. “It’s not about time. You said you wanted me to help you feel.”

  So much for distracting her with his needs. “I know what loss feels like,” he snapped. “I learned a long time ago.”

  “The war . . .”

  He glowered. He was supposed to be playing the wing-wounded bird, leading the hunter astray. So why did the ache seem real? “War is all about loss. What happened to Zane was a terrible reminder, but it’s nothing I’ve ever forgotten.”

  “What have you tried to forget?” Her words, soft but relentless, stalked him. “What did you lose—or whom—that made you afraid
to ever lose again? The farm? Your father?”

  “Frederick.” The answer burst out against his will, startled like the bird into flight, never mind what was revealed to the hunter.

  Sera was silent.

  “A friend. A boyhood friend.” He raised his head to glare at her. “A house slave boy my age. For a few summers, we had a secret fort in the lowlands. Sometimes he did my lessons on the sly while I ran wild. All I had to do in return was chop wood for him.”

  The swirl of green, brown, and violet in her gaze reminded him not so much of bright honeysuckle now as an orchid deep in the labyrinthine swamps he and Frederick had explored, rot turned to exotic flowers in the gloom.

  “My father found out Frederick’s mother had taught him to read. He sold them in town, since what point having field hands who could read, and sent me away to school up North, since what good was an heir who chopped wood.” He clamped his teeth closed on the urge to tell her how, even then, his father had rubbed at the pains in his chest when working the cotton, and how rumors of war bubbled like foul swamp gases from the white fields. “When I returned, the bayou had been drained to make way for more crops. And I found out Frederick had tried to run. He was caught about twenty miles from my school and taken back. Somewhere along the way, they beat him to death.”

  He fell silent, and the violet in her eyes faded. “That’s why you hold yourself apart from the other talyan? As penance? But you weren’t responsible for Frederick’s running, or his death.”

  He raked her with a scathing glance. “I know that.”

  “If you won’t risk the pain of losing, you’ll never know the joy of holding, either.”

  “I know that too. But it’s not just me at risk.”

  They faced each other, the whisper of leaves overhead like a watchful crowd taking bets.

  Whose wound bled more freely? Was this the twisted trail that had led them to each other across two realms, human and demon? But what hope had they of healing each other, the woman who’d been abandoned and the man with a penchant for losing everything?

  She dropped her gaze first, and he knew he should feel like crowing with victory. Instead, he felt as if he’d lost—again.