Princess of Shadows (Obsidian Queen Book 2)

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  Waiters make their rounds, silently distributing a green salad with toasted pumpkin seeds and a dressing that smells like heaven. But no one pays the food any attention. Our eyes are on our host.

  The candles flicker on the table, lighting the faces around us. With a start, I realize someone’s lowered the lights, adding ambiance to Rodger’s story.

  Clever. So very clever.

  Seeming to enjoy the attention, our host continues, “While the construction team was putting up the gables, a storm moved in, fast and angry. Several members of the crew were on the roof, trying to set the beams in place before the storm hit. I’ll never forget the afternoon—the sky was dark like twilight, and the wind whipped about, pulling on our clothing, moisture slapping our skin. Just as the men were climbing down, lightning struck a man by the name of Andrew Pillert—the owner of the construction company. He fell three stories and broke his neck when he hit the ground. We have no idea if the lightning or the fall killed him.”

  Even the violinist has ceased her music as we listen to the grim history lesson.

  “Just weeks later, a pallet of tile broke as a forklift operator lifted the load to the second story. Andrew’s brother, Henry, was under the pallet. He was crushed.”

  Misty sucks in a soft gasp.

  “And just four weeks later, when the house was finally complete, we found Nathan Pillert, the last remaining Pillert brother, hanging from the balcony in the entry.”

  “He killed himself?” Misty gasps.

  Rodger nods, his face grim.

  A flash of lightning illuminates the room, and we all jump at the crash of thunder that immediately follows. Misty and several other women scream, and a stout man three seats down from Rodger knocks over a glass of water. Afterword, most of the guests laugh, though the sound is nervous and slightly high-pitched. I meet Rafe’s gaze across the room.

  The sky was clear this afternoon. Surely a storm hasn’t moved in this quickly.

  Rafe gives me a subtle nod and then slips through the door, toward the kitchen, off to investigate this sudden change in the weather.

  There are Aparians—those of the Heron Faction, who can manipulate a very small dome of weather, no more than half a mile wide. It’s very possible one is in on the haunted ruse.

  Perhaps it's my Fox blood, but if people weren’t disappearing, I’d be impressed by the whole operation. It’s obviously very well-constructed and lucrative.

  My eyes move to Olivia, who sits next to her father, looking just as spooked as the rest of us. She gives me a hesitant smile when she catches me looking, and then her eyes move to my faux husband when I pretend to look away.

  Interesting.

  After a long moment, she returns her attention to the man by her side, a younger gentleman by the name of John Callahan. His wife is on his right, but most of his focus seems to be on Olivia’s décolletage.

  There’s another flash of lightning, and then the lights flicker. Misty looks up at the chandelier, pressing a hand to her throat. She appears terrified—and it’s obvious she’s loving every minute of it.

  “We have a backup generator,” Rodger assures us, though he looks slightly disconcerted himself, which I find interesting. He motions to his plate. “Please, eat. Everything is organic and seasonal, prepared by a classically trained chef from New York.”

  The food is…exceptional. And the best part is it just keeps coming. The salad course is followed by a squash soup with a decorative drizzle of cream. The soup is followed by a delicate fish. The fish is followed by a lamb chop with green beans, and that’s finally followed by espresso and apple crostata.

  Each course is ridiculously small, but since there are eight billion of them, I’m stuffed.

  Occasionally, a flash of lightning or rumble of thunder will cause a pause in the conversation, but the topic never returns to the history of the house.

  Rafe appears halfway through the dessert course, taking his place like he never disappeared. When he meets my eyes, he shakes his head. I’m not sure if that means it was a natural storm or if he didn’t catch the culprit behind it.

  After the last of the plates have been cleared, Rodger stands. “Again, we’d like to thank you all for visiting us this weekend. We hope you have a pleasant stay. Anyone who’d like to join me in the study for refreshment is welcome. Also, you are free to leave the grounds at any time, but remember the gates close at ten, and they won’t open again until eight in the morning.”

  The group then discusses a few of the events that are planned for the week—an outing to a local winery that offers hard cider in the fall, a trip to a brewery that specializes in organically made beer, and a wine tasting event. I’m sensing a trend.

  By the time Jonathan and I leave the dining room, it’s after nine, and I’m feeling the bite of my stilettos. Misty and Phillip are just ahead of us, and she clings to his arm, teetering in her heels, just a bit too tipsy. There’s more thunder, and the lights flicker ominously. Misty squeals, pressing herself against Phillip as they make their way up the stairs.

  It’s not hard to see why he agreed to the weekend in the “haunted” mansion.

  Just behind us, the man who met the champagne-haired lady at the car earlier says, “Pretty sure he’s getting his money’s worth tonight.”

  His name is Will, and his wife is Lindsey. They sat close to the Monroes. From what I picked up, they have old family money, with a smattering of businesses located across the country.

  I frown at the crass comment but don’t bother to call him on it, especially when I was thinking nearly the same thing.

  “Would you like to get the lock, or should I?” Jonathan asks when we reach our room.

  “You go ahead. I’m exhausted.”

  He opens the door with an actual metal key—a novelty—and then gestures for me to go ahead.

  “Such a gentleman,” I say as I walk past him. I’m barely through the door when I bend over to undo the straps at my ankles and kick off my heels. I let out a happy moan as soon as my feet touch the rug.

  “You’re going to make this as hard on me as possible, aren’t you?” Jonathan teases from behind me, loosening the bow tie at his throat.

  Straightening, toying with my bracelet, I watch him remove the black strip of fabric and then unfasten the top buttons of his tuxedo shirt. I probably stare a little too long because he gives me a questioning look that makes me snap out of my Jonathan trance.

  “Want to start a fire?” he asks after he pulls off his jacket.

  When I give him a blank look, he nods toward the fireplace in the corner of the room. It’s gas, but there’s still a hearth. On top of it lie a few throw pillows, a soft, cozy cashmere blanket, and—of course—another pumpkin.

  So he means an actual fire. For a minute, I thought it was a metaphor.

  It is a little chilly in the room, but I shake my head. This man hiatus is making me think weird thoughts. I have no idea what kind of trouble I’d get myself into with the help of soft, romantic light.

  Maybe we should see.

  I glance at Jonathan—safe, comfortable Jonathan—remembering the way his lips felt against mine.

  No, that’s bad.

  It’s just the deprivation talking. Three months is a long time—no wonder I impulsively kissed Jonathan earlier. I’m going through withdrawals.

  “I don’t think we need one.” I walk toward the mirror, enjoying the way the soft rug feels on my bare feet, and begin to take out the pins that secure my half updo. “I’m not cold.”

  Jonathan checks his phone for messages, removes his cuff links, and idly runs a hand through his perfect hair, mussing it up.

  It’s insanely domestic in here.

  Outside, gentle rain begins to fall on the balcony. It pats against the asphalt-shingled roof and tinkles on the iron railing. Again, lightning races across the distant mountains, but this time, the following thunder is more than fifteen seconds away and nothing but a low rumble.

  When I turn aro
und, finished with my hair, I find Jonathan lighting candles.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, my voice almost a squeak.

  He raises an eyebrow, probably wondering why I sound like a cartoon chipmunk. “I thought we should light them in case the Monroes cut the power. I, personally, wouldn’t put it past them.”

  Oh. That’s a good point. Or, rather, a good enough point.

  “Then maybe we should turn the fireplace on?” I ask. “You know. For lighting purposes.”

  Lighting purposes?

  The Griffon gives me the strangest look—not unlike the one he bestowed on me when I used my Taser on my first troll. “Sure.”

  I flip the switch, and seconds later, the flames come to life, dancing around the ceramic logs.

  Hello, ambiance.

  “Are you on the couch tonight, or am I?” I ask, unable to look at him.

  “You take the bed.”

  I walk to the massive king-sized piece of furniture, feeling beyond weird. We shared a suite in Tahoe, but I had the room all to myself. And a door. And two other guys. (Which, again, sounds tawdry but wasn’t.)

  Not that we’re entirely alone. Charles is here.

  I glance at the cat, who’s currently crashed out on the chair in the corner. He stretches his back legs, snuffles, and then goes back to sleep.

  Yep, that’s my chaperone.

  “Are you going to sleep in your dress?” Jonathan asks when I move the pillows and pull back the covers.

  Pausing, I look down at myself. “Uh. No?”

  “You can have the bathroom first if you want,” he offers, smiling to himself, thoroughly enjoying my discomfort.

  I stare at him.

  A slow smirk builds on his lips, and he finally looks over. “Or you can change out here.”

  There’s the slutty Jonathan I know and love—the one who reminds me as often as he can that he’s just as bad as Gray or Finn. Worse even.

  And I absolutely refuse to get all stupid over a man who’s had as many women as I’ve had nail appointments.

  “Not happening,” I say as I disappear into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind me.

  “Are you sure you don’t need help with the zipper?” he calls. “Those can be tricky.”

  “Good of you to offer.”

  “No problem. In fact, any fastening you have trouble with, you just let me know.”

  I laugh and change, feeling about a hundred times better. What the heck was I thinking? It’s Jonathan.

  With that in mind, it barely phases me when I step out of the bathroom and find the knight shirtless, in flannel pajama pants that shouldn’t be sexy but so are. It might be his sculpted abs, defined pecs, and broad shoulders giving off the vibe. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the squirrels printed on the fabric.

  Squirrels are sexy, right?

  “It’s unfair, you know,” I say as I walk to the bed.

  His eyes shine with humor when he takes in my full-length granny nightgown, complete with lace-trimmed collar. “What?”

  “I have to lie in the sun for hours to get a tiny bit of color, and you don’t even have to try. You’re naturally tan.”

  Growing more amused, he quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if I’m offended or not.”

  “I’m just saying you shouldn’t show it off when it makes us pale people feel bad about ourselves.”

  “Is that your way of asking me to throw on a shirt because you’re all hot and bothered by the sight of my bare chest?”

  “That is—”

  A light knock sounds at the door, nearly scaring me to death.

  Humor gone, Jonathan holds up a hand, commanding I stay put. He walks across the room and cracks the door, positioning himself in front of the opening.

  “Madeline’s not answering her texts,” Rafe says from the hall.

  Instantly, my muscles relax, and I melt into a sitting position on the bed. The knight comes walking in, and his eyes fall on me. He takes in my granny gown and grins—actually grins. But it only lasts a minute before the expression becomes a scowl. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? And why is Jonathan half dressed?” He turns his narrowed eyes on Jonathan, taking in his pajama pants. Only now do I realize that several of the squirrels are holding signs that read, “Protect thine nuts.”

  “You should burn those,” Rafe says.

  Jonathan looks down. “Hey now. Eric gave me these for my birthday.”

  “What’s with that man and squirrels?” I ask. Then I wrinkle my nose. “He gave you pajamas for your birthday? That’s oddly personal.”

  Rafe gives me a pointed look.

  Oh, right. My phone.

  I frown, looking around, wondering what I did with it. “I think it’s in my clutch. I didn’t hear it.”

  “What’s going on?” Jonathan asks, pulling on a T-shirt.

  “Gray wants to know if you spotted any Aparians at dinner.”

  Oh…right. The job. The reason we’re here. We should probably discuss that.

  Jonathan shakes his head. “No, no one.”

  “What about the storm?” I ask. “Did it look magically created?”

  Rafe paces the room like an edgy panther. “Not that I could tell. It must have been a well-timed fluke. How many married men are here?”

  “Ten,” I say, proud of myself for paying attention earlier, “including Jonathan. Maybe eleven. I’m not sure about Phillip and Misty’s relationship just yet.”

  Jonathan nods. “But only five, once again including myself, are in the age bracket of the men who have disappeared.”

  A total of four men have gone missing, and they were all between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five.

  “There’s a cop here as well,” Rafe says.

  That’s news to me.

  “Who?” Jonathan asks.

  “His name is Will. He’s supposed to be undercover, but the rumor mill is well-oiled in the staff quarters.”

  “He’s with the elegant woman with the white-blond hair. Her name’s Lindsey,” I say, hoping to jog Jonathan’s memory, surprised Will is the man with human law enforcement. “She arrived just before us, got out of the purple car.”

  And that does it. Jonathan nods. “He’s what, in his late thirties? Just a little older than the men who have disappeared?”

  “Probably.” Rafe frowns, looking like he has more to tell us but doesn’t really want to. “Eric’s done some asking around, spoken with the regular staff. All the men who disappeared have been having marital issues—tiffs with their wives in public. That sort of thing.”

  “Why would that matter?” Jonathan asks.

  Rafe stops pacing. “Gray believes our mark is getting pleasure from destroying the relationships.”

  I hug myself, wondering if we’ve gotten into something a little more sinister than I expected. “What if we’re wrong? What if the person behind the disappearances is human and all this is just an elaborate hoax?”

  “It’s certainly something to keep in mind.”

  There’s a lull in the conversation as we mull it over. Finally, Jonathan asks Rafe, “You’re actually speaking with Gray?”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to hurry this along so I can get Madeline out of here.”

  This would probably be a good time to let Rafe know I’ve let Jonathan in on our little secret. But I really don’t want to…so I think it can wait.

  Rafe starts for the door. He looks at Jonathan, his eyes narrowed. “You will keep an eye on her, do you understand? Unless she’s with one of us, do not let her out of your sight.”

  I expect Jonathan to say something snarky, but he solemnly answers, “I will.”

  The dark knight turns back to me before he goes. “The moment you decide you want out, you tell me. Nothing is keeping you here.”

  I nod. I’m well aware that we’re only doing this because he’s humoring me.

  Rafe appears reluctant to leave, and Jonathan glances between us, growing uncomfortable. “I’m just goi
ng to…” He searches for an escape. “Make sure they gave us enough towels…”

  As soon as the bathroom door shuts, Rafe crosses to me. “Are you comfortable with all this?”

  He pointedly looks at the flickering candles and the warm, cozy fire.

  “It’s fine. I’m going to sleep on the bed, and Jonathan will sleep on the couch.”

  I fight the way my magic tries to pull me closer to Rafe. It feels as if it’s hoping to control me—like it’s bound and determined to keep me close to my knight and my dark purpose.

  When Rafe still looks unsure about leaving me, I lean close and whisper, “Men who sleep with anyone and everyone aren’t my type. You know that.”

  My knight’s frown deepens like I’ve said something he wants to correct. But he’s wrong. I don’t want a playboy. I want something real—something I might be able to pursue with Rafe if this blasted magic would just leave us alone. As it is now, I don’t trust it—and I certainly don’t trust my feelings around him. I feel like I’m being played with, and I don’t like it.

  Plus, Rafe treats me like I’m made of glass. That might be fun at first, but it gets old fast.

  “Be careful, all right?” he says, stepping away.

  I nod.

  “And lock the door.” He pauses, letting a smile break through his serious exterior. “By the way, I like your choice of nightwear.”

  I look down, sweeping a hand over my nightgown. “You don’t think it’s too revealing?”

  He grins again. “You’re showing a lot of bare ankle, but other than that, I think you’re fine.”

  “Hey, Rafe,” I say as he’s opening the door. He looks back, waiting for me to finish. “Thank you for watching out for me.”

  “You hate it.”

  “I do,” I agree. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it all the same.”

  My words are rewarded by one of his rare, soft smiles. “Night, Lexie. Sleep good.”

  “You too,” I murmur.

  And then he’s out the door, and I’m crawling into the ridiculously luxurious bed.