The Shadow: The Original's Trilogy

by Cara Crescent

  “You goddamned, disease-riddled, spawn of a fu—”

  “None of that, now, Duchess.” The muscle in his jaw flexed. One eyelid twitched.

  Shit. What had she started? “Let me go.”

  “What happened?” His gaze narrowed. “I told you I’m here to help. Why’d you run?”

  Because he scared the hell out of her. Because it was easier to believe he was with the Council or the Watchers or Crowley than that he was hers. “Why’d you chase me?”

  “Like I’d let a prize like you get away.” He winked. “You gonna answer my question?”

  The darkness wasn’t creeping over his skin like it had with Lilith. He had her pinned to the door, his whole body pressed against hers and nothing bad was happening. She wasn’t infecting him.

  She opened her senses to him the tiniest bit, not enough to get into his head, she never used her telepathy anymore, but just enough to look at the colors of his aura. There was none of the bright reds and oranges, or harsh fluctuations of someone in a rage. His colors were blues, greens, yellows, and pinks—despite his stern expression he was amused. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. If she took those colors at face value, this man probably didn’t have a mean bone in his body. And her touch didn’t do anything bad to him.

  “I don’t like being alone with you.”

  “I’m your new bodyguard.” He tipped his head to the side. “Guess you’re gonna have to get used to me.”

  She forced herself to relax. “I overreacted. Got scared. That’s all.” She squirmed. “Let me down.”

  A slow grin curved his lips. “Think I like you where you are, love. Feel like I know you better already.”

  Now that he’d drawn her attention to their intimate position, her body started to respond to all those thick muscles pressed up against her. She wet her lips. “Don’t call me that.”

  “What?” He stared her mouth. “Love?”

  He wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t. Yet her nipples tightened, and her belly tingled. “It’s too personal.”

  He leaned in, his warm breath fanned her lips. “Oh, but we’re going to get personal, you and me.”

  “No.” The denial came out in a breathless whisper. “We’re not.”

  “Very, very personal. Love.”

  “I told y—” Her words got lost against his lips. He wasn’t punishing or brutish or unskilled, which is what she’d expected. He seduced, nipping, nudging. Gentling her to a calmer place before slanting his mouth over hers and letting her taste his hunger.

  Goddess help her, it had been far too long.

  She forgot about how big he was, how mean he looked, how she didn’t want anything to do with men, much less her mate. All that hard male snug up against her had languid heat spreading through her veins. She moaned. Wanted more. She nipped his lip. Cuddled closer.

  When he pulled away, his hazel eyes had turned a shade darker than before. “That’s better, now, in’nit?” He squeezed her ass.

  Goddess help her, she’d wrapped her legs around his waist. “Let me down.”

  He raised his arms, grinning. “You’re holding on to me, not the other way ’round.”

  Her cheeks heated. She tightened her grip around his neck long enough to lower her feet to the floor. “Stay away from me, Duncan.”

  “Ain’t a chance in hell you’re chasing me off now.”

  Chapter 7

  Carnation, WA

  Duncan stepped away from the infuriating woman the Watchers expected him to protect. She didn’t appear inclined to make his job easy, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying her. “Now that we’ve been intimate and all, think you’d be willing to tell me your name?”

  Her mouth opened and closed as though choosing and discarding several potential responses. Finally, she sighed. “Trina.”

  “Trina.” He nodded. “Mm, like that.” Damn. Her name was a little too reminiscent of his past. Was Leo fucking with him? Had he set this whole thing up? But to what end?

  “Good for you.” She pushed past him to get farther into the house.

  “Now, Duchess, here I am trying to be amenable.” He shook his head. “You’re not even making an effort.”

  She spun around. Pointed. “I gave you my name. Use it.”

  “Is Trina short from something else?”

  “Satrina. Satrina Isabella Cortez Lopez.” She huffed. “Happy?”

  Happy? Not Hardly. Gobsmacked? Utterly. She had that same gorgeous, dusky skin tone. But where his Satrina had lived life with an ambivalent indifference to whatever happened to transpire around her, this Satrina seemed wary of damned near everything—at least where he was concerned. He swallowed. “Think I’ll use Duchess. Fits better.”

  Her chin went up another notch.

  “How ’bout this; I’ll quit being antagonistic if you make me job easier and leave before those two blokes outside think to scrutinize the house.”

  “You’re assuming I believe there’s anyone out there.”

  He stepped closer. “Two lads armed with assault rifles. They got RI embroidered on their uniforms—”

  Her skin paled.

  Now they were getting somewhere. “Who are they, then?”

  She glanced around as her heart thundered, looking like she was about to panic. She inhaled a deep breath and swiped her hand down the front of the hooded skeleton on her t-shirt. “You have to get away from me. It’s not safe and you’re going to get in my way. I don’t need your protection. I don’t need anyone.”

  Funny. She sounded like Harry, all earnest toughness and false bravado. Hell, he didn’t know her well, she might be sincere . . . but his instincts said she lied. From what he’d seen thus far, she needed someone more than anyone he’d ever met outside of Harry. Why the hell was she traipsing about unprotected?

  “Why’d your friends abandon you?” Why does the Council want you?

  Some emotion crossed her face, tightening the muscles around her eyes and mouth. She looked away. “It’s not safe for them to be around me and they’re smart enough to realize that.”

  They were smart. He wasn’t. Nice. “So far I haven’t suffered any ill effects.” He tipped his head to the side. “Aside from an intimate look at the bottom of your shoe, that is. Far as I can see, you do need help. I’ve had the drop on you twice now.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “When I came in here, I could’ve gotten you before you realized you weren’t alone.” He bobbed his head toward the door. “And now, when I had you pinned to the wall.”

  When she came closer, he couldn’t mistake the pleading in her eyes for anything but outright concern. “Please go away.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. She was worried about him? Not since he’d been a lad could he remember being the recipient of such a thing. He wasn’t sure how to react. Especially since if he were to do what she asked, he’d be worse off, which contradicted her sentiment. “If I leave, not only am I ash, but the lad I protect will be, too. I’ll take me chances with you, Duchess. Ain’t got no other choice. Now, mind telling me why we’re here?”

  She turned with a growl, flinging her arms up.

  He flinched. Caught himself and straightened. Christ, what was wrong with him? She was a bit of a thing and if she was a reincarnated soul from his past, she was Satrina, not Gertie.

  At least Trina hadn’t noticed. She’d covered her eyes with her hand. “This is nuts.” She dropped her arm to her side, paced away a few steps, stopping at an overstuffed bookshelf. “So what are your orders?” She took out her phone and used the flashlight to illuminate the bindings of the books. Great, they were risking getting caught here because she needed new reading material.

  He walked closer to her. “From the Watchers?”

  “Yeah.” She picked up the thick book she’d had earlier off the floor and shoved it at him. “Make yourself useful.”

  Least she’d stopped arguing. “They’ve made it clear none of you are to be harmed. That’s it
so far . . . just that I’m to protect you. So, again, it’d be helpful to know where the other two are.”

  “You don’t need to worry about them.” She added another book to the one he held. “They’re in the safest place on Earth.”

  They were safe. So, why wasn’t she? “Why aren’t you with them?”

  “Because I’m the fuck-up.”

  The words shot out of her with such vehemence, he almost took a step back.

  “Shit. This is the one I need.” She yanked another book out from beneath a bunch of others. The whole shelf teetered. He caught the shelves before it lurched forward, but was too late to prevent the books from tumbling off the shelves. She jumped back, avoiding getting buried in the heavy tomes, but there was nothing to be done about the racket.

  They both froze, their gazes locked on the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

  For a few seconds, her racing heart was the only sound . . . then there were two more. “Hide.” He started to take his hand from the bookshelf, but the bloody thing teetered again.

  Trina dove behind the couch as a beam of light swung through the sliding glass door. There was no way in hell they hadn’t seen her—the back of the couch faced the sliding glass door.

  Shite.

  The light settled on him, dazzling his eyes.

  Duncan smiled. Waved. Fuck me.

  They tried the door. It slid open.

  Jesus, who the hell had lived here that they hadn’t locked any of their bloody doors?

  “What’re you doing here?” The blond guy spoke, his voice shaking. He was scared. They both were, considering how fast their hearts raced.

  Duncan hefted the books in one hand. “Nothing nefarious, lads. Just looking to elevate me education.”

  The two crept closer. One kept his light trained on him, the other swung his in a wide arc, searching the room. They came closer, walking right past where Trina lay behind the couch, stopping in front of him. How the hell had they not seen her? Did they not think her a threat because she was a woman?

  This would be easier if Guardians were allowed to kill humans, but that was a rule he didn’t dare break. He just needed to take them down long enough to get Trina out of here.

  Blondie spoke into a mike on his shoulder. “HQ? I got one. Silver eyes, like you said.”

  What the hell? Did everyone in Washington know about vampires?

  Blondie must’ve been wearing an earpiece—he was quiet for a moment. Nodded to his buddy. “We’re holding him.”

  The other guy pulled cuffs from the back of his belt. “Put the books down.”

  “Gladly.” Duncan threw them at Blondie. Pulled the bookshelf down on the Noob at the same time.

  They shouted. Cursed.

  Duncan dove for their guns. He got hold of one, throwing it in Trina’s direction. He grabbed the barrel of the other. The bastard fired. The shot went wide, but fire lanced over his palm as the barrel heated. He released Blondie’s weapon.

  The Noob struggled to his feet and Duncan cold-cocked him. The lad dropped like a ragdoll.

  “Don’t move.” Blondie stood, his weapon pointed at Duncan’s face.

  Slowly, he straightened. Damn, he was already ugly enough, didn’t need a bullet adding injury to insult.

  Trina popped up from behind the couch with the other assault rifle. She leveled it at Blondie’s back.

  Duncan dove to the side as she pulled the trigger. The room lit up. Fire streaked through his midsection. He hit the ground. Throbbing pain radiated out from his stomach and back.

  For fuck’s sake, that hurt.

  He gripped his side. Blondie was dead—the bullet must’ve tore right through him considering all the blood. He lifted his hand long enough to stare at the blackened hole in his abdomen. Had he been human, he’d be taking his last breath right now, bleeding all over the carpet. But as Trina had put it, all this did was piss him off.

  “Fuck, Duchess. Thought you weren’t going to shoot me.”

  *****

  She always screws everything up.

  Not this time. She could fix this. She would fix this. Blood stained Duncan’s shirt, his coat, and droplets splattered on his face. Trina’s stomach knotted and heaved. “Oh, Gaia. Oh, goddess. No, no, no.”

  She stumbled out from behind the couch, tripped over the dead man’s feet and almost toppled onto Duncan. She caught herself and knelt at his side. When she reached for him, he jerked away.

  She ruins everything she touches.

  Her stomach bottomed out. That was the second time he’d done that. He had to be six-six or six-seven and built like a brick shithouse. The way he’d taken on those two mercs from RI—no fear, no hesitation. She hated that she’d made him afraid of her. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Like he’s going to believe that after you shot him. “Anymore.”

  One dark brow crept high on his forehead.

  She wiped some of the blood from his face with the side of her hand, cleaning her palm off on the carpet. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” She couldn’t do anything right lately. “I didn’t think the bullet would go through.”

  He motioned to the dead guy. “That skinny little shite? Your Glock might’ve given you a clean shot but those assault rifles are meant to go through cement block like butter.”

  “I know.” She covered her eyes.

  “You knew?”

  Ah, goddess. She was making herself sound even worse. “Well, in the Navy . . . I mean, theoretically I knew, but I forgot. I never saw any action. I’ve been out awhile. I should’ve used my Glock, but the rifle was right there, and I only planned to scare him at first but when I saw his gun in your face . . . .” She yanked up his shirt, tucking it up under his arms out of her way. “It’s not too bad.” There was little blood under his shirt, just enough to hint that he’d fed recently, all the gore covering him belonged to the other guy. A tiny round black hole marked the wound. “Turn over.” He rolled to his side. When the bullet exited, it had left a ragged, gaping hole the size of a grapefruit. “Damn.” He had a thin layer of flesh and muscle and below that, where a human would have blood, organs, and bone, only blackness.

  “Feels as big as my fist.”

  “Yeah.” It was one thing to acknowledge that he was a vampire. Another altogether to be faced with the reality of his curse. He was empty inside, filled with nothing but the dark Magic keeping him undead. All of the external functions that made him look human on the outside—the rise and fall of his chest, sweat, tears, spit, they were all nothing more than permanent glamours.

  They needed to cover that wound. “Rowena must have had a first aid kit. Hold on.”

  She ran into the kitchen. He couldn’t bleed to death, but the Darkness that filled him would leak out, diminishing his energy and life force. That wound, if not cared for, would destroy him. She rummaged through the kitchen, pulling open drawers. Nothing.

  Goddess, please help me. Don’t let him die. Upstairs in the main bathroom, she found a first aid kit under the sink. She pulled out a package of bandages and returned to Duncan. “Lift your shirt.”

  Grumbling under his breath, he sat up, tugging his shirt to his chin.

  “Does it hurt?” She knelt beside him, packed a wad of sterilized padding over the larger wound in his back, taped it into place, and wrapped a bandage around his middle.

  “Of course it hurts.” He grunted as she pulled the bandage tighter. “Might look different than you on the inside, might not die as easily, but everything feels the same as when I was human. When I’m impatient, I get a rush of adrenaline, though there isn’t any in me. And when I’m embarrassed, I blush, though there’s not really any blood to rush to me head. And when I’m nervous, me stomach knots just the same as yours, even though there’s nothin’ there. I ‘spose it’s all in me mind . . . maybe euphoric recall or phantom pains of what I think I should feel, but it’s real enough to me.”

  How strange must that be? She had to stretch to fit her arms around him and every time she h
ad to reach to pass the bandage roll to her other hand, her cheek brushed the rise of his muscular peck, his hardened nipple. She’d known he was a large man, expected him to be muscular, but damn . . . . “You’re going to need to rest.”

  “Can’t do that here. That blond bloke reported us.”

  “Yeah.” She reached around him again, inhaling his outdoorsy scent. Even if the mercs hadn’t reported them, Rowena’s house wouldn’t be a safe haven; none of her windows were boarded. Only thin white curtains covered the windows.

  “Just got into town.” His voice was low, husky. “Dawn’s coming. I ain’t got nowhere to stay.”

  She closed her eyes. In other words, she either needed to take him home or finish him off. Once she invited him into the house . . . goddess, she’d never get rid of him. Maybe she didn’t want to. How would she have handled tonight if he hadn’t been there? Probably the same . . . though minus shooting an ally. She had to admit that she appreciated not being alone. She was so damn tired of being alone. Maybe Lilith was right. He didn’t seem to be adversely affected by her—his skin hadn’t charred or turned black. And maybe having him around . . . maybe she could get her confidence back.

  Goddess, was she actually considering this after what had just happened? “I’m starting to think the Watchers don’t like you much.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They sent you to me. I meant what I said before, I’m a fuck up. I’ve known you what? A couple hours and I’ve already accidentally shot you.” She tucked in the end of the bandage. When she sat up, her head collided with his chin.

  “Bloody hell, love.” He touched his jaw. “You sure you haven’t decided to dust me?”

  “Sorry.” She rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head. She needed to calm down. She’d always been clumsiest when nervous or upset.

  He slouched back against the wall and jerked his thumb toward the unconscious man next to him. “We need to make scarce before our friend wakes up.”

  The books. “Give me a minute.” She picked through the tomes littering the floor until she found the two she needed and then knelt next to Duncan. “Come on, big guy.” She slid her arm around his back under his Mackintosh and helped him to his feet.