Grave Shifter: Shades of Black (Shades of Black: Grave Distinction Series)

by Gretchen Rily

  Slapping her hand against her chest, she reached for her own glass. Almost to her lips, she stopped. After checking to make sure it was indeed full of wine, she took a deep drink to wash down the last of the bread.

  The coolness of the liquid did nothing to quell the heat that washed through her. He was shirtless, his smooth skin glistening. Tendrils of hair, still wet from his shower, dripped onto the hard muscles of his chest and arms. Her mouth went dry wanting to lean across the table and lick the drops clean.

  Instead, she cleared her throat, reached for a small tomato and took a bite, the gush of sweetness and seeds as her teeth snapped the skin doing little to satisfy her hunger. As he drank, she watched the veins under his skin darken and pulse as his body absorbed the blood. By slow, tiny increments, his skin darkened, regained an almost healthy glow.

  “Looks like you’ve gotten a little sun lately,” she mused, sucking a dribble of tomato off her thumb.

  His eyes narrowed, tried to sharpen on her mouth, but it must have been more the sound that had his attention.

  “Side effect of having one’s eyes burned. Does make passing for human a bit easier though.” He drained his glass and reached for the carafe to refill it. His hand found it unerringly.

  “You’re not completely blind, though, are you?”

  He nodded, saluting her with the carafe before tipping it to his glass. “Not anymore. It took well over a century for the skin around them to heal. Shortly beyond that, it returned slowly.”

  “So how much do you have now?”

  “After all my secrets, my dear?”

  “Of course. How else I am supposed to avoid your next betrayal?”

  He paused at her words, glass almost to his lips. She popped a piece of fish into her mouth, watching him as she chewed. He wasn’t as weakened as he’d first appeared, not with his biceps still cut as she remembered.

  He’d haunted her dreams. Despite years, miles, other lovers, she’d yet to burn him from her memory. Or, she feared with some annoyance, her heart. Had she loved him, all those years ago? She’d never thought about it at the time.

  He drained the glass in one long swallow and placed it on the table. “Twenty percent, perhaps twenty-five if the light is correct. The regeneration has increased in the past few decades.”

  “Vampire healing abilities finally kicking in?” she teased. “Little slow, aren’t they?”

  “Lack of blood does that, it would seem.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really, Galen? Since when do you lack for willing donors?”

  His fangs flashed when he smiled. “Hard to find donors when one is locked in a barren catacomb.”

  Hatred for Elsbithy fired in her veins. She crossed her arms to stop herself from hitting something. “This would be a good time for you to tell me the whole story. Maybe even your plan as well?”

  Galen stood, all fluid grace, and held out a hand. The breeze pressed the thin cotton of his drawstring pants against his body. Like the marble of the patio, the material was white and glowed in the darkness.

  And left very little to the imagination. The muscles in her thighs tightened, but the pressure in her core continued to build. He was magnificent, and he knew how to bring her more pleasure in one night than all her other lovers combined. As if sensing her stare, his body stirred.

  She shook her head to break the mood. “Your plan?”

  “Soon enough. I thought you may enjoy a shower. Now that you’ve sated your hunger.”

  One appetite may be filled, but they both knew her other had only grown.

  Chapter Four

  “This is a hedonist’s wet dream.” Like the rest of the villa, large open windows let plenty of fresh air flow through the bathroom. Orchids sat on ledges along the walls and beside the sinks. Tropical hardwoods on the floor also supported the vanity and framed several large mirrors. Sconces on the walls and a chandelier over the large infinity tub would provide plenty of light. At the moment, they were turned off, thick beeswax candles casting a warm glow instead.

  The shower was oversized as well, all marble, glass, and chrome fixtures. She couldn’t count all the showerheads with both hands. Almost drooling, she reached down to unlace her boots.

  “I thought of you in its design,” he said, leaning against the door jamb behind her. “How much more you would enjoy it than even the baths at the Estate.”

  Her hands stilled, and she swallowed the bile from her throat. “Don’t suppose you also stocked a toothbrush?” she asked lightly. She’d chosen long ago to wallow in the good things that came her way. There would always be more bad coming. It was inevitable in a grave shifter’s existence, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy life when she got the chance.

  So she would do that tonight. And tomorrow, she’d deal with the deaths.

  “Of course.” He opened a cabinet against the wall as she slipped off her socks and picked at the knot in her leather pants. After some fumbling, he turned, holding out a long plastic package.

  “Please tell me this is a toothbrush,” he said.

  She took it from him, trying to hide her smile. Apparently he wasn’t exaggerating his blindness. His shoulders visibly lost tension when she said, “It is.” Their fingers brushed as she took it from him, sparks shooting up her arm.

  “Good. I’ll leave you to your bath then.” His voice was thick. She liked that he wasn’t unaffected by their proximity either. In the doorway, he paused. “Take as long as you wish. I think the closet contains some clothing that will suit you for sleeping.”

  “Sleeping?”

  “Yes, that thing done with one’s eyes closed?”

  “I usually do that in a grave.”

  “Yes. But today there’s a big soft bed. Unfortunately, only one. I prefer not to have guests, as you can imagine.”

  Sleeping in a bed sounded blissful. The last time, she’d been…with him. “I’ll go back to the crypt.” She reached for her boots, but he was there, taking them from her. He moved too quickly for her liking. She’d do well to remember he was the enemy, even if they were momentarily on the same side.

  “Today you’ll sleep here. Bathe, relax, enjoy. The rest will do you good for when we arrive at the Estate.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  The deep rumble as he laughed low in his throat singed her nerve endings. Her pulse quickened as she thought of running her tongue over the column of his neck. Maybe sleeping with him wasn’t such a bad idea. She could burn the attraction from her system before she killed him.

  “I can keep my hands to myself if you can,” he murmured, running his fingertips up her bare arm.

  “Then why are you touching me?”

  “Because I wish to.” Shivers spread across her shoulders as his fingers glided over her collarbone. “And because you wish me to, whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”

  A needy little sound escaped as her pulse kicked. “Do not,” she lied.

  But she let him lean close, brush his lips against her cheek. “Enjoy your bath. Then come to bed. I’ll tell you of my plan for gaining entry.”

  “Huh?”

  “To the Estate, my dear. Where else?”

  Hot water pulsed against her shoulders, but did nothing to relax her. The bathroom couldn’t be more than a few years old. So how long had he been thinking of her? More importantly, how long had he been working out whatever plan he’d dragged her into?

  Correction. Whatever plan he’d convinced the Council to approve. She hadn’t bothered to report since he’d run a sword through her gut and left her for dead. Not that she’d been a model assassin before that. She had enough pieces to suspect the Council had an ulterior motive, that this was a suicide mission. What she didn’t have was enough information to figure out how to save her own skin.

  She picked a bar of handmade soap from the dish in the nook of the shower and held it to her nose. It was handmade, rustic cut and heavy in her palm. The scent of dandelions cheered her as she wetted the
bar and held it to her nose. She loved dandelions. They were like little yellow globs of happiness.

  It lathered easily, and she used it to wash her hair as well. She’d spotted a glass bottle of oil in the cabinet with the towels. A few drops would counteract any dryness from the soap.

  Skin pink from the water and a good scrubbing, she wrapped herself in one of the huge fluffy towels fresh from the heating rack. Galen loved luxury. She didn’t mind the coffins and dirt she spent most of her time in, but she could get used to this.

  In the doorway she came up short. Propped against more pillows than Penelope had ever seen, his long dark hair a stark contrast to the fresh white cases as he leaned back, Galen slowly moved his fingers over a book spread open on his raised knees. His eyes were closed, head back, chest still bare and sculpted in the silver light of the moon. His feet were bare too, sinking into the plush duvet.

  Even more than the bathroom, he was a wet dream. He oozed testosterone and intelligence, looking just a bit unkempt with his long hair and the stubble on his jaw. He hadn’t yet shaved before they turned him, so he was forced to go through eternity looking like a rake.

  It suited him, the contrast between gentleman scholar and rogue. It really worked for her.

  She leaned against the thick column of the archway, content to watch him. Absently, she rubbed a bare foot against her calf. The tile under her feet was cool, a slight draft moving across the floor from the open doors on the other side. She shivered, but not from a chill. From the heat rising in her body at the sight of him. His fingers moved gently but surely over the pages, as they would move over her. At first. Gentle never lasted long with them.

  Galen reached out and pulled down the covers beside him. “Come. Before you catch a chill.”

  She rounded the end of the bed. He raised his head, following the sound of her feet on the tile. She could move without a sound, but somehow that didn’t seem fair. The mattress was soft, giving under her weight. She let out a pleased groan as she stretched out and sank in.

  “My bed meets with your approval then?” Amusement laced his voice. She pried her eyes open and sure enough, he was smiling. A full, real smile that stopped her heart.

  “How do you close the doors and windows? The sun will be up in a few hours.”

  His touch was soft as he found her shoulder, then her face, and finally a lock of her hair that he drew to his nose before letting it slide through his fingers. Still damp, it brought another shiver as it landed on her chest. Or maybe that was the look of hunger that had come over his face.

  “You found the dandelion oil. I can never smell them without thinking of you.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, but it didn’t matter, because he turned back to his book and said, “A timer closes the shutters before sunrise. Enjoy the air.”

  “Vampire paradise, huh?” she asked, a yawn slurring the end.

  He chuckled again. “Perhaps with a bit less sun, but yes.”

  The sheets felt soft and cool, and she shifted around, flexing her feet and fingers, reveling in how the expensive cotton moved against her skin, letting it sensitize and arouse her. She wasn’t the only one aroused, she noticed as she let her gaze roam over him.

  “Didn’t realize they made porn in Braille. What is it, bumps in the shape of a naked woman?”

  He snorted a laugh, lifting and tilting the book to show her the cover. Shakespeare. She should have known. She raised her hand and slowly drew her fingertips over the small bumps on the page. “Dirty men, those theater types.”

  “And thank the gods for it,” he agreed, returning his hand to the page. Even vampire pale, the skin on his long fingers and the flawless back of his hand looked tan against the inkless page.

  “They make audio books now,” she said softly.

  “I have a collection in the parlor, but sometimes I prefer the quiet. Would you like me to read to you?”

  She had to try twice to clear her throat. “It’s not poetry is it?”

  “No. Much Ado About Nothing.”

  She snorted. “Appropriate.”

  She shifted onto her side, barely catching herself before she rolled into him. Reading wasn’t a high priority for a grave shifter, other than the rudimentary skills. Galen had spent hours reading to her. She’d often set her head on his shoulder and followed along, her skills improving greatly, but reading always reminded her of him, so she’d avoided it.

  She’d missed it. Missed his voice, sure and steady, as he read. She burrowed deeper, closing her eyes and tucking her chin into her chest, dozing. Several scenes later, Galen began to read in a language she didn’t recognize. With a sharp fingernail, she jabbed his ribs.

  “Ouch,” he said dryly, grabbing her hand. “Simply checking to see if you were still awake.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Duly noted.” He went back to reading in English, but didn’t release her hand, instead gliding his thumb over her knuckles. Cracking open an eye, she saw his head tilted toward her, neither hand on the book.

  “You have it memorized,” she realized.

  His lips quirked. “Of course. I just like the texture of the book. Not as much as I liked the designs of written words, but it suffices.”

  It was too intimate, talking to him in his bed, her able to see him in the warm glow of the candles on his side table, him unable to see much of her. She moved quickly, tugging her hand free and leaning over him to blow them out. Only the mattress sank under her weight as she moved back, tipping her balance and she fell, splayed on top of him.

  “What are you…” he began, one hand on her hip, the other catching her under the shoulders. She gasped at the contact, limbs freezing, the air refusing to exit her lungs. He gave a slight squeeze, his thumb brushing over the bare strip of skin below the silk tank top she wore.

  His voice was wry as he said, “I’d have put out the candles if you’d have asked. Although, I do appreciate your clumsiness.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She pinched the hard muscle of his obliques as she pushed off him, flopping back to her side of the bed and pulling the covers up to her chin. “Finish reading.”

  Chapter Five

  Her quick surrender to sleep didn’t surprise him. He smiled at the soft snuffle she made and set the book on the side table. A barrage of questions awaited him after she rested, but for that moment, he could slip under the covers and let her warmth and scent surround him. He wanted to soak in as much of her as he could. If his plan worked, it would still be years, perhaps decades, before he would see her again.

  If his plan didn’t work, she’d be dead. And he would be forced to begin again. The Council would hunt him. He’d never be able to return to this villa. That was, if he survived.

  His muscles tightened as a gust of wind brought the salty ocean smell into the room, mixing with the dandelion and pure warm woman scent of Penelope.

  His plan had to work.

  He tucked the blanket tighter against the back of her neck to keep the breeze from chilling her, and she sighed and rolled toward his hand, giving him her back. This was fine with him, because he could run his fingers through the damp mass of her hair.

  Her body heat drew him closer, inch by inch, slowly, until his nose pressed into her hair. He moved carefully, making sure to let his own body temperature rise enough not to jolt her when they touched. She was like a bonfire, creating a cocoon in the voluminous linens on his bed.

  “Your feet are still cold,” she murmured. She still slept, but adjusted, rolling her shoulders and pulling her feet away from his.

  “Only for a moment.” His voice muffled in her hair, but she heard him.

  “This isn’t keeping your hands to yourself.”

  Likely not an invitation. He took it as one, though, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his body. She didn’t fight him. Her breathing deepened back into slumber, and he closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be long until the metal security shutters lowered and blocked all traces of sunlight. Th
e bedroom door automatically shut and locked at the same time. He’d reset it not to lock, giving her the option of moving to other rooms if she woke during the day. The villa was designed that no sunlight reached the bedroom door, so unless one of the demons managed to find them, he needn’t worry.

  Since his turning, he’d forced himself to stay awake as long as possible as day began to break, wanting both the extra time and the possibility of seeing sunlight spread toward him. His skin warming against hers, the brush of her ribs under his arm as she breathed, he was content to let sleep claim him sooner.

  He’d best get as much rest as he could as well.

  “You haven’t told me why I should trust you not to try to kill me again.”

  Seemed the barrage would begin earlier than hoped. Her question sliced into him, but he pushed down the pain, the sudden urge to confess all. Despite a few bumps, his plan was working. She was lying in his arms, her attraction to him as great as his for her, and it would be folly to not continue as planned.

  Nevertheless, a little truth went a long way. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, my dear Penelope. I was trying to protect you.”

  She rolled to her back, but didn’t shove him away. “And how, exactly, is somehow preventing me from shifting, running me through with a sword, and once I could get into the bones, leaving me so weak I couldn’t shift away for a hundred years protecting me?”

  “A hundred years? You were in the catacombs for a century?” He’d had no idea. “Why did it take so long for you to heal?”

  “Maybe not in the catacombs, but on the Estate grounds. There are a lot of bodies buried there. Got more than a few mouthfuls of dirt in the bargain too. I was only a few centuries old. I hadn’t amassed enough power yet to bounce back fast. I’m much stronger now.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. As he was too relieved that it wouldn’t take nearly so long again, he let it pass. “Not to mention when I finally could shift away, I wasn’t strong enough to take clothes or weapons with me. Scared the poor, mourning wife half to death when I suddenly materialized naked in her husband’s mausoleum.”