Forged of Shadows: A Novel of the Marked Souls

by Jessa Slade

  “Home, bitter home,” she murmured as they circled the jumble of overturned shelves and shattered glass, so violently destroyed that one metal bracket was embedded in the bricks, and the pulverized glass sparkled like glitter over the thick gluey ropes of birnenston. She booted a broken- necked flask, and it rolled away through a scattering of matte white powder. The binder, she guessed, that they’d used to give solvo substance in the human realm.

  She’d been in a meth lab once, pulling out one of her kids, and she knew she’d never forget the unique stench, like cat piss and diesel spiked with ugly desperation.

  But this . . . Under the birnenston stench was a sweeter fragrance. “It smells like the first minute of a spring rain.”

  “Washes everything away, Corvus promised. Memories. Pain.” His voice petered out.

  She grimaced. “Your soul.”

  “That attitude’ll get you kicked off the marketing team.” He prodded a vein of birnenston with his hammer, and the substance crumbled, released a cloud of sulfurous rot that overwhelmed the rain. “Who’s in charge of quality control around here?”

  She edged around the tumbled shelves but found no raw materials, no finished vials of solvo, and no convenient cookbook with the damning recipe. “Corvus didn’t have much time to close up shop. He burned up haints doing it, but there must not have been much to move either. Why? Does he have another lab somewhere?”

  Liam stood tall in the center of the hub. “Or does he have everything he needs to make his move?”

  She thought for a moment. “Which is worse? That’ll probably be our answer.”

  A faint smile flickered across his face. “That’s the spirit.”

  “Spirits are exactly the problem.” She pocketed her knives again. “You were right the first time. There’s nothing here. Damn it.”

  “Not quite nothing.” He pointed above his head.

  She followed the line of his hammer. Almost lost in the embedded tangle of birnenston threads was a small beaker, miraculously intact and gleaming like a tiny strung pearl.

  They made their way back to the surface. The beaker of raw solvo nestled in Jilly’s puffed pocket, and she walked gingerly, as if she carried a rain-sweet bomb. Not that there’d been any explosions, but she figured the day was young. “I can’t believe they missed it.”

  “The downside of an army of smoke- heads led by the brain damaged. Details may get overlooked.”

  “What are we going to do with it?”

  He let out a long breath. “I haven’t worked that out yet. Right now, it’s just another twist.” His gaze drifted toward violet, and she wondered if he was angry with her, his newest recruit leading him astray and once again twisting, wrinkling, and denting his precious SOP.

  Then he blinked as he faced the sun, and his demon was gone. “Let’s get back to the warehouse. It’s going to be another busy night.”

  The trek back to the car was silent. Only as they climbed in did she ask, “Why’d you come after me?”

  “What should I have done instead?”

  “You were pretty explicit that there’s no place for any . . .” She hesitated, testing the awkward word. “Any bond between us.”

  “That doesn’t mean the league doesn’t need you.”

  Oh. The league. Of course.

  Her expression must have given her away, because he said softly, “That’s all I am now, Jilly. The leader of the league of teshuva. Those who would repent. If not for that, I’d be nothing.”

  Silence descended again as they drove through the bright day.

  When they returned to the industrial area around the warehouse, they had to dodge delivery trucks and bustling forklifts. Only the salvage building was still, the league’s inhabitants not yet roused for their night’s work. Liam parked in the back lot with the other well-used cars. Side by side, they walked through the quiet corridors made narrow by the leftovers and castoffs of other people’s lives.

  The dust of the past tightened Jilly’s throat. Here they’d finally had a victory—a little victory, about the size of a test tube, actually, but still—and she was moping because . . . because some blind throwback of a saloon girl said she couldn’t dance?

  Staring at her booted feet, she realized she’d dogged Liam’s footsteps right up to his room.

  He stopped, hand on the doorknob, and looked down at her, eyebrows raised in polite inquiry.

  Her cheeks burned. “Bella says the guys should dance more.”

  “Bella sells more drinks to sweaty people.”

  An image sheeted through her mind, straight off a comic book cover—Liam, as he might have been in happier days with some no-doubt practical implement taking shape under his hammer, perspiring at his forge, iron thewed, and clad in a leather apron.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  No way had that been pictured in any of her favorite childhood rags. Plus, even a half-witted blacksmith wouldn’t work half clad around a hot forge if he wanted to keep his leg hair and other bits, especially when he was . . . happy.

  “Jilly?” His brows dropped into a concerned line, and he cupped her chin to raise her gaze to his. “Where did you go just then? Not the demon realm?”

  She felt herself canting forward to rest in his hand as she stared up into his blue searching eyes. “I’m not drifting,” she protested.

  Not at all. Falling wasn’t drifting.

  “Come here.” He opened the door to his room and shepherded her inside with one hand behind her shoulders. “Take off your jacket.” Without waiting for her to obey, he tugged at the nape of her coat.

  “What?” She unzipped and shrugged out of the sleeves before he strangled her in his impatience.

  “The birnenston exposure in the tunnel must have off-lined your teshuva. You aren’t making sense.” He framed her face in his hands again. The rough caress of his calluses made her shiver. “Don’t go there without me.”

  “I wasn’t going there without you.” She wasn’t thinking about the demon realm.

  Though he’d been the one to tell his story, she was the one who felt exposed, as if his words had chipped away at her defenses. He’d risen above his bad choices as a boy only to fall back deeper into the muddle, for all the right reasons, just to end up damned. His past was her nightmare scenario for every kid she’d ever watched walk out of the halfway house. And yet look what he’d become.

  She reached up with one hand to echo his touch, her fingertips brushing back a lock of his black hair to reveal the even blacker mark of the demon. The reven that curled under her breast and over her heart ached, not a pain to be avoided, but in a plea to be touched.

  “What are you doing, Jilly?” His voice was a soft rasp. “No need to weave our way into the tenebraeternum. We’re in no danger here. Not with the energy sinks in place, a dozen vicious talyan ready to charge in if we shout.”

  “Then we won’t make a sound.” She pulled herself up onto her toes—thank heavens for the extra inch and a half of rubber and steel—and kissed him.

  Desire didn’t have to ride pillion with danger. She was more than the mark that made her his tyro talya. She’d show him. And he wasn’t nothing without it.

  With the tip of her tongue, she traced the firm line of his lower lip, sucked it softly between her own. He groaned against her mouth, and before she could warn him about the cry that would bring his men barging in, he pulled her to his chest.

  The teasing rushed out on her breath, crushed by the strength of his grasp as he drew her up to slant the kiss, hard and deep. A blacksmith’s iron thews had so many benefits, she decided, when he swung her up into his arms, never faltering with his kiss.

  Pillows, full and scented of heather, yielded under her as he laid her on his big carved bed. She stared up at him as he shed his clothing. “I thought I’d have to convince you.”

  His gaze never left hers. “You did.”

  She smiled. “Ah, the kiss. My irresistible touch.”

  “The threat of dancing.” When sh
e held her hand out to him, he came to kneel at her side. “We do work well together,” he admitted.

  She wrinkled her nose at the reluctance in his voice and tugged him over her hip. Caught off balance on the soft mattress, he tumbled over her. She pounced to straddle him.

  Under her hands, his broad shoulders flexed, then relaxed, sinking deeper into the pillows.

  “So this is practice?” She dipped her head to flick her tongue into the hollow of his throat.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “For the good of the league.”

  For once, the thought didn’t pierce her. Maybe because of the dimple in his cheek, maybe because he was already skimming the shirt up over her head, filling his hands with her, bringing her breast to his mouth, his long fingers hiding both reven and butterfly tattoo, so there was no sign of what had marked her.

  Other than him. Hot and moist, his tongue left an invisible trail around her nipple that puckered her flesh. Still on her knees straddling him, she braced her forearms against the headboard as down he went between her breasts and over her belly, the path where he’d been now cooling until she shivered with the desire for more. His tongue dipped into her navel and she clutched at the fat-bottomed angels carved into the wood, which was oh-so wrong. But then he went lower still, his grip on her buttocks bringing her hips to his mouth, and that was oh-so right. She leaned into him with a moan. Suddenly, she was very glad he prided himself on bringing such focused intensity to all his responsibilities.

  “So demanding,” he whispered against her thigh. He grazed his teeth along the sensitive inner tendon and she bucked. He laughed, a warm gust across her center that opened something inside her—oh, not just her sex, which was open and yearning enough with wanting him, but something more hesitant and wistful. She wanted to make him laugh more, to see his eyes shine, and not with purple.

  She pushed away from the headboard and sat back, her ass balanced on his thighs with his erection jutting up to tease her cleft. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. When she looked at him again, his smile was downright devilish.

  “Something I can do for you?” he asked, all solicitous.

  “You’ve done enough for the moment.” She closed her fingers around the lean ropes of muscle in his shoulders. “Time to share the torture.”

  “Torture?” His tone turned indignant. “I hadn’t even begun.”

  “Well, I’ll be in charge of the end.”

  He crossed his arms behind his head and smiled again. “Do your worst.”

  She did, with hands, tongue, and teeth, until her lips closed softly over the blunt head of his cock. He shuddered and his groan seemed ripped from the depths of his soul. She cupped the weight of his tight-drawn balls and circled her fingers round the base of his shaft, stoking him higher. One, two, three. Then he dragged her up, his big hands strong as ever but awkward with his eagerness.

  It was her turn to shiver when her nipples brushed over his chest. Her kiss was more a gasp when she pressed her lips to the reven decorating his temple. His fingers sank into her hips, and he murmured against her throat, “Ah, xiao-Jilly, I can take no more.”

  She licked her lips and tasted the truth of his words, salt-tinged and musky. “I’ll take you, then.”

  Centered over him, she sank down, holding his shoulders and his gaze. His blue eyes went deep and smoky, and his body under her was as honed, hard, and potent as anything she’d find in the league’s basement armory. He raised his hips to fill her and finally—finally—eased the ache inside.

  As their breathing matched and slowed, Jilly rested her head on Liam’s shoulder. “This is the ugliest bed I’ve ever seen. I mean, really? Cupids? Who has sex in a bed carved with cupids?”

  “I prefer to think of them as cherubim.” His low, sleepy voice rumbled under her ear. “Cherubim are a species of angel, and if devils are fallen angels, then these could be demonic cupids.”

  She tilted her face up to see if he was kidding, but his eyes were closed. “How is that better?”

  “We just had sex under them. I like to think demonic cupids would be more indulgent.”

  She traced her fingers down his chest, and he sighed out, his breath gusting her hair. “Indulgent, right. Well, they obviously consumed their fair share of doughnuts. But they didn’t burn off the calories like you said the teshuva would.”

  His arm tightened around her. “There are other ways to burn calories.” When she sniffed, he continued. “Fighting the tenebrae, for example.”

  She tweaked the fine line of chest hair down his middle. “Or other ways.”

  He brushed his lips over her crown. “If it bothers you, I’m sure I can find another bed here somewhere, unless the men have absconded with them all.”

  “What would they do with beds?”

  “Nothing like what we just did, I assure you.” His tone turned pensive. “Most of them have hideaways elsewhere, sanctuaries where they go to lick their wounds, be alone. Archer has a conservatory, I recently discovered.”

  Curiosity spurred her tongue before she could bite it. “Do you have a secret place?”

  He hesitated, and disappointment tugged at her chest. “I shouldn’t have asked,” she said. “Then it wouldn’t be secret, would it?”

  But when his arm clenched this time, it felt more like a man grasping for a last chance. “No, I don’t have a place, not besides this. Or wherever the league is. It didn’t seem right. How can I ask them to keep coming back to this if I’m not here, always?”

  She closed her eyes. The steady thud of his heart under her palm marked out the moments.

  It was so easy to watch the resolute, unwavering leader, standing tall against the darkness, and think power and arrogance drove him. But he was neither the heavy-handed chief for her to rail against nor some fantasy comic book hero. He was a man. A man who tempted her in ways no demon had ever imagined. Hearing the need in his voice, she felt as if she’d turned another corner through the complicated paths of him, getting closer.

  But for every step that way, she knew she was getting farther from herself. She’d wanted to show him that they could have something together, that they made something together—two halves of a whole, standing together. How could she hold him when that meant dividing him from what he was? Her uncles had dominated with cruelty, while her mother manipulated with weakness. She refused to lead Liam by the strings of their attachment.

  When he sighed with a depth that made her realize he’d fallen asleep, she rose, dressed in her possibly birnenston-stained, teshuva-addling clothes—if only she could believe that was explanation enough—and crept out of his room.

  The sound of a slamming car door drew her to the loading bay, where Ecco was unloading bags of groceries with Dory.

  He leaned against the back of the truck as she approached. “Hey, look, it’s the cook.”

  Jilly crossed her arms. “Think that’s going to keep me out of trouble?”

  “Going to keep us from starving,” Ecco said. “Since it’s your fault that Corvus”—he rolled his eyes at the oblivious Dory—“and his minions are all riled up.”

  “My fault?” Jilly stared at him.

  Ecco waved his hand. “You females.”

  Dory hefted a couple bags. “Females? God, these guys are worse than Mom’s. You really know how to pick ’em, Jill, don’t you?”

  Jilly felt as if the glass vial cradled in her pocket had exploded against her stomach.

  Her “uncles” had been domineering, egotistical, and violent. Liam was more of a threat than they had ever been, because for all their conceits, they’d been weak men.

  And because she’d always been immune to those others.

  Dory dumped the groceries in Jilly’s arms, and she had to scramble to keep the heavy load from crushing the solvo in her pocket. They trooped into the kitchen to unload the goods.

  “Where is Liam?” Ecco tossed a bakery box across the counter. “I need to stay out of his way till after he sees the r
eceipt. Vegan doughnuts don’t come cheap.”

  “He’s, uh, sleeping. I think.” Jilly winced internally as she felt the heat creeping into her cheeks. “I have to . . .” She edged away from the counter. “Be right back.”

  Ecco straightened and gave her a hard look, though nothing as sharp as the gaze Dory pinned on her. “I’ll get something started for dinner,” Dory said. “But I’ll need your help.”

  “Right, right.” Jilly escaped, cursing herself. Now who looked like the addict?

  She avoided the bedroom hall and made her way to the basement, where Sera had her little temporary lab. It reminded Jilly uncomfortably of the sewer. What if Liam was right? What if, like his last Bookkeeper, she and Sera were guiding the league down a terrible path? She was carrying a soul-stealing monstrosity in her pocket, after all.

  And she found herself very willing to seduce the leader of the league away from his duties.

  She realized she’d been standing blindly in the doorway when Sera nudged past her. “Jilly. Just who I wanted to see. Well, actually, I was looking for Liam, but he’s not around, so you can give him the message.”

  Jilly’s face heated again. The ridiculousness of it made her bristle. “Why does everyone think I’m in charge of big, bad Liam Niall?”

  “Because you’re sleeping with him.” Sera scooted a chair up to the computer terminal where multiple external hard drives were stacked in precarious towers. “The archives finally coughed up a reference to salambes.”

  Curious despite her annoyance, Jilly dragged a chair beside Sera. “Took long enough.” Then she winced. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be bitchy. Not your fault.”

  “Yeah, it’s Liam’s fault if he’s not balancing you better than that.” When Jilly sputtered, Sera shot her a quick grin. “Ferris and I think that might have been one of the reasons for the talyan-pair bond. Talya and teshuva are supposed to come to an accord during the first ascension, and the immediacy of sex is a perfect way to keep the human body in tune with this realm. Regular tune-ups only make sense.”