Shadow's Passion: The Shadow Warder Series: Prequel Novella

by Molle McGregor

  She'd been defining him in her head. Soldier. Warder. Dangerous. His eyes burned with vitality, so much more alive than any textbook description. The eyes of a man. Beautiful, arresting eyes. The clear, clean gray of a winter's sky, surrounded by lashes so dark and lush she might have been envious if she'd been thinking clearly. Celeste fell into their depths, something in that clear gray rising to meet her, drawing her deeper. A flash of vertigo hit her, the sensation disconcerting when she was sitting on the earth. The shift of his torso brought her back to life. Abruptly grounded again, she pressed him down with her free hand.

  "Don't move. I have to make sure the bullet is out and stop the bleeding," she said. Carefully, she let her healer's senses probe the wound. No bullet. No metal fragments. That was something. But she sensed threads of fabric embedded in his body. She'd have to remove them before they could cause infection.

  "It's just a bullet wound," he said. "Not much you can do sitting in the woods. I'll be fine." Deep and a little rough, his voice sounded as if he didn't use it much.

  "I'm a healer. I can do quite a bit sitting in the woods," Celeste said, hearing her prim tone. She always got prim when she was uncomfortable. She saw amusement in his gray eyes and tried not to scowl at him. "Stay still and at least let me stop the bleeding. I'll get a better look at the rest of it when we're somewhere more comfortable."

  "Fine," he said, continuing to watch her. "Be fast. This location isn't secure."

  She tried to ignore the weight of his stare, suddenly aware she sat alone with a strange male's head in her lap. A Warder who had just killed three demons in the blink of her eye. Once upon a time, Celeste would never have found herself in such a casual, messy circumstance. She smoothed her fingertips around the entry wound, encouraging the blood vessels to close, slowing the bleeding to a trickle.

  Every living creature had a specific energy signature. As a healer she could read all of them. Some she liked; some were distinctly unappealing. She'd never touched a signature like his. He resonated against her fingers, drawing her closer, wrapping her in a strength and heat that invigorated and oddly reassured. It vibrated, spreading as if his energy was trying to wind its way up her hand, to wrap itself around her arm.

  She'd never felt anything like it. A small, frightened part of her wanted to rip her hand away and shove him to the ground, to get away before the seductive heat of him wiped away her good sense. He was a Warder. A stranger. And beneath his energy, she felt darkness, running all the way to the core of his being. Pain. Rage. Was he dark because he was a Warder? Or had this man been marked by the worst agony life could deliver? Either way, she had no business wanting more of his odd, seductive energy. She resolved to ignore it for the moment, and concentrated on healing his shoulder. When she'd done her best, she withdrew her bloody hand, wiping it on the crisp leaves beside her.

  "You're fine until I can get a better look," she said, expecting him to move. He didn't. "Get up."

  "In a minute. I'm dizzy." Celeste scanned his long frame, calculating the amount of blood he'd lost.

  "No, you're not. Get off of me." She shoved him. With an unexpectedly boyish grin, he curled to a sitting position and gracefully rolled to his feet. Turning to face her, he extended his right hand. Surprised by his smile, Celeste took his hand with her clean one and allowed him to help her up. The warm vibration of his energy was even stronger in his hand.

  "You're a Shadow," he said. "What are you doing here in the mountains by yourself? Is there a Sanctuary nearby I don't know about?"

  "No Sanctuary." Celeste weighed the wisdom of telling the Warder too much. She'd sensed no malice or ill intent from him when his energy had twined itself around her hand. He carried darkness in his soul. He was dangerous, no question. His fighting skill demonstrated that clearly. Was he dangerous to her? Celeste didn't think so. She had no doubt this soldier could be as violent and aggressive as she'd learned Warders were in school. He also seemed to have a sense of humor. As hard as it was to imagine, she was pretty sure he'd been teasing her a moment ago. His sudden smile had made her a little lightheaded. He was good-looking enough with his face cast in a serious expression. She imagined he spent most of his life looking serious. When his smile chased the darkness from his eyes he was devastating. Celeste thought her knees might still be weak.

  Whatever else he was, he didn't have the flat madness of a mindless killer. Alone in these mountains, she had to face reality. She'd managed to draw the attention of a nest of Vorati demons. Possibly she'd asked for it by picking them off one by one. It didn't matter now. The other Shadows wouldn't do anything for her. Her few remaining friends had their own duties. She was on her own and she needed help. Forbidden or not, this Warder might be her best hope to take down the nest and survive.

  "Lets clean up this mess and I'll explain on the way home," she said. Gesturing to the bodies in the clearing, she asked "Do you have anything?"

  In answer, the Warder pulled several thin, wooden discs from his pocket. From a few feet away, Celeste couldn't see the symbol inscribed on both sides, but she saw the spell-crafted sigil in her memory. Incineration discs. Back in the day they'd called it a crematus. She watched as he expertly flicked each one onto a dead body. Within seconds, faint wisps of smoke began to rise. A brilliant flash, the sense of intense heat, and the bodies collapsed to nothing. A dusting of ash was all that remained. Here and there a few leaves appeared singed, but none burned. The spell on the wooden disc ensured that the heat contained itself entirely to the body.

  Magic. Love it or hate it—and as a Shadow she mostly hated it—they needed it to do their work. Without tools like the calix and the incineration discs they'd be up a creek in their battle against the Vorati. More than a few times she'd heard other Shadows bemoaning the fact that only the Warders were capable of the spell craft necessary to create the tools they needed.

  "Come with me," she said, moving past him in the direction of her home. Absently, she reached behind her to pull her long braid from beneath her jacket. Somehow she didn't think they'd run into any more of the enemy. No need to keep her hair uncomfortably tucked away, out of reach of grabbing hands. Rolling her shoulders and neck at the sudden freedom, she walked with a lighter step. She might have survived the fight out of luck, but she'd survived nonetheless.

  The Warder followed in silence. It took over an hour to hike to her home. He kept pace with her easily, showing no signs that he'd just been shot. Celeste thought about breaking the silence with conversation. She needed information. Who was he and what was he doing in her mountains?

  Until recently this had been a quiet place. Too far out of town to attract tourists, mostly populated by families who'd lived there for generations. They farmed, raised livestock, sometimes made moonshine and generally lived lives like those their ancestors had lived. No Shadows, no Warders and no Vorati. As far as she'd seen in the fifty years she'd been there, no demons of any kind.

  Dusk cast a shadow over the mountainside by the time they reached the gravel lane leading to her property. Heavily shaded by trees and roughly graded, the road was little more than a dim path in the fading light. Her house remained out of sight, past a bend in the road. The Warder wasn't winded. He didn't appear affected by hiking across half a mountain. Celeste wished she could say the same. She did her share of hiking. She lived on the side of a mountain without reliable transportation, after all. But hours of hiking—on top of a fight in the same afternoon—left her longing for her oversized couch and a mug of hot, sweet tea. Despite her fatigue, she quickened her pace. As if he heard her footstep, Fitzwilliam sounded the alarm.

  A second later a blur of gray-brown fur barreled up the drive. Celeste braced for the impact. At her side, she heard a grunt of surprise and sensed the Warder shift his position. A swift glance showed that he'd fallen naturally into a fighting stance. Alarmed, she took a quick step in front of him. He moved just as quickly to block her.

  "Stop," she said. "He's mine. He won't hurt you as long as he d
oesn't think you'll hurt me. Just move back a little."

  The Warder took a reluctant step back. Celeste held up her hand, palm facing out. The huge dog, still running at top speed, skidded to an awkward halt. He came to a stop just in front of her hand. Fitz reached forward and swiped a sloppy tongue across her palm. She gave him a scowl and wiped her soggy hand on her leggings.

  "Yuck. You know I don't like that," she said. The dog sat before her, obedient except for the eager trembling in his shoulders. He'd determined from her demeanor that their visitor didn't pose a threat, but the dog needed to check him out all the same.

  "Go ahead," Celeste said, gesturing to the Warder. "Be polite." It wasn't clear if she was warning the dog or the Warder.

  "This is Fitzwilliam," she continued, running her hand along the dog's huge head. "Fitz, this is—" Pausing expectantly, she waited, eyebrows raised.

  ***

  Gabe tried not to be amused. The Shadow was a tiny thing. Maybe five foot two. The dog was a monster. His back easily reached her waist; his head brushed her ribs. An Irish Wolfhound, with all the size and dignity of his breed. He ruined the dignity with his obvious eagerness to meet Gabe. Her slim hand on the dog's head spoke of affectionate respect. For his part, the dog appeared utterly devoted. Holding out his palm for the animal to sniff, Gabe answered her unspoken query.

  "I'm Gabriel. Gabe."

  "This is Gabe," she said to the dog. "He's a friend. I think."

  The Shadow gave him a look through her lashes, head cocked to the side. Gabe didn't speak. It remained to be seen how friendly he'd be. He had no immediate plans to be unfriendly, but you never knew. As a response, he reached out to rub the dog's wiry fur. Fitzwilliam remained still for a moment, tolerating the contact, before he turned to walk up the drive next to his mistress. Gabe fell into step beside them.

  As they rounded the bend in the lane, a building emerged from the deepening gloom. A tower without a castle, it stood alone among the trees, right out of a fairy tale. Two stories high, built out of the stacked stone native to the area, with an oversized wooden door and vines of ivy climbing the sides. Gabe imagined that any second a princess would push open one of the upper windows and lean out, calling for rescue.

  He looked over at the woman walking beside him, her back straight, stride graceful. With her long golden braid, delicate features and eyes the arresting blue of a summer day, he realized he'd already rescued the princess. His earlier impression stayed with him. While she dressed like a woman comfortable in the mountains, and she handled the rough ground like one, he could see her more easily in formal dress, presiding over a salon or dinner party. There was something about her, not just her elegance or beauty, that demanded a wider audience than an overgrown Irish Wolfhound. Then again, she might not be alone. Maybe the romantic tower was a lover's retreat and Gabe an unwelcome interruption. Why his gut burned at that, Gabe had no idea. What did he care if she had a lover stashed away in her tower? With that face and body, it would be a shame if she didn't.

  The Shadow had dressed for the terrain, but her fitted jacket and leggings left little to the imagination. While her legs weren't long—hard to have long legs at her height—they were slender and appealingly curved with muscle he imagined she gained traveling around the mountain. Her ass, on the other hand, didn't look like it belonged to an athletic woman. Perfectly curved, two rounded handfuls leading to a tiny waist. The quilted jacket didn't give a clear view of her breasts, but from the way it swelled in the front, he thought her tits a match for her ass. Yeah, it would be a waste if she lived alone in that tower, but for his own sake, he hoped she did.

  Celeste could be useful to him. She knew the area, probably knew the locals. It would be easier to gain her help if she was on her own, without the influence of a partner. At least, that’s what Gabe told himself. So what if the idea of getting her into bed was appealing? Sex could be a good way to control a woman. And when the woman looked like Celeste? Definitely the preferable option. Feeling his eyes touching her from head to toe, she slowed.

  "What?" she asked. His glance skipped from her face to her home and back again.

  "Your hair isn't long enough."

  "What?" she repeated, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

  "To live in Rapunzel's tower. Your hair is long, but not that long." He reached out to run a finger down her braid. Soft as it looked. He couldn't resist teasing her, just as he hadn't been able to resist earlier in the woods. She was so contained, so wary of him, it was tempting to poke at her. Then his joke filtered through and she smiled at him. Her face transformed. Before the smile, her beauty had been composed, regal. When her lips curved, she was radiant. Still as refined, but with just enough adorable thrown in to set her perfect features alight with vibrant life. Gabe's breath caught in his chest. Not beautiful. Something more. A flush stained her cheeks, probably from his staring. Gabe looked back at the house, giving her a break.

  "I expected a log cabin," he said, gesturing to the circular tower.

  "I know. I've lived here so long, I forget how odd it is. A stockbroker built it in the eighties for his wife. When the market crashed in eighty-seven, he had to sell. It sat vacant for a while before I came across it and moved in. Before that I was living in the log cabin you imagined. Drafty."

  She unlocked the heavy wooden door. It swung open in a smooth arc. Fitz nudged past her, bumping her hip on his way to his water bowl. The inside of the tower was a revelation. White plaster walls rose high, interrupted by windows framed in deep brown wood. Beams of the same dark wood crossed the high ceiling. It looked far bigger on the inside than he'd expected. The main level was one big room. A wide kitchen with a deep island faced the entry. A door on either side flanked the kitchen. The one with the metal bar likely led outside. The windows all had interior wooden shutters, bound with iron. Attractive and secure. Smart.

  He continued to study the interior. From the way the wall by the kitchen curved inward, Gabe thought the other door led to a small room or bathroom. To the right of the front door, a set of double doors indicated the presence of another room. A bedroom or office? Just before the double doors, a wood-framed staircase wound up the curved wall, crossing above the double door to a landing that led to the second level. If Gabe had designed the tower, that's where he would have put the master bedroom. To the left of the front door, a huge fireplace took up most of the curved wall. Built of the same stacked stone as the exterior of the tower, it faced the biggest couch Gabe had ever seen. L-shaped and made of rich, warm brown leather, soft-looking blankets draped the back. Double-checking the size of his hostess, he wondered what she needed with a couch that big. Further evidence that there might be a man in residence.

  Chapter Three

  "Why don't you sit while I get what I need to take care of your shoulder," she said, gesturing to the couch. "Do you want tea? Something stronger?" She moved to the fire, leaning to examine the banked coals. Gabe admired the view for a moment before interrupting.

  "I can handle the fire," he said, moving to nudge her out of the way.

  "But your shoulder—"

  "I just hiked over an hour across the ridgeline. I think I can handle restarting the fire." She gave a cute harrumph before leaving the room, presumably to gather her supplies. Gabe set about bringing the fire back to life. She'd banked it expertly. Taking another look at the interior of the tower, he realized he didn't see another source of heat. If she relied on the fireplace for warmth, he imagined she knew what she was doing. Once the revived flames licked across fresh logs, Gabe removed his coat, moving with care. A neat, if bloody, hole punctured the shoulder, front and back. He'd patch it later. He pulled his keys and phone from the inner pocket and rolled the jacket into a ball, the bloody fabric on the inside. His phone was dead. And the charger was in his truck, at least a few miles away, up the mountain. Useless.

  Just as well. Gabe finally realized what had seemed off since entering the tower. It was quiet. Aside from the various sounds made by the
fire, two adults, and an enormous dog, he heard none of the background hum he'd come to associate with buildings in the modern world. No television. No stereo. A few hurricane lamps, but nothing with a light bulb. Nothing that plugged into a wall. She appeared to have no electronics at all. Bizarre. Like much about the Shadow, it was a mystery he intended to unravel. He tossed the phone and his jacket on a small table by the front door. The phone was no big loss. It would be awhile before anyone expected him to check in. The Shadow returned, carrying a bowl of steaming water and a towel, along with a few other bits and pieces.

  "Sit by the fire," she instructed. "You have fabric stuck in the wound. I need to get it out." Gabe did as asked, turning so she could use the light from the window behind him.

  "My body should have forced it out by now."

  "Maybe. It will heal better if I can clean it properly." She bent to her task, seemingly absorbed.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  She started and straightened. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I introduced you to Fitz and forgot to include myself." A tiny giggle escaped. "I'm Celeste Cannon. Nice to meet you. Despite the circumstances."

  "Celeste. It fits you."

  "Mmmm."

  Her hands were gentle on his torn flesh, fingers light, spreading warmth as they moved. Everywhere she touched him, heat spread. As gentle as the pressure of her fingers, the heat moved into his skin, sinking deep, to the very marrow of his bones.

  His body had been frozen for years. Isolated. Life was duty. Vengeance. Since the day he'd lost Daniel, Gabriel had been barren, heart and soul shut down. He used his body, but locked everything else away. On the outside all looked as it should. On the inside, Gabe was a wasteland of pain and rage.

  The sunlight of her touch spread through him, dragging every cell back to life with a prickling awareness not unlike a sleeping limb waking back up. The sensation was the polar opposite of his body's response to the Vorati. Not hard edged or menacing, Celeste's touch brought life and power. And the uncomfortable awareness that he sat shirtless, being touched by a beautiful woman. Gabe shifted, trying to get a handle on his keenly aware body. Celeste withdrew her hands. A small part of him wanted to moan over the loss.