The Shadow: The Original's Trilogy

by Cara Crescent

  He snorted. “Shut up, Sunshine. I know you like me. Everything okay over there?”

  She rolled her eyes. Now that Lilith was safe, he’d go back to trying to protect everyone else. “Yeah. Look, I should probably, um, update you on everything I’ve found out. I tried to go after Crowley last night, but it didn’t go so well.” She got as far as telling him about the Nephilim before he interrupted.

  “Ah. Why am I not surprised you had something to do with those creatures.”

  She growled. His teasing was not doing anything good for her new-found intentions to go to Machon. “You know?”

  “Everybody knows. It’s all over the news.”

  “Hold on.” She ran down the stairs and turned on the television. Sure enough, there was an aerial view of a city from a news chopper—people were running in every direction. There was blood. Fallen bodies disappearing right before her eyes as they transformed. “The Nephilim don’t show up on camera.”

  “No, that’s what tipped us off that we were dealing with some kind of daemon. The coven is trying to track them as we speak, but they’re jumping all over the place. By the time they follow them to one city, they’re gone. My team just arrived. We’re going to try to contain the problem with the coven’s help. See if we can’t hold them down somewhere until sunrise.”

  Fat chance. “You’ll need a different plan. The reason they’re gone by the time you get there is because Crowley’s transporting them.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Augustina suggested we go to Machon and ask the Watchers how to beat Crowley and I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Ah, so you know what he is?”

  “Crowley?”

  “Yeah, it took me awhile, too, and I used to be a priest. I’ll give you a minute.”

  Why would having been a priest help him figure it out? They were back to riddles again. Back to them not being able to give her information. Why? It had to be because of the being inside Crowley or the Nephilim. The Nephilim.

  “Goddess, help us.” It was a Watcher. Nephilim were mentioned in the bible. So were the Watchers. The goddess had caused the Great Deluge—wiping out almost everything in the effort to rid the world of Nephilim. “That’s why you didn’t tell me outright, you didn’t want the other Watchers to overhear. Are you wanting to keep the Watcher in Crowley from knowing you know?”

  “He already knows.”

  “You’re afraid the others will side with the Watcher possessing Crowley?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind. Let us know what you find out. I guess the best we can do is keep the human carnage to a minimum. Be careful, you hear?”

  “I will. Hopefully, we’ll have some news soon. I’ll call later.” She hung up. Somehow, they were going to have to get the Watcher out of Crowley and . . . and what? Kill it? Banish it?

  She headed back upstairs, running Duncan’s advice through her head again. If you don’t succeed, no one was meant to. And if you do, it’s because it was meant to be. It kept her from panicking too much at the idea of eventually fighting a Watcher. One disaster at a time. First she needed to talk to Duncan.

  The bed creaked and she paused, staring at her bedroom door. Goddess give me strength. She entered her room to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, the comforter draped over his lap. Sleepy and bed-rumpled, he winked. “You get to chat with Lilith?”

  “Sort of.” She rubbed her arm. “Duncan, I . . . .”

  “We in a hurry?”

  She shook her head.

  He patted the mattress beside him.

  Now that she stood here, facing him, her confidence wavered. She’d much rather crawl back into bed than have this discussion. Maybe just once more. She bit her lip, swaying closer.

  The memory of her nightmare returned. Blood seeping from his eyes and nose as he convulsed. The blackness creeping over his skin. “No.” She shook her head to clear it and said it again with more conviction. “No. You and I need to talk.”

  His lips pursed and he made that sound she hated—like he was sucking air. He grabbed his pants. “Go on, then.”

  “Last night was—”

  “Incredible.”

  “Yeah. It was.” She cleared her throat. He wasn’t making this easy. “We’ve both have a lot going on and—”

  “I’m protecting you.” He shrugged. “Not much else going on.”

  “Right.” She tucked the towel tighter around her. Why hadn’t she waited until she’d gotten dressed? “We can’t sleep with each other again.”

  “Why?”

  Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

  “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna keep after you. I’ve had someone who didn’t want me and I want no part of that again.” He stood and pulled his pants on, chatting away as if none of this affected him. “And I’ve had someone who put up with me. Can live without that in me life, I can tell you. But I’m curious.”

  Now that she knew him, she couldn’t imagine ever treating him like that. Who the hell were these women? “You deserve better.” She motioned to him. “You’re a good—”

  He held up his hand. “Now don’t go lying. I know what I am and what I ain’t. I’m not handsome, so don’t go there.”

  “I was going to say good. You’re a good man.” She wet her lips. That sounded lame.

  He squinted and wrinkled his nose. “That the best you can do?”

  “You have a great body.”

  “Oh?” He waggled his brows. “Hear I’m good in bed, too.”

  She smiled, ruefully. “Yeah, you are.”

  “Now, don’t go changing your mind on me, love. You had your chance.” He held his arms wide. “So why are you willing to give up all of this?”

  He wasn’t going to let her off the hook. She swallowed. She couldn’t tell him about her past, nor the nightmare she’d had. She’d never told anyone, not even Lilith.

  “Ah.” He bobbed his head. “Think I’m not strong enough? You worried you’re going to hurt me?”

  How the hell did he do that? He read her so easily. Most people stared right through her, but he saw her. Understood her. “Of course not.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. He was everything she’d ever wanted. And she had to let him go. “We haven’t . . . known each other for long, and—”

  “We’re mated, time doesn’t matter.”

  He knew. He knew they were mated. And still he stood there as if this discussion didn’t matter, while she was sure she must be bleeding internally.

  “What matters is honesty. And I don’t think you’re being honest with either of us.” He sighed and shook his head. “Look, I need a shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.” He snapped up the rest of his clothes and boots and left, closing the door without a sound.

  She’d have rather he slammed it. She sure as hell wanted to slam something. That hadn’t gone well at all. There hadn’t been any yelling. No angry words. No violence. What had she expected? That he would argue? That he would try to change her mind?

  Yet she was devastated. Her stomach knotted and her chest hurt and she wanted to cry but couldn’t. She went to her dresser, opened the drawer and pulled out his handkerchief. She’d kept the damned thing. Couldn’t even bring herself to wash it, because it wouldn’t smell like him anymore. She brought it to her nose and inhaled.

  Now, don’t go changing your mind on me, love. You had your chance.

  No, she couldn’t change her mind. As hard as this had been, as much as she hurt right now . . . what would it be like a week from now, a month from now? She couldn’t risk his safety. She had to stay strong.

  Trina glanced up into the mirror and…It had finally happened. She’d completely disappeared.

  *****

  I’d rather be dead than tied to a nobody like you.

  Duncan closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, rubbing the heel of his hand against his chest. Rule One: Never let true emotions show.

  You’re ugly. Poor. Rough. I hate you.

  He tried to ignore
the voice in his head. Funny how after all these years he couldn’t remember Gertie’s face, but he sure as hell remembered her words.

  Your son is going to grow up to be ugly. Rough. Poor. And I hate him, too.

  He stripped down and climbed into the shower. Yanked the navy-blue curtain closed.

  With a few jerks of his hand he turned the water on, tensing under the icy spray.

  One indiscretion shouldn’t cost a woman everything. I never should have laid with you. Let you put those animal paws on me. It will never happen again.

  “Shut up.” He closed his eyes and tried to push the memories away. Trina was nothing like Gertie. She was scared, not mean-hearted. They were different, damn it.

  We can’t sleep with each other again.

  Okay, maybe there were some similarities. Enough to trigger all the baggage he thought he’d stowed in the deepest part of his consciousness.

  But they were different, too.

  Gertie may have been his wife, but Trina was his mate. And mated daemons were a beautiful sight to see. He needed to give Trina time. A little space. She’d figure things out. She’d accept him. “Don’t force things. Let it happen.”

  He meant what he said, he wouldn’t chase after her. She’d need to figure all this out on her own. She’d need to learn to trust him. To realize she needed him, damn it. Because otherwise . . . .

  He refused to be someone’s placeholder, or someone’s regret. Not ever again.

  Nor could he walk away. Not if he wanted to continue to live in a way that would honor his son’s memory. So where did that leave him?

  The water heated. He pressed his palms to the wall and hung his head so the water trailed like a curtain over his face.

  If she was protecting him, there was hope. She must care for him a bit. Still, it meant that she had some of the same ideas about him that Gertie had had.

  You’re weak. You’re going to ruin us. You can’t even keep food on the table.

  At least he didn’t have to worry about the last one. He had a big, beautiful home in the heart of London. A town home he’d decked out and made as safe as possible.

  So how did he prove to her he could take care of himself? Show her that she wouldn’t hurt him? She wouldn’t. She spent too much time worrying about it.

  It was that Magic of hers.

  The witch. He straightened and opened his eyes. Something about the way Rowena had thought made his skin crawl, but she’d been smart, too. And she hadn’t liked Trina at all. Maybe he’d go check out her place . . . see if he couldn’t find a clue as to what was wrong with Trina’s Magic.

  Chapter 24

  Trina packed a backpack with enough to get her through a few days. She had no idea how long they’d be in Machon, but hoped it wouldn’t be more than a day or two. She dropped her bag next to Duncan’s by the stairs and went to the living room. When they petitioned the Watchers, she’d need an offering, a token of respect. While not the greatest gift, she took the polished stones from Gaia’s offering bowl and stuck them in her pocket. At least she would have something.

  Now she just needed to wait for Duncan. She went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of milk and had it halfway to her lips before she remembered she couldn’t drink it. She’d always liked the scent of milk, but today . . . while fresh, the scent wasn’t appetizing. Still, the glass was cold in her hand, soothing, familiar, so she took it with her to the living room. Sat and rested her arm on the cushion with the glass hanging from her fingers like she’d have done if she were still human.

  Except she couldn’t drink it.

  That wasn’t the only change she’d experienced this evening. Any doubts she had about Duncan being her mate had been put to rest as soon as he’d left. He hadn’t gone far, no farther than the edge of town by the feel of it. But that was the problem, she felt him. As if a thread linked them and pulled taut with each mile he drove.

  Now what? They were truly mated. They would always sense each other’s presence even when apart. Especially when apart.

  She set the glass down. The tenseness started to lessen—he was coming back. What did she do when he got here? Would he want to talk about what happened? That would be bad. If he put up the slightest resistance to her plan, she’d crumble. As difficult as it had been to tell him no the first time . . . she didn’t know if she was strong enough to have that conversation again.

  She stood and started pacing. If she stayed with him, eventually they’d fight. She’d lose her temper and that would put him at risk. But how could she walk away when she felt his presence growing thinner with each mile that separated them?

  A knock on the door drew her out of her thoughts. Her hand went to the small of her back as she double-checked that she had her sidearm. She approached the door, put her ear to the wood and listened. Julius Crowley couldn’t even step onto the property since Lilith had banished him. The Nephilim wouldn’t bother knocking. Nor would Lilith or James.

  It had to be one of the women from the coven.

  She opened the door and stepped back.

  A boy stood on the stoop. Maybe twelve or fourteen, she’d never been good at guessing children’s ages. And this one—she had no idea if he was small for his age, or if he looked older than he was. He still had that awkward appearance of adolescence, with a mop of sand-colored blond hair, too-big teeth and bright blue eyes, his body still thin and wiry, though his shoulders were wider than his waist . . . so maybe small for his age.

  He used his foot to push the door farther open. He didn’t make any move to enter, nor did he call out. He looked around from where he stood, keeping one hand behind him, the other on the strap of his backpack. His gaze stopped at the base of the stairs where she and Duncan had left their bags.

  A thief? Shit. Part of her wanted to reach over and close the door—he had the wrong house. On the other hand, knowing Nephilim could show up at any time . . . she couldn’t leave him roaming around alone. “Can I help you?”

  Usually, she scared the crap out of people when she did that, but this kid was more grounded than the majority of the population. His only show of surprise was a slight widening of those gorgeous eyes. He glanced at his watch, as if unbothered by her sudden appearance. “I’m looking for my, uh . . . dad. Duncan. You seen him?”

  Dad? The kid didn’t look anything like Duncan, but he had mentioned a charge named Harry. Still, while the speech pattern was similar to Duncan’s he sounded more American than British. “What’s your name?”

  “Harrison. Calls me Harry, though. Or pup, depending on his mood.” The kid adjusted the backpack slung over his scrawny shoulder. “He gonna be back soon?”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head. “How’d you know he’s not here?”

  “Got my ways.” A wide smile spread across his face. “You the one the Watchers sent him here to protect?” He waggled his brows. “Starting to see why he’s been taking his time, you’re kinda cute. What’s your name?”

  Great, he must be taking lessons from Duncan. “Trina Lopez.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lopez.” He shot her a toothy grin and walked past her.

  “I’m Harrison Cayce.” No, he didn’t walk, he swaggered inside, all five feet four inches, ninety-some-odd pounds of him, flipping his hair from his eyes. He didn’t move like a kid. “Is Duncan expecting you?”

  “No.” He smiled. “He’s gonna be pissed as hell at the both of us, that’s for sure.”

  Her hand went to the small of her back. He hadn’t moved his hand from the small of his. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Me, because I didn’t stay put. I left his house and traveled here by myself.” He tipped his head to the side. “You, because you opened the door.”

  Harry’s posture remained relaxed, but she watched for any tensing of his muscles, any sign that he might attack. “What happens when he gets angry?”

  He let out a long, low whistle. “Life sucks when the old man is unhappy.”

  She swallowed. Great. Duncan wasn’t
exactly pleased with her. Though so far he only seemed to have two settings, unaffected and scorching passion. “How so?”

  His brow crept up so high on his forehead, it disappeared beneath his bangs. “Seriously? You haven’t pissed him off yet?”

  “Tell me already.”

  His lips quirked and he walked past her into the living room. Sure enough, he had a knife tucked into his belt loop at his back. He sat in the armchair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “He’s got this sick and twisted . . . .”

  “What?”

  “Need to tell stories.” His eyes flashed, and the quirk of his lips spread into a wide smile.

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “I’m serious. He tells these overblown, long-winded stories. You know, the kind with some sort of moral at the end . . . except the son of a bitch doesn’t spell it out for you, he makes you think about it.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and repressed a smile. Yeah. This kid knew her mate.

  “Usually, they’re about him. Something he did or saw or heard . . . and he’s good at it, you know? So you get sucked in. You find yourself going back and thinking about shit.” He shook his head. “It’s annoying as fuck.”

  It was disturbing to see such a young kid cuss the way he did. “Somehow, I have the feeling the two of you are quite similar.”

  His eyes widened, narrowed. “You taking a piss?”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “A Mickey? Poking fun?”

  “No, I—”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Duncan stood in the entryway, his big hands fisted at his sides. His hard gaze shifted between Harry and her. “And you? You let a vampire you don’t know waltz into your house?”

  Yeah, he was pissed. As thick as his accent usually was, it was even more pronounced now.

  Harry grinned. “Told you.”

  Wait. Her gaze widened on Harry. “You’re a vampire?”

  He grinned.

  “Bullshit. You walked in without an invitat—”

  “Is there a human living here?” Harry’s brows lifted. “’Cause I don’t see any.”