Shadow's Touch

by T. M. Hart

  I found it strange that he was using my title. I couldn’t remember a time, in all our years together, when he had ever called me that. Or told me to come to him. I believed he had to be incredibly rattled.

  “It’s okay!” I tried to call back. I smiled and waved my hands as though nothing was wrong. “I’ll be right down!”

  A dark form sliced through the air and knocked Killian to the ground. Then it rose.

  Zagan was looming above Killian. Dark shadows coiled and slinked around him. There was an unhinged rage in his eyes.

  “No,” I tried to shout through the window. “It’s okay! He’s a friend!” When there was no recognition to my words, I banged on the glass.

  But neither of the two men below, looked up at me. Killian had scrambled to his feet, holding out the dagger. And the shadows surrounding Zagan screeched and swayed.

  A certain horror swept over me when I realized what was going to happen.

  Killian dove, leading with the dagger, trying to make contact. But Zagan sidestepped the attack.

  I banged on the glass again. “Stop! Killian don’t!”

  I needed to get between them, but I was on the fifth floor. It would take too long to get down there. I also foolishly thought if I could keep my eyes on them, then I could somehow prevent things from escalating.

  Killian lunged for Zagan. But Zagan delivered a solid punch to Killian’s nose before flashing out of the arc of the dagger.

  Killian didn’t stand a chance. Zagan had seemed to grow in size. Taking up more space, his very presence demanding it. The immeasurable power he housed, which he kept so tightly bottled, was expanding. And it was as though Killian was fighting a phantom.

  I thanked the Light that Zagan did not have a sword. It was the only reason Killian was still alive. It was the only reason Killian had a chance of living.

  However, Killian was still in grave danger. Blood had exploded from his broken nose. His head had whipped back, and he had landed on the dirt ten feet away.

  “Stop!” I screamed. “Don’t hurt him!” I banged on the glass again. “Stay down!” I tried to direct Killian. But he was rolling onto his side and attempting to stand. He looked up at me then and desperately beckoned for me.

  “You will never touch her.” Even through the distance and glass, I could hear Zagan’s cold, controlled words. The ice in his tone terrified me. He began to stalk forward.

  I had to save Killian.

  I punched the glass and a small cracked formed. I took a step back and kicked it with my bare foot. The crack lengthened, but the glass did not break. I ran to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between myself and the glass as possible. Then I charged for the window at full speed, leading with my shoulder.

  Glass rained around me in thousands of tiny pieces. I had shattered the window. I would jump the five stories to land between them and explain everything. Killian would be okay.

  Yet, as I felt myself break the plane of the window, I did not tumble through. Instead a pulse of energy threw me back.

  And in the fraction of the second I broke the glass, I had just a snapshot of the tableau below.

  Zagan had been about to strike. But he had diverted his attention from his advance on Killian to stop me. He had sent a pulse of energy to throw me back and prevent me from jumping. That one act had left him vulnerable, though, and Killian was in the perfect position to strike.

  I was hurtled to the other side of the room, slamming to the floor. The instant my body made contact on the hardwood, I rolled onto my hands and knees. I scrambled to the window with broken glass digging into my palms. Once I looked below, I felt my heart stop. I could not believe what I saw.

  The hilt of the dagger was sticking out of Zagan’s chest. And I felt a pang in my own. He roared, and determination saturated the air. With his last breath he would end Killian. I could feel it.

  Killian was trying to dodge away after landing the strike, but Zagan was too fast. He grabbed Killian’s head in his hands and gave a vicious twist.

  He didn’t stop there, though. He continued to twist and yank, until in a rip of flesh and tendon, he had torn Killian’s head from his body.

  I heard a blood curdling scream. A woman’s scream. It tore through the night. It filled my ears.

  I covered my own mouth with my bloody palms. And the woman stopped.

  I stared at him. I let my hands drop. I knew my eyes were filled with hatred.

  He stared back. Taking it. Accepting it. Taking it from me. And in doing so, he knowingly accepted his death.

  Then he fell to his knees, and grabbing the hilt of the dagger, yanked it out of his chest. A small stream of blood escaped his lips and a torrent of it gushed from his heart.

  He collapsed to the ground.

  Dead. They were both dead. Killian beheaded and Zagan stabbed in the heart with a dagger of Light.

  I turned, stumbling out of the room. I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going. I didn’t believe what I had just witnessed. It wasn’t true. It hadn’t happened.

  I wasn’t aware of what occurred next. All I knew was that at some point I collapsed at the base of a tree in the woods behind the manor. Without realizing it, I had made my way into the forest.

  I hugged my knees and rocked back and forth. Over and over again, I told myself it wasn’t true. I was going to pick myself up and go back to the manor. I would see that it wasn’t true. I would go in just a minute. Over and over again I told myself Killian was fine.

  A small eternity later, a twig cracked nearby. Leaves crunched. And I heard labored breathing. I whipped my head up and saw the hooded figure of the Crone approaching through the dark woods. Night had fully descended.

  “Leave me,” I told her.

  “Not safe,” she wheezed. “Inside.”

  “Never,” I swore. I would never step foot back in that god forsaken place. I no longer cared about my safety.

  But the Crone didn’t reply. Instead, from the folds of her robe she threw something at my feet. It took a moment to process what I was looking at. What was now laying on the ground in front of me.

  I was going to scream. I was going to be sick. I was going to black-out.

  But more than anything, I was going to kill the Crone for what she had just done. I would do that first and then follow through with the others.

  I rose. I could feel the vengeance and wrath punch through the air from every inch of my skin. But before I could have my retaliation, the Crone spoke.

  “Look,” her ancient voice hissed.

  I would not. I could not. If I looked down at Killian’s detached head on the forest floor, I would never know sanity again.

  “Look!” she commanded, this time with the force of far off power. “It is not he.”

  And at her words, I did the unthinkable . . . I looked down.

  I wanted so desperately for her to be right. I wanted so desperately to not have just witnessed Killian’s brutal death. So I looked.

  I stumbled back, sick and dizzy. I let out a low moan, squeezing my eyes shut. “Why are you doing this to me?” I cried.

  “Look again,” she rasped. “Closer. Look . . . harder.”

  “Leave me alone! I am going to kill you, you old hag!”

  “See through the lie,” her wheezy voice persisted.

  There was something in her words. A certainness. An authority.

  It was a gruesome torture, but I looked again, glancing at him before turning my head away. It was Killian’s perfect, yet bloody face. Only . . . it wasn’t.

  Something was off. I slowly opened my eyes, daring another glimpse.

  It was Killian’s features on the surface. But there was no open honesty, no nobility, no goodness.

  My eyes flashed to the Crone. “What—?”

  “See the truth,” she demanded.

  I looked again, determined now. I looked for my friend. For the person I loved. And I did not find him there. With that certainty, the lie began to melt
away.

  It was one of those things. Gray, ashen skin. Lifeless, reflective eyes. The Umbra.

  I looked at the Crone, needing confirmation. I needed to know that my mind was not playing tricks on me, showing me things that I wanted to see.

  “A glamour,” she confirmed. “Court. Not. Coming.”

  The events began to replay in my mind. And I saw everything unfold in a new light.

  One of those things had come for me, trying to lure me out. Zagan had seen it for what it was and had tried to protect me from it. When I had jumped to its defense, he had sacrificed himself, to keep me safe.

  Oh god—the hatred I had unleashed upon him . . . What had I done?

  If I had only trusted him. If I had seen this monster for what it truly was. I was going to collapse.

  “He lives,” the Crone whispered. “Dying, but lives.”

  At her words, the breeze stirred, rustling through the trees and whipping across the forest floor, rushing past us towards the manor.

  And with it, I ran.

  I began to run through the darkness of the forest with the moonlight filtering through the trees. My bare feet trampled the fallen leaves and twigs scattered upon the dirt. My heart pounded beneath my ribs, in time with each step of my feet, a drum in my ears.

  As I ran, rose petals rained down upon me before the breeze caught them, sending them floating in a whirlwind around me.

  Across the back lawn, I ran unerringly for that old rotted door within the manor. Through the back entrance, down the hall of the cavernous foyer, and around the corner into that little alcove.

  This time when I came to the door, I did not pause. I flung open the barrier, smashing it into the wall–pulverizing the ancient wood—destroying it. I would be shut out no longer.

  The rush of hectic breaths filled my ears, but I thought I heard a faint keening wail as the door was obliterated into dust. I descended the cold stone stairs to the buried corridor.

  I sent a blast of energy through the dark hall with such a fervor that nothing remained in my way. No darkness. No shadows.

  And I knew which dilapidated door I would find him behind. I could feel him there. But just barely. The Crone was right. He was fading.

  I pushed open the festering wood and stilled for a moment trying to catch my breath, backlit by the dying burst of energy in the hall. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.

  He had been lying on the bed and sat up the moment I entered. With a pained effort, he swung his legs over the side of the mattress sitting on the edge to face me. Each hand was braced at his sides, holding himself upright.

  And I knew this was his room. It probably had been from the very start. So dark. So sorrowful. There was no hope, no Light, to be found anywhere.

  My heart shattered.

  This was why he wanted to push me away. This was what he wanted to save me from.

  The bed was the only piece of furniture within. The mattress was fitted with a black sheet and there was nothing else. No blankets. No pillows. The floor was dirt and the stone walls were crumbling. It was the dark pit where he had buried himself away. Even with free reign of the manor, he clearly did not feel he deserved to leave this place.

  A bandage, soaked with blood, was taped to his chest, just over his heart. He still wore his black pants, and although it didn't’ show, I knew they too were drenched in his blood. I couldn’t understand how he was still alive. A dagger of Light through the heart of any of the Shadows we had ever encountered had killed them immediately.

  His eyes were clear of darkness. His lips relaxed. The tightness in his features was gone. In its place was a calm acceptance.

  The corners of his mouth were tilted ever so slightly. It was the closest thing to a smile I had seen on him. He believed I was the angel—he did not deserve—come to grant him final peace. Come to grant him death.

  And in that moment, I was never more certain of anything in my life.

  I ran for him and he caught me. Placing my knees on either side of his thighs and straddling his lap, I took his face in my hands and found his mouth with mine.

  He kissed me. He did not wrap his arms around me. They remained at his sides. But he kissed me back.

  He gave me everything he had in that kiss. It was a dying man’s kiss. If this was to be the end, he would stop holding back. He would allow himself this one thing before leaving this world. Even though he believed he did not deserve it, he would take what he wanted this one time.

  The control, the tight leash he held on his wants and needs, was finally released.

  He believed he was damning me—and perhaps he was. But it was I who had sought out the dark. It had been that way from the very start.

  He rolled me onto the mattress and petals rained down around us. He looked at me, splayed out beneath him. The calm was replaced by need. By instinct. Even dying, he was a lethal, powerful male who could no longer deny what he wanted.

  I had been granted enough chances to flee. I had had my opportunity to leave. He was going to take me now whether I wanted him to or not.

  I could probably never convince him that my need matched his own. So I didn’t bother to try. I climbed up him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and straddled his lap once again. More petals drifted through the air.

  It had to be now. Before anything else could come between us. In another life, if we had had more time, if this wasn’t the end . . . I could have moved slowly. But I was done waiting.

  I reached through all the petals to rip open his trousers. I shoved my panties to the side and placed myself over him. He let out a hiss at the contact.

  I tried to rock down on him, but he was so large, and despite how drenched I had become, I was too tight. He grabbed my hips and pushed me down, forcing me to open for him, to accept him. I let out a moan, just taking the head of his cock.

  He tried to shove me down deeper, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to take any more. I was pushed to my limit. Yet he demanded it from me. And with a brutal thrust, he encased himself fully. I let out a cry. I was about to come.

  He looked at me and it would have been easy to assume it was with rage. He wore that unhinged, maddened expression I knew so well. But we were bound in a way I would have never thought possible. And I knew it was not anger which tightened his features but a fierce possession.

  He was claiming me. He was finally admitting that I was his.

  He began to thrust into me, over and over again. He was not gentle. He was crazed. His bruising grip on my hips pinned me into place. He plunged into me unable to stop himself, driven by a relentless hunger he had ignored for too long. Rose petals fluttered around us in the dark dismal room.

  My lips were parted with each panting breathe I took. My head was tossed back. I reveled in the unbelievable ecstasy I never imagined I’d know. I was lost. Completely awash in what he was doing to me. In how it made me feel. My skin had ignited. I had never been so swollen. So hot. So wet.

  He released a hand to hold my chin, forcing me to look at him. I turned my head to suck on his thumb.

  He pulled his hand away with a hiss before letting it drop to my neck. He grabbed my hair there and held it back. Opening his mouth, he leaned forward to bite me. Then he sucked at my pulse point and I erupted. I came in a wet rush.

  Light glimmered around us. Petals flew through the room. My energy recharged in a swell of power.

  As my muscles clenched around him, squeezing him, he gave a roar. I could feel his hot release. He was shattering, breaking apart. We both were. On and on for far too long.

  At some point, his head finally collapsed on my shoulder. I ran my hands through his hair, disbelieving I had the chance to be so close to him. I buried my own face in his neck. I breathed him in. The smell of him drove me wild. I rubbed my face over his skin with a featherlight touch.

  Then I hitched in a breath. I had finally looked up.

  In the small sorrowful room, rose petals drifted and spun through the air, held alof
t by currents of energy. Swaths of darkness ebbed and flowed like inky cirrus clouds. And winking among them were tiny fragments of Light.

  Zagan sensed my awe and drew his head back to look up. But his gaze held for only a moment. He was not as interested in the beauty and magic floating above us. He was not through with me.

  He still throbbed with an aching need, and he pulled back his hips. Feeling the friction of his retreat caused me to moan. I needed him to thrust again, to fill me again. After a torturous pause, he did, but slowly, languidly, drawing out the pleasure, forcing me to wait for it.

  Again, another agonizing pump. “I need this dress off of you.” It wasn’t a command, it was a necessity.

  I arched my chest into him. “Zipper. In the back,” I breathed.

  He reached to free me from the dress, and then gathered it in his hands to slip over my head. He tossed it aside and I shivered as silky petals flitted across my bare skin. Then he tore away the panties which were still encasing my hips.

  He pushed me back to lie atop me. My breasts pressed against the hard ridges of his chest. His mouth found mine and the sweeps of his tongue matched the slow thrusts of his hips.

  He tormented me. He would bring me to the brink only to back off, to withdraw almost completely, making me desperate to be filled again. And when I thought I could bear no more, he would finally slide into me.

  He needed my submission. He needed to master me. And I could only come when he allowed it.

  I don’t know how much time passed, but what felt like an eternity later, he freed me. And I burst into a million little pieces, tumbling over the edge, taking him with me. He filled me with his hot release, and I squeezed my thighs around him.

  We remained in his bed for a long time. There was no satiating him. It was only when the sun inevitably rose outside, that he finally granted me mercy. We could not see its rays buried below the earth as we were, but I could sense its rise.

  He lay on his back, and I sprawled across his chest. We finally slept. But just before we did . . . I felt his large strong hand grasp mine.

  Chapter 27

  He was healed. I traced the symbol on his chest. The black mark now had a slight glimmer to it. I could feel his energy. It was not only restored, but there was a new element to it. There was now a spark of Light somewhere deep inside that had been stoked.