Knights of Obsidian

by Shannon Lynn Cook

And neither would he, but he won’t admit that. The thing is, underneath all his bravado and bluster, Jonathan’s a good guy. When you can read someone’s mind as soon as you touch them, you tend to shy away from casual relationships.

  “Lillian sent me up to tell you dinner is just about ready. And Gray texted about our next job.”

  The guild truly wants to send us out again this soon? Even after the last one went so badly? We barely got a slap on the wrist. I expected a week of unpaid leave at the very least.

  “Jonathan, I have bigger things to worry about than a job.”

  “And what are we going to tell the guild? ‘Sorry, Madeline can’t come because she’s babysitting shadow creatures and researching ways to open the closed thresholds?’”

  A shiver runs down my spine, and I look away.

  He glances behind him and then steps inside the room, softly closing the door behind him. “I need you to promise me something.”

  I can feel him staring at me as he waits for me to meet his eyes. Reluctantly, I look at him.

  “Don’t do anything rash, all right?” He steps a little closer. “Think about it for a little while before you start tampering with any of the thresholds.”

  “What if we don’t have a little while? What if the monsters come back?”

  “They’ve been lying low for a thousand years. I think we have some time.”

  I wish I had his confidence, but it feels as if the weight of the entire world is on my shoulders. I’m the only one with this magic—this curse. I’m the only one who can control them. If I don’t take care of the problem, who will? And what if I wait too long, and they attack in mass again?

  The massacre at the Monroe Mansion was minuscule compared to the casualties that a multitude of shadow creatures could create if unleashed on a city, or even here, in a small but thriving tourist area.

  “I have to find a threshold first,” I tell him, overwhelmed with exhaustion once more. I take several steps back and lower myself onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t even know where to start looking. And I certainly don’t know how to open one yet.”

  Jonathan hesitates for only a moment before he crosses the room and sits on the bed next to me. The mattress dips slightly, and gravity gently tugs me toward him. We’re hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and all I want to do is crawl on his lap and forget about the last several days. Thankfully, there’s no bare skin touching, so he doesn’t know that.

  “I’ll help you,” he says softly, and the words surprise me so much, I turn to him. It’s a mistake; we’re a little too close, and he smells a little too good.

  The memory of our last kiss ghosts across my mind—it was desperate, reckless. It was an end of the world, we-might-die-tonight-kiss. There were no promises made. We both knew I was going to link with Rafe.

  “You will?” I ask, my voice sounding startled even to my own ears.

  He nods. “On one condition.”

  “What?”

  “Make sure this is what you truly believe is best. Step away for a few weeks, and if you still want to pursue it, I’ll help you find a threshold.”

  I search his chocolate eyes, looking for signs of indecision. But his expression is calm, placid even.

  “You could go to the Dungeons for even having this conversation with me,” I warn. “The guild would strip you of your magic, lock you away for life.”

  “I know.”

  “They’d label you as a member of the Entitled. Your family would be disgraced.”

  He leans a smidgen closer. “I trust you, Madeline.”

  Suddenly, I know exactly how Rafe feels. What if I’m not as strong as I hope? What if I drag him down when I fall?

  I meant every word when I told Gray I would be stronger with the group beside me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready to pull them into this. Do I want them? Absolutely. Do I need them? I’m afraid so.

  But is it selfish of me to ask this of them?

  Yes.

  “I’ll give it a little time,” I promise, my voice lower because he’s so close. “Unless the creatures make another appearance.”

  Jonathan nods, accepting my answer. He then looks down at our legs, so closely pressed together. His hand rests on his knee. Ever so slowly, he slides it toward my leg. I watch, mesmerized, as his thumb brushes just above my knee through the shielding fabric of my dress.

  He shouldn’t touch me like this, not now. A girl pretending she doesn’t like him wouldn’t let him touch her like this. My heart beats faster, and I hold my breath.

  What am I doing?

  My eyes stay on his hand even when he looks up. I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to acknowledge it.

  “Madeline,” he says softly, a dark catch in his voice.

  “No.”

  He chuckles—a dark, inviting sound. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

  “It doesn’t matter what it is, the answer is still no.”

  “Let’s play a game.”

  Unable to help myself, I jerk my head up. “No games,” I say sternly, my cheeks heating as I remember last time.

  “Just a simple round of yes or no,” he murmurs, his eyes sparking with mischief. “And look—you’re already off to a great start.”

  “Jonathan…”

  We’ve played this particular “game” before. It didn’t end well. Or, rather, it ended too well.

  “I realized something,” he says instead of asking me a question.

  Though I’m terrified of his answer, I can’t help myself. “What?”

  “We were both so desperate to avoid an uncomfortable discussion, we did it at night while I was driving.”

  “What’s your point?”

  He raises a brow. “My point is I couldn’t see you at the time—my eyes were on the road, and it was dark.”

  I try to stand, ready to flee like a timid mouse, but Jonathan clasps his hand on the front of my thigh and keeps me in place.

  “Let’s try it again.” He watches me intently, and I know I’m in trouble. “Now that you’re linked, do you have feelings for Rafe?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, dwelling fully on the fact that Jonathan didn’t bother to move his hand off my leg. “It’s hard to tell when I can feel him through our connection. Our emotions get jumbled together.”

  “Are you still attracted to me?”

  Again, I try to rise. Again, he holds me down.

  “That didn’t change,” I tell him, exasperated. “And we’ve done this already.”

  “Did you lie to me in the car?”

  I stare at him, refusing to answer—all the while knowing my silence is an answer all on its own.

  Encouraged, he leans closer. “What did Rafe mean when he said you needed to ‘Tell Jonathan the truth?’”

  I suck in a startled breath. “You read my text?”

  “Your phone was on the counter. I happened to glance down and see it when it came in.” Then, not about to be redirected, he lowers his voice and says, “Tell me the truth about what?”

  Thankfully—or maybe not—there’s a knock at my bedroom door before I have a chance to answer.

  “Madeline?” Mom says as she swings the door open.

  9

  Jonathan’s eyes go wide—it doesn’t matter his age; no man wants a girl’s mother to find him on her daughter’s bed.

  I act without thinking—letting raw instinct take over.

  Mom steps through the door, followed by my father. Dad closes it softly behind them, and then they turn back to me, twin expressions of quiet worry on their faces. Neither notice Jonathan standing near the edge of my bed even though I can see him as plain as day because I cloaked him. Just him. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  I glance at the Griffon, hoping to convey that he needs to stay still and silent. He stares at me, looking particularly gobsmacked.

  I’m not good at cloaking—in fact, it’s one of my talents that I have the least control over. To accomplish it, I must b
end shadows, obscure light. If it were the middle of the day, with sunshine streaming through the windows, there’s no way I could have accomplished it. Thankfully, the incandescent bulb in the corner lamp doesn’t do much to chase away the shadows in the room.

  “We need to talk.” Dad pulls the chair from my seldom-used desk and Mom sits next to me on the bed, claiming the spot Jonathan recently vacated.

  I glance between them, taking in their somber expressions, and I suddenly want to run.

  “What really happened in Redstone?” Dad asks.

  “It was just as we told you in the meeting.”

  Dad leans forward, his usually warm eyes stern. “All right then. What parts did you leave out?”

  “We know the creatures are drawn to you,” Mom whispers, clasping my hand.

  What?

  Uncomfortable, Dad clears his throat. “There are things we need to tell you—things we should have probably shared long before now, but we were truly hoping this day would never come to pass.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, looking a little too worried for my liking. “Your magic is…different.”

  No.

  They know? Impossible. There’s no way they would have taken me into their home if they were privy to the truth.

  I stare at them, waiting for them to get to their point. I’m certainly not volunteering the information—after all, what if I’m reading them wrong? What if they’re not talking about my Obsidian magic at all?

  “What we’ve told you is true—you’re of the Urocyon faction,” Dad continues. “But very rarely, there’s an aberration in the magic. It can happen in any of the factions—”

  “Any of the factions?” I interrupt. That can’t be right.

  Dad plows ahead, silently asking me to save the questions for after he’s finished. “In these cases, the individual’s magic is stronger—the innate talents concentrated, magnified. You’re one of these individuals. We can’t discern the minute differences in the blood that’s stored by the guild, but a Griffon can read it if he knows what he’s looking for. In most cases, it doesn’t make much of a difference.” He pauses. “Unless you’re a Fox.”

  “Why does it make a difference if you’re a Fox?” I ask, but I know.

  “Your persuasion is enhanced,” Mom says, taking over. “You’re capable of coercing things that other Foxes can’t manipulate.”

  “Shadow creatures,” I whisper.

  She purses her lips and nods. “In history, female Foxes with heightened magic have proven to be terribly powerful—and always evil, always corrupt. As you know, a thousand years ago, we revolted against the Entitled and destroyed the thresholds to keep the Obsidian Queen—your ancestor—from enslaving humans in their own world. Needless to say, the Entitled has been waiting for a very long time for you, and they would do anything to sink their claws into you if they found out you were alive.”

  “To ensure both our people’s and the humans’ safety,” Dad says, “a Griffon working for the Royal Guild infiltrated the Entitled’s ranks as soon as we heard a rumor that you would be born soon.”

  I pull my hand away from my mother and cross my arms. “He was supposed to kill me.”

  She and my father exchange a look, realizing I know more than they assumed.

  “He was,” Dad says carefully, “but he knew it was wrong—you were a baby, an infant. Left in the corruptive hands of the Entitled, you would have likely grown up to be a dangerous threat, but he believed that it’s the heart of a person, and not their magic, that defines them. He felt you deserved a chance. And so did we.”

  “You knew who I was,” I say, feeling overwhelmed. For one moment, my hold on Jonathan’s cloak flickers, but I control it just before it drops.

  “He brought you to us,” Mom says. “We’d been trying for a baby for many years, with no luck. When he showed up with you in the middle of the night, we knew you were ours. We didn’t see evil in your face—we saw family.”

  My eyes begin to sting, but I shut the emotion off. “But essentially, you kidnapped me.”

  Their faces darken with pain—they knew the question was coming, and Dad responds first. “You would have been taken from your mother no matter what—the elites of the Entitled would have raised you. It would have been a cold, lonely life. Yes, you would have been treated like a princess—wanted for nothing, pampered—but you wouldn’t have had love. I’m sorry, Madeline. I know this is hard to hear, but I have no regrets. You are my daughter, and that is that.”

  I’m quiet for several moments, reeling from the shock. They knew.

  All this time, they knew.

  It’s time to tell them what’s been going on while they’ve been traveling in the grand duke’s place.

  “I was abducted while you were in Spain,” I say, staring at the wall. “The man’s name was Curtis…”

  I launch into my story, telling them everything I know—all the things Curtis said, the way Rafe disposed of him, about Trent, and what’s happened since. I tell them about the shadow creatures and my power over them, and finally, I tell them what really happened that night in Redstone—omitting the part where I linked with Rafe…and how I plan to send the creatures back to Aparia…also pretty much everything that transpired between Jonathan and me.

  All right, so I don’t tell them everything.

  Dad sits in the chair, bent over, hands over his face. “They all know?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “And Gray is with Finn now?”

  “He is.”

  Shaking his head, he looks up and lets out a world-weary sigh that makes him seem much older than his forty-eight years. “But you trust him?”

  Without meaning to, I glance at Jonathan before I look back. “I think so.”

  “You think so?” Mom demands, her voice a touch too shrill.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jonathan give me an encouraging nod.

  “No, I do. He was upset at first—and understandably so—but we’re past it. He knows me.”

  “And Rafe?” he demands. “You say he’s gone to the Entitled?”

  “Only for information on how to track Trent.”

  Mom shakes her head, not liking any of this.

  “He’s a good man,” I say softly, desperately wanting them to have faith in Rafe. “He won’t betray me.”

  “He worked for them—possibly works for them still.”

  “He’s mine,” I say, the word touched with an air of finality. “They have none of his loyalty.”

  Dad stares at me, his eyes sharp. “Whatever you do, do not link your magic. Do you understand?”

  Little late for that.

  “Your power very well could be a temptation he cannot resist,” Mom adds, her voice softer than Dad’s. “The Obsidian Knight is strong alone, but he doesn’t have your heightened powers of persuasion, and he won’t be able to unlock the thresholds. Cultivate an amicable relationship but keep your distance.”

  Gulping, I nod. Well, this is awkward.

  Standing, Dad glances at his phone. “Dinner is surely done by now. Lillian is likely in a tizzy, wondering what happened to us.”

  “You go on,” I say. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Dad nods and steps into the hall. Mom glances back before she’s through the door, her eyes far brighter than they were a moment ago. “Jonathan seems nice.”

  “Oh.” My cheeks flood with heat. “He is.”

  “Handsome too, isn’t he?”

  “Mom,” I say, desperately trying to avoid the conversation.

  Jonathan flashes me a crooked grin, obviously enjoying himself.

  “He likes you,” she says, ignoring my embarrassment. “I can tell by the way he looks at you, how he introduced himself to me—as if desperate to make a good first impression.”

  I bite the side of my cheek to keep from laughing from sheer mortification.

  But, of course, she continues, “He’s from an excellent family too—his father was in oil before he be
gan investing. And his mother is one of the sweetest women you’ll ever meet.”

  Wait—oil? Investments? That’s what he said in Redstone. I thought that was only his cover.

  “And you like him. No, don’t bother to deny it,” she says when I attempt to protest. “I haven’t seen you that starry-eyed since Finn walked through our front door when you were seventeen years old.”

  “Okay,” I say, shooing her out the door. “You should go.”

  Laughing, she finally leaves, and I press the door closed. For one moment, I stare at the painted trim before I turn and brace myself against the wood—almost as if I must ensure no one else will pop in.

  My relief causes me to lose my grip on the cloak, and it fizzles away.

  “Your mom thinks I’m handsome.” Jonathan smirks, his dark brows raising.

  “Go away.”

  “I can’t.” He stalks forward, his eyes on his prey—and his prey is me. “You’re blocking the door.”

  I attempt to shift to the side, showing him he’s free to leave, but I’m not quick enough. He cages me in, his chocolate eyes fixed on mine, and his palms press to the wall on either side of my head. “And she thinks you like me.”

  “She also thinks white should never be worn after Labor Day. We don’t always listen to her.”

  “Hmmm.” He lowers his head until his nose brushes the side of my neck. “You smell good.”

  “What is this?” I demand, my knees growing weak. “Are you a vampire now?”

  Chuckling darkly, he opens his mouth and so, so gently pretends to bite my neck, placing his teeth against my skin. And yep, a teeny, tiny, breathy moan escapes me.

  And only because this must stop, I grasp his glorious, thick hair and jerk his head back—not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough he knows I’m not playing.

  “No,” I say as if I were reprimanding a puppy. “We don’t bite.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. “How do you know? We’ve only just begun.”

  “Jonathan,” I warn.

  Ignoring my reprimand, he moves in and whispers, “Say it again.”

  “What?” And dang it, my voice flutters. He’s never going to take me seriously now.

  “My name,” he presses, the words tickling my skin. “I want to hear it on your lips, just like that—flustered and breathless.”