The Shadow: The Original's Trilogy

by Cara Crescent

  She placed a soft, chaste kiss on the scruff on his chin before offering her wrist again. “Hurry.”

  He rearranged their positions to better be able to restrain her, tucking both her legs under one of his. He took her wrist in one hand, her forearm tight to his chest, his triceps resting across her chest and brought it to his mouth. “I’m sorry about this, yeah?” He tightened his hold and bit down into her tender flesh.

  Sweet, metallic blood filled his mouth. Like a drug, it overwhelmed his sense of reason, clouding his mind. She screamed, writhing and straining to get away, but the scene had a disconnected quality, like he saw and heard everything through the haze of intoxication.

  A vision filled his mind.

  A little girl, dark-haired with big brown eyes. She stood outside a house, looking into a window. Next to her a tall redhead, Rowena, pulled her hooded cape tighter around her. Her green eyes almost glowed. “Stop ignoring me, Trina.”

  She listened, but the girls inside interested her more. None of their mouths moved—they all sat quietly, somberly, playing with dolls under the supervision of an older woman—still, she heard them. She always messes everything up. Why can’t we have one normal day? Too bad she didn’t die in the crash with her mom.

  Rowena knelt down next to her. “I’m your high priestess. Even your mommy had to obey me. If you want to come back inside, you need to put this on.”

  Trina tried to fight, but his muscles locked, holding her in place. Blood gushed into his mouth in waves with the rhythm of her heart. Her nails dug into his neck.

  Rowena’s mind was silent. “I can’t hear your thoughts anymore.” She stared at Rowena. “Why can’t I hear your thoughts?”

  “Never mind that.” She held out the choker. “Put this on. Be a good little witch.”

  Her gaze shifted to the window, to the girls inside. Don’t know why she has to live here anyway. She’s weird. She’s always getting all the attention.

  “I’m never going to be like the others, am I?”

  “No. You’re a dark creature. You can’t come inside unless you wear this.”

  She lifted her hair, giving her back to Rowena. The choker tightened around her neck.

  The voices went silent.

  Nature went silent.

  Everything did, as if she were seeing the world through a clear plastic box. She couldn’t feel Rowena’s aura. Couldn’t feel the energy of the Earth. Nor her Magic.

  She screamed. She screamed and she ran in circles and she dropped to the damp grass, clawing at her neck.

  Rowena stood over her. “It’s for your own good. For the good of us all.”

  Duncan needed to let go. This vision, the violent thoughts playing through his mind, they needed to stop, but his instincts urged him for a little more, another taste.

  Deep scratches marred her skin around the choker. “I can’t hear anything! I can’t feel anything!”

  “Yes, you can. Your Magic is gone, not your senses. Though no one would know it to look at you.” She pulled Trina up by the elbow and swatted her backside. “Stop your nonsense.”

  “I can’t feel anything.”

  Her struggles grew weaker, her voice hoarse and whisper-soft as she neared the end. “Wish you dead.”

  Pain, beginning as a dull ache flared through his head. His chest grew tight. With every draw from her wrist the crushing agony intensified. His stomach roiled and a violent tremor shook his frame. He was killing his mate.

  He had to let go.

  At last, his body deigned to listen. He pulled her arm away. He covered her wound with his hand to block the smell; trying to keep her from bleeding out before the transformation.

  “Sod it.” He’d known it might be difficult to pull away, but nothing like that.

  He pulled her limp body closer.

  “Come on, Trina, yell at me.” He rocked her, burying his face in her silky mane. “Slag me off with your quick wit.”

  She remained quiet, but inside his mind, the vision continued.

  Inside the house, the girls stared. Frowning. Narrow-eyed. All of them, except one. One little girl with pale skin and long brown hair had tears running down her face. “I can’t hear you.”

  Trina sniffed. “I know. I can’t hear anyone. I can’t feel anything.”

  Rowena shook her. “You can. You answered her.” She pointed at the other little girl. “No more trouble from you, either, Lilith, or you’ll be wearing a collar, too.”

  Trina whirled on her high-priestess. “Wish you dead.”

  Rowena let Trina go. Took a step back. A little trail of blood leaked from her nose. She wiped at it. Her eyes grew wide. “You shouldn’t be able to do that.”

  One of the stones in the collar cracked. Trina didn’t break eye contact.

  “You’ll all end up in foster care.” Rowena lifted her hand to point at them. “You’ll be separated if you hurt me. You’ll never see Lilith again.”

  “Trina!” Lilith ran to her side, putting her arm around her shoulders.

  Trina dropped her gaze and wet her lips. “Sorry.”

  The two little girls walked away. Trina glanced back long enough to see the result. Long enough to catch Rowena and the other girls’ fear.

  The vision disappeared.

  Jesus. Just now, she’d said the same thing. Wish you dead. The pain in his head . . . had she not been so far gone, what would’ve happened to him? Or had her spell failed because he was her mate?

  He couldn’t decide what horrified him more, Rowena’s treatment of the girls, the fact that such a young Trina had almost killed Rowena in cold-blood, the fact that she’d just tried to kill him, or the fact that she lay limp in his arms. He stood, cradling her to his chest while he paced. It couldn’t be healthy, her having had that as her last human memory. Then again, he couldn’t remember what his last thoughts had been of. Nor did he recall the process being this peaceful, this quiet.

  “You know, Duchess, I was getting used to the idea of giving you hell for all eternity. I mean, I could live without that whole mind-meld thing you just dropped on me, but you know, I’d rather you didn’t die.” Her heart wound down like a clockwork toy. Stopped. Shite. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this.”

  What had he done?

  He closed his eyes, slamming his head into the wall behind him once, twice. Harder. “Just like you to throw a spanner in the works, Sinclair.” He brushed away the hair falling across her shoulder, combing the strands with his fingers and lifted Trina’s arm for a closer look at the bite mark. Using the edge of his shirt he wiped the remaining blood away, revealing an uneven oval scar. She’d healed.

  She wasn’t dead.

  Relief washed through him as her heart started beating again. Her chest rose. She opened her eyes.

  “Trina.” He hugged her, laughing. “I thought I’d botched the whole thing.”

  She didn’t say anything but turned toward his neck. Her mouth pressed to his skin. Her lips brushed his throat as they parted.

  “Oh, no.” He pulled her away. “No biting other vampires, love. It’ll make short work of us both.”

  She remained focused on the prize: his neck.

  “Are you listening? You bite me, we’re both ash.”

  Her muscles tensed. She attacked. He struggled, trying not to hurt her. She lunged, much stronger now, and his muscles shook with the effort to hold her back without hurting her.

  “How about we get you a snack.” He rearranged his grip and picked her up, avoiding her mouth. This was a common mistake neophytes made. They hadn’t mastered different scents yet. Vampires didn’t have blood and biting him would destroy them both.

  He carried her upstairs, trying in vain to keep her legs away from the banister. She kicked, trying to throw them off balance and making him stumble.

  Once in James’ room, he changed his hold again, using his weight to pin her against the wall while he punched in the universal code for James’ cooler safe. He pulled out a unit of blood,
popped the cap off with his teeth and held the bag to her mouth.

  Her attention shifted as soon as she caught the scent and she took long gulps of blood.

  Her phone started ringing. Christ, what a night. He fished it out of her back pocket. “It’s Lilith.”

  She stared back at him while she sucked down her dinner, uncomprehending.

  He got another bag of blood ready while he answered the phone. “Hello.”

  A masculine voice said, “You’re not Trina.”

  “And you’re not Lilith.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Feeding.” He handed Trina the next bag, taking her empty. “Lilith?”

  James sighed. “The same. It happened out of the blue. One minute I thought she was dying . . . the next, the blackness receded and she attacked me.”

  “So they are linked.” The wildness receded from Trina’s eyes. “The Historian suspected as much. She had a theory if Trina was transformed that Lilith would heal since they each have half of the Original’s soul.” Trina would have a fit that he’d revealed that little tidbit, but they should bloody-well know what she sacrificed and why.

  “Have her call us in the morning.”

  “Will do.” He hung up and handed her a fourth unit of blood. It was like feeding a baby elephant.

  Halfway through, wariness crept into her eyes. He did remember that. Waking up mid-suck with the understanding that he was guzzling a substance he would’ve found disgusting twenty minutes ago. “Don’t think too hard. You need it. What you’re going through is normal. You know . . . for vampire daemons.”

  Her eyes widened. “Lil.”

  “I talked to James. She’s fine. She’s feeding, too.” He should’ve asked if Lilith still had a heartbeat. Trina did. She wasn’t truly a vampire. Nor was she still human the way she’d guzzled down that blood.

  When he offered her a fifth bag, she held up her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that kind of thirst.” She grimaced. “How often will that happen?”

  “Couple times a month at first. Eventually, you can go longer between feedings.”

  She nodded and pulled away from the wall. Ran her hands down her shirt as if to straighten it and stilled, her head cocking to the side. Her eyes closing.

  He should tell her what happened—about the vision. He just wasn’t sure how.

  She rubbed her wrist, traced the fresh oval scar with a finger. Her eyes met his, the lust-filled look she gave him stripping the air from his lungs.

  Oh, yeah. He remembered that, too. The way his body had become ultra-sensitive right after the change. Mentally, he shook himself. He needed to tell her about the vision. “Look, when I bit you—”

  She shivered and her usual guarded mask returned. “You don’t need to explain. I knew the risks.”

  Hell, she’d been through enough tonight. Maybe he’d leave that little revelation for some other day. “You need anything else?”

  *****

  Anything?

  Everything was different. Not in a bad way, but in a heightened sense. She felt more aware. More alive. Duncan’s scent filled every inhale, earthy, fresh and very male. Her senses all locked in on high gear, focused on him. With each breath, her nipples scraped against her bra, her shirt against her skin. Her whole body was . . . needful. “You know last night, when we first woke up?”

  His brows drew together. “What of it?”

  She shifted her weight and, oh, goddess, why had she worn lace panties? “Did you mean it? What you said?”

  “Ah.” His brow smoothed and the corner of his mouth curved. “Every word.”

  She shouldn’t do this, it wasn’t safe for him. But every nerve in her body was sensitive right now. Goddess help her, she could even feel the touch of his aura on hers.

  Then again, he was her mate, maybe he was immune to her Magic. Maybe she couldn’t hurt him. Either way, right now, she needed him. “Show me.”

  The words had hardly gotten out before he had her in his arms. His mouth slanted over hers and he lifted her off her feet while he walked down the hall.

  He swung her around, closed the bedroom door, and pressed her against it in one swift move. His large hands framed her face, angling her for a deeper kiss as his body pressed against hers.

  His leg nudged between hers, teasing, stirring a sweet emptiness. This wasn’t a directionless desire. She wanted Duncan. Needed him.

  Only him.

  Little thrills shocked through her as his hands stroked down her back to her bottom where he palmed her cheeks, pulling her higher onto his thigh.

  She gasped.

  Urgent, her fingers stumbled along the buttons on his shirt, eager to feel his skin. She managed to slide a couple from their moors before he grabbed his collar, tugging the material over his head. The second or two he took stretched for an eternity until his mouth settled again on hers.

  Trina pulled at the leather straps of the knife sheath, dragging them over shoulders, down his muscular arms before letting the whole thing fall to the floor, barely registering its heavy clunk on the hardwoods.

  He gathered her hair, twisting the locks around in his fist, forcing her head back. She shuddered as he licked and nipped her lips before deepening the kiss; his tongue skimming along her teeth before mating once again with hers.

  Lifting her higher in his arms, he swung around, took two steps and landed on top of her, on the bed.

  His weight pressed her down, jarring her to another time, another place. Trapped, she froze as icy spasms of fear cooled her ardor. Heavy weight pressed down on her, crushing her. She couldn’t breathe . . .

  Be good, my dark angel.

  Her eyes snapped open and her mother stared down. Blood leaked from her eyes. From her nose.

  No! She sucked in air. Reached up, looking for the anchor of the headboard. Needed to pull herself out from under the stifling weight. Her hand grasped nothing but air at the foot of the bed. She tried pushing herself out from under him but her legs tangled with his and the pillows.

  “Duchess?” The voice sounded far away.

  Magic curled around her, the words on the tip of her tongue, wish you dead.

  “Wish you . . . No!” She wouldn’t. She shoved against his weight, using Magic. Tendrils of energy launched him back, throwing him against the headboard. He grunted.

  Once free, she flung herself from the bed. Sanity returned with brutal force. Mid-flight, she stopped as the enormity of what she’d done sank in. She’d almost killed him.

  “Duchess?”

  Damn, she screwed this up. A few seconds of uncontrolled panic and he must be furious. She couldn’t blame him, she’d be angry to have someone throw themselves at her one moment and freak out the next.

  She headed for the door.

  “Bloody ’ell,” his voice came out in a ragged breath. “I didn’t know. I thought you wanted me, too.”

  Goddess help her, she did want him. Ached for him. With one glance over her shoulder she lost her inner battle. Shit. She couldn’t allow him to think he’d done anything wrong.

  It wasn’t him. Or a hang-up about sex. It was the weight. It was being trapped. And it had screwed up every relationship she’d ever tried to have. She couldn’t take back what she’d done, but she should explain. He deserved that much.

  Chapter 21

  “Talk to me, love.”

  Trina leaned back against the door, her expression inscrutable. She appeared calmer now, but she hadn’t released him. Her binding spell didn’t hurt, but she’d pinned him—his bum planted on the mattress, his back pressed to the cool wood, his arms spread wide and locked in place against the headboard.

  What the hell happened? He’d never taken an unwilling woman and never would. When the denial had erupted from her he’d backed off. He’d been stunned, though, by the terror on her face.

  “Talk to me. Yeah? I can’t get away until you let me and I’m quite comfortable, you know, if you’re worried.”

  The left cor
ner of her lips twitched up a fraction. “That . . . .” She made a little waving motion with her hand. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  The knots twisting his gut eased. Thank God for small favors. Now he needed to figure out what the hell had happened. “Come on, chat with me.” He nodded toward the edge of the bed.

  She sat on the mattress, crossing her legs. With her back ramrod straight and features schooled, she looked like she might shatter into a million pieces any second. “I’m sorry.” Color rose high on her cheeks. Her gaze strayed to the door.

  “You want to tell me what happened?”

  “I—” Her voice cracked on the one syllable. Her lips twisted and pressed together.

  His gaze followed hers to where she picked at a loose thread on the duvet.

  She needed a few minutes of the mundane to collect herself. “I’ve always liked purple.”

  Her gaze shot to his.

  He nodded to the duvet. “It’s a good color, rich, kind of exotic. Back in the day, yeah, only royalty had purple fabric. The dye was too expensive even for the gentry. Even that, uh, Beau Brummell chap, never had any purple to sport.”

  “Bo?”

  “Fancy fop from back in the day. Never mind him, ain’t important.”

  She continued to stare as if he were daft. Good, her mind had focused on something else. He prattled on, “I had this fight once, part of the prize was the tiniest bit of purple dye. We were all mad for it.”

  “What did you use it for?” Her voice sounded steadier.

  He grinned. She’d assumed he won. “Everyone had their opinion, but most agreed I should sell the stuff. Well, I didn’t even have enough for a whole shirt, yeah.” He shrugged. “So, I used the dye on me boy’s nappie.”

  Trina burst out in laughter.

  “Ah, I wish you’d been there. No one else found it amusing, let me tell you.”

  “You made that up.” She turned toward him, sitting Indian-style. Her knee brushed his thigh.

  “If only.” He grimaced. “Would have saved my nose.”