Emily didn’t want to talk to Edge, not this soon after their confrontation last night. But she knew it would be childish of her to quibble against the order. And an order is what it was, even if Cady had said please. Emily was wise enough to know that just because Obsidian was the official leader of the group, it didn’t mean that Cady wasn’t a higher-ranking officer than she. Her orders were meant to be obeyed and without question. Emily wasn’t about to start off on the wrong foot with the woman if she could help it. She liked Cady and Steffy already and didn’t want to appear the coward in front of them.
“Do you know where I can find him?” she asked.
“He’s still in his apartment, I think.”
“And where is that, exactly?”
Cady’s eyes twinkled devilishly. “Right next to yours.”
Now that was a reply as unexpected as it was unwelcome to Emily, who merely gritted her teeth in aggravated response.
* * * * *
Emily took a deep breath as she stood before the large—and surprisingly beautiful—door to Edge’s apartment. Her gaze roamed over the intricate carvings that adorned the thick, dark wood, seeing them without really registering what she saw. She was too nervy to appreciate the artwork before her. All of her thoughts were on Edge. On preparing herself to meet him face to face once again.
Her palms were damp. She raised one, fisted it, and knocked upon the door before she could change her mind.
“Enter,” came Edge’s curt but muffled response.
Emily took one more last, bracing breath, and opened the door. “Edge?” she called out, not seeing him anywhere in the foyer of his apartment. Her eyes were snared by a large bookshelf against one wall. It was as ornately carved as the door had been, only now Emily was fascinated enough by the craftsmanship to take in the details.
It was lovely, of that there was no doubt. The piece was comprised entirely of delicately rendered animals, hundreds of them, each in liquid stages of motion. Birds flew, monkeys climbed, and foxes ran. On and on the list of species went, until each figure blended in with the next, giving the bookshelf itself a sense of movement and animation. It was the most beautifully carved sculpture Emily had ever seen.
The most amazing thing, however, was not the bookshelf itself. It was what rested upon its many shelves. More carvings. Only these carvings were so amazingly realistic, so exquisitely beautiful, that they appeared to have been imbued with life itself. There were sculptures of wood, so many different kinds of wood that Emily couldn’t even begin to guess the names of most of them. And there were sculptures of stone, soft and hard, smooth and rough, there were hundreds of different types. Not even in museums had Emily seen such fine craftsmanship.
A sculpture of three figures drew her eye. She approached it slowly, feeling as though she were in a dream, one comprised of such beauty that she feared herself unworthy of the visions it brought her. The carving was a rendering of a man, woman and child, with a cat nestled comfortably at their feet. The child was held between the couple, in swaddling clothes, with a shock of wild hair upon its head. The man was tall, so much taller than the woman that he appeared almost a giant in comparison. His shoulders were broad and strong, his stance one of arrogant pride. His hair was long and flowing down his back, though some of the strands tangled themselves with the hair of the woman in delicately rendered detail.
The woman commanded Emily’s attention. She leaned closer to the sculpture, not daring to reach out and touch it, though her fingers fairly itched to do so. Why, the woman was Cady! Emily gasped. No doubt about it, this sculpture was one of Cady standing beside her husband, cradling her son between them. The depiction of the Shikar woman was so realistic that Emily almost expected the tiny eyes to blink, to see the swaddled baby squirm in its parents’ embrace, or even hear the cat purring at their feet. It was amazing, like nothing Emily had ever seen.
“Emily?”
She realized with a start that Edge had been speaking to her for some time now, but she had been too ensnared by the sculpture to notice. Turning around with a guilty smile, she eased away from the bookshelf. The temptation to reach out and touch had become almost too much to bear. “Sorry?” she murmured.
“I asked why you were here,” he prompted her.
Her eyes took him in and she felt an earthquake begin in the lower parts of her stomach. He was wet from his bath, with one large towel hanging over his shoulders and another draped negligently around his hips. His hair was longer, darker, when it was wet, hanging down to his buttocks. She gasped when he moved, the play of his muscles sensuously smooth and graceful. Her lips tingled. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to lick a path from his throat to his navel, sipping the drops of water that danced so temptingly upon his body as she did so.
She swallowed. Hard. “Cady wants to see you. At the armory.” There was a moment for her to be grateful that those words had sounded much steadier than she felt…until he flung his hair about his broad shoulders. Impatient though his motion was—no doubt on his part an effort to fling excess water away—it slowed in Emily’s eyes until she saw it dance around his luscious, damp body like a cape.
Emily almost fainted at the sight.
Edge seemed oblivious to her state. “I’ve told her countless times that I don’t care for guns. They’re far too slow and bulky,” he growled.
That gorgeously toned body of his turned, granting Emily an unimpeded view of his firm backside beneath the towel. He bent over and gathered his boots, setting them before a cushioned chair. She felt her eyes boggle. He had the most amazingly sexy ass she’d ever seen and there was a moment for her to thank her lucky stars that the towel hid as much as it did, or else she would have jumped him then and there, begging him to take her.
“Well, she asked me to come and fetch you.” Was she actually having this conversation? Was that her, sounding so nonchalant that even she wouldn’t have realized her state of hypnotized obsession with his near-naked presence? That is, if she hadn’t been inside her own body.
“As my lady wishes,” he murmured, his voice so masculine, so potent and alluring that Emily actually took a step closer to him. Edge looked up at her, eyes shaded by his long dark lashes. “Would you mind helping me get ready? I still have to paint my armor on.”
“Can’t you get ready by yourself?” No way did she trust herself to get any closer to him than this.
“I can do most of my body without aid, but not my back and shoulders. Usually Obsidian helps but he’s unfashionably late tonight.” He snorted. “No doubt Cady has kept him away on purpose to punish me for some imagined slight. That woman loves to torture me.”
Emily had a sinking feeling that he was wrong, that Cady had deliberately kept Sid away—not to punish Edge—but to force Emily into a close and intimate situation with him. “Fine, I’ll help. But can we do this quickly? I don’t want to be late for my first night on the job.”
“We’ll do this in the bathroom. I would hate to drip the stuff on the rugs.”
Emily’s toes curled in her boots, as if she could actually feel the thick piles of that carpet beneath her feet. Knowing she looked more docile than she felt, she followed him to the bathroom, watching the hypnotic sway of his wet hair over the muscled planes of his back as he led the way.
The bathroom here seemed no different in architecture to the one in her apartment. It was large, at least twice the size of the bathroom of her old apartment, with a sunken tub in the stone tiled floor, an oddly designed toilet that worked much the same as a human one, and a sink. But the decoration of the room was very much dissimilar from hers.
Instead of a functional faucet at the bath, the brushed metal was carved into a sweeping figure of a swan-necked dragon, lending it a decidedly oriental look. A matching faucet adorned the pot-bellied sink. The walls of the room were stone, as were the rest of the walls throughout the Shikar underworld, but they were adorned as ornately as the bookshelf in the foyer had been. Here, racing forms of the dragon
s, long wingless creatures with the gracefully long bodies of eels, swam through a splashing ocean of waves from the floor up to the ceiling. The images were carved into the very rock. The longer Emily stared at them, the more realistic they seemed.
They began to look as if they actually moved, stone though they may be.
And the ceiling, rising so high above that Emily couldn’t fathom how the artist had carved there, was an exquisite work of art. Here, winged dragons held court over the wingless ones. Giant humanoid warriors rode upon their necks, raising spears and swords into the sky. Clouds served as perches for the great claws of the some dragons, while others dove and soared, their wings spread or even nearly folded in detailed stages of flight. Emily was overwhelmed with the sheer artistry of it all.
Edge prodded her with a pot of black, liquid armor. She came to herself with a start, seeking an excuse for her dumbfounded awe, but was saved the trouble. Edge seemed ignorant of her state, presenting her with a clear view of his back as he bent before her, sweeping his long hair aside. “Let’s get this over with.” His sigh was a curiously heavy sound.
“Look, if you’d rather I went and found Sid—”
“We cannot afford the delay. I’m sorry I sounded ungrateful. Please, I would be glad for the assistance.” He rolled his broad shoulders, drawing her attention there insistently.
She hesitated, grasping the handle of the paintbrush with uncertain fingers. “Do I just slather it on as much I can?”
“Yes, the thicker the better. Leave no skin exposed.”
“I still don’t see how this is supposed to offer much protection,” she mumbled half to herself.
“Agate has a way with clothing and materials. Her gifts are many, and it was only natural for her to search for an alternative to Cady’s heavy bulletproof vests. Cady was the first of us to require armor, being as she was human when she joined us.”
“What does being human have to do with needing physical protection?” Her eyes watched the hairs of the brush as they danced seductively over the smooth, taut muscles of his shoulders. She clenched her teeth against a moan and tried to focus on their conversation, though it was nearly impossible for her to do so.
Already she was that far under his spell, despite her better intentions.
“We Shikar are stronger. Our bodies can take much more damage than yours before we are laid low. We heal exponentially faster than you, and our healers have the ability to repair the most grievous of injuries when our bodies cannot heal themselves.”
“Must be nice, not having to worry much about scrapes and bruises.”
“Be that as it may, I still do not enjoy getting them.” There was the hint of a smile in his voice. “You have an excellent right handed punch, by the way.”
“You mean right hook.” She couldn’t help smiling.
“Right hook?”
“I’m not certain but I think its some kind of boxing term.”
“Boxing?”
“Never mind. You know a lot about humans, I’ll admit, but you don’t know everything.”
“I never said I did.” His head turned to the side, giving her a tantalizing view of his sculpted profile behind the curtain of hair around it. “But I do like to pretend.” He smiled.
Emily blinked. She would have laughed at his attempted humor, but he flexed his arms—his bicep and triceps muscles bulged mightily—and she was forced to catch her breath instead. He was wreaking havoc on her libido, something she’d not been completely prepared for considering her earlier anger with him.
Because of her discomfiture at her own raging hormones she refrained from further conversation for several minutes. The paintbrush stroked layers of black paint over his shoulders, back and waist as the silent moments stretched on. Too quickly for her to regain control of her senses, she was finished.
“Thank you.” His voice was soft music in the silence as he turned and took the brush and pot from her.
“Who did all of these carvings?” She hadn’t wanted to leave with her uncomfortable silence lying between them like a blanket. She asked the first thing that swept into her jumbled thoughts.
He looked about them long and thoughtfully before locking her gaze with his. “Do you like them?”
He hadn’t answered her question.
“They’re lovely,” she admitted truthfully. Then it occurred to her, his silence telling more than he could have imagined. “You did them.”
His lips curved in a tiny smile. “My Foils are not only useful on the battlefield.”
“They can cut through stone then?”
“They are very strong, and unlike knives or other blades they do not need sharpening after much usage.”
It surprised Emily to discover that such a vicious and deadly fighter as Edge surely was, he could still create these beautiful, ethereal sculptures. She would never have guessed him capable of such artistry. But then she knew little to nothing about him besides what she’d learned about him while on the battlefield.
She was coming to learn that he was a man of many facets.
Uncomfortable under his steady, burning gaze, she cleared her throat and turned to leave. “Well. I’ll see you in the armory then.”
It wasn’t until she’d shut the door to Edge’s apartments that she realized she had no idea where the armory was. She sighed in frustration and then laughed at herself. She’d have to make certain she avoided seeing Edge in a bath towel again any time soon or else he would end up thinking she was always this dim.
Heading off in the direction of Tryton’s anteroom—the only direction she was as yet familiar with in this great place—she tried to ignore the images that flashed in her mind of Edge’s wet and glistening body.
It was an effort in futility, though it grated on her nerves to admit it. Even if it was only to herself.
Chapter Nine
“The plan is to use whatever attraction Emily holds for the Daemons as a lure to capture at least one of them alive. Simple enough, eh?” Tryton stood at the head of a great stone table, while Obsidian’s team of warriors—Emily now included in their number—sat with stunned looks on their faces.
All except The Traveler, whose features were hidden by the enormous dark cowl he always seemed to wear.
“Um…has that ever actually been tried before?” Cady asked with a dubious frown.
“We have captured some over the ages, but without much benefit to us. They were mindless husks, mere vessels for the rage and hungers that animated them. But now, I think, we should try again. Things have changed recently. The Daemons are evolving. Now is as good a time as any to try once more to learn from them what we may.”
“If they can Travel now, how can we hope to keep one contained if we do manage to catch it?” Cady prodded.
“The very boundaries that serve to keep the Daemons out of our world will serve to keep them imprisoned here. Our only real concern is to keep them alive long enough to gather what information we can.”
“Then it will be as you command, Elder.” Obsidian rose and the rest followed as one, even Emily, who felt more than a little overwhelmed, surrounded as she was by these giant and fierce warriors.
Cady sidled up to Emily almost immediately. “You look a little nervous. Just follow our lead. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Emily started. “I’m not worried about that at all. I can take care of myself—you forget, I’ve been doing this for the past week or so. While that doesn’t necessarily make me as efficient as your group, I’m pretty sure I can keep myself alive.” She sighed and rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the tension gathering there. “I’m more nervous about appearing the professional in front of you all. This is my first night on the job. I want to leave a good impression.”
Cady snorted. “I should’ve remembered. Despite your earlier protestations of arrogance, I can see now that you’ll fit right in with the rest of us. And here I thought I was being maternal.”
“You? Maternal towards me? Please t
ell me how you’d hoped for that.” She laughed. “After all we’re around the same age.”
Cady merely stuck out her tongue—belying any claim to maternity she might have otherwise kept had she refrained from the childish impulse.
“Cady, Emily—come. We leave now.” Obsidian’s voice was a commanding whip.
Emily joined the group as they gathered around The Traveler. Everyone reached out and laid a hand on him, and Emily naturally followed their lead. There was a whooshing sensation in her ears. She grew lightheaded, slightly dizzy and, looking down, she saw the floor fall away from her feet and dim into nothingness.
Were they flying? She couldn’t be sure. The Traveler’s shoulder, where she’d placed her hand, was the only solid thing in this strange place. He didn’t appear to be moving at all, while she felt completely cast adrift—as if she were hurtling through space.
Her sister would have loved this.
Now where had that thought come from? She hadn’t thought about her younger sister in well over a year. Emily had always found it was better not to dwell on unpleasant thoughts. But now, when her world was turning upside down—for better or for worse, she still could not attest—her only real thought was for her younger sister, who had so dearly loved being adventurous.
It seemed not even a split second had passed, though Emily’s thoughts had been speedy and jumbled as if minutes had fled, when the world around her suddenly brightened. The group appeared on the edge of an apartment complex—an area Emily knew well for its apparently endless stream of domestic violence calls.
The smell of car exhaust and rotten garbage assailed her nostrils. This was not the best part of town to be in. Still, the location would probably serve their purpose better than any other, she had to admit. No matter what kind of ruckus they caused, it was highly doubtful anyone would take real notice of it. The inhabitants of such places as this, Emily had learned long ago, were prone to look the other way whenever possible. No one here liked to borrow trouble.
Razor's Edge, Book 3, The Horde Wars Page 8