By a Thread

by Nyna Queen

  His brother had growled and snarled, but finally seen sense and teeth-gnashingly agreed to stay for the vote and give a press conference in the morning.

  Darken sighed again and stared into the velvet expanse of the night without really seeing. He hated being the reasonable one—his brother was the politician, not him—but he also knew that Steph would thank him later. Well, a lot later. Provided, of course, they both managed to survive that long.

  He took another sip of wine and toyed with the stem of his wineglass.

  Stalling.

  Yes, he was.

  But the last thing he wanted right now was to go up and face the spider waiting up there for him. After fencing with his brother, he felt too raw and too edgy to deal with her. And with his own body’s reactions to her for that matter.

  He’d spend years steeling the walls that sealed his emotions deep inside his soul, feeding them with the contempt he felt for most people, yet the spider managed to rip them down with frightening ease, as if they were made of nothing but lint and cotton candy; a sassy remark, a sharp look from those icy blue eyes …

  He squeezed his temples. Great Mother, what was it with this woman? Most of the time she made him so furious he wasn’t able to see straight. But seeing her going down below that attacker outside the ward-border …

  His right hand tightened on the wineglass. When she was close he felt completely unreliable, and right now, with all that deadly tension pounding inside him, he was a ticking bomb and she was a dangerous spark. A constant dance around the killing edge. A constant, enticing, thrilling dance that aroused him in many dangerous ways.

  Before he could stop it, his memory thrust the hall in front of his mind’s eye: her body braced between his arms, sweetly trapped by his body, strong, but at the same time warm and pliant and so close that it was impossible not to note how very female she was, in spite of all the ballsiness; the tilt of her head, the fury in her eyes that suddenly changed to bafflement; her chest rising and falling; the shape of her lips, dark red like cherries ripe for the picking—

  His body tensed. Raging heat washed through his veins and the pressure inside him became so sharp his skin felt like it was going to burst. Fire pulsed through his loins and his cock throbbed, painfully straining against the suddenly too tight cage of his pants. He gasped and grabbed the terrace railing with his free hand, his fingers digging into the metal until it gave a low moan. He wanted it to be bone breaking beneath his grip. Wanted to tear into flesh, to feel the warm cleansing flow of blood on his skin, the red liquor like a soothing balm on his burning soul.

  His body shook and cramped, and he squeezed his teeth together.

  Slowly, very slowly, the flood receded, leaving him shaking and cold.

  With effort, he pried his hand open, took a step back, and stared at the deep indentions it had left in the metal. Despite the mildness of the night, he shivered.

  Fabric swished behind him. Calling upon years and years of practice, Darken settled his face into that cold, indifferent mask, sealing his emotions and his heart away, so quickly as if he’d never felt any troubles.

  When he turned, Blayde was standing a few feet behind him, a towering dark shadow etched against the light flooding out of the lounge, watching him from behind the dark, impenetrable surface of his sunglasses.

  The other man inclined his head. “Enforcer.”

  His title, not his name. Just a small nuance, yet a vast difference for him. So this conversation would be of a more formal nature.

  “Custodian,” he replied carefully, returning the respect.

  Blayde strolled over to him, black leather rippling in the darkness, and braced his underarms on the railing. His concealed gaze grazed the dents in the metal, but if he felt in any way concerned, he didn’t show it.

  Darken waited, granting their host the honor of the first move on the dance floor of conversation. He’d known Blayde for a long time and while he was among the few people he trusted—as far as he dared to trust anyone outside his family—it was always a tentative, careful dance around each other, with the lead constantly changing. Blayde was a man of secrets and although Darken had no doubt that he would do anything in his might to keep the children safe, it didn’t mean he didn’t have to be treated with care. But then, he, too, was a skillful dancer.

  Blayde leaned back a little. “Your niece and nephew are satisfied with the arrangements?”

  Surprised by the gentle prelude, Darken gave a dry snort. “Thrilled. Josepha, in particular, admired the bathtub, which, and I quote: ‘is almost a pool.’ My brother will soon be pestered and then he will be on my doorstep, demanding an answer as to where his daughter came up with the idea of a bigger tub. And Maxwell, while himself not too fond of bathing, was quite intrigued by the idea of having his own little fridge inside his bedroom, so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the kitchen, if he wanted a glass of milk during the night.”

  “Ah, yes, children,” Blayde chuckled softly. “Such a wonderful thing. Able to push to the back of their minds what they are yet unable to process. Able to find joy in the toughest of situations. Even in war zones, you can find them out among the debris, playing hide-and-seek, the destruction around them but a new kind of curious playground. It’s a precious gift that we lose when we grow up and when we do, the world becomes a shade darker to us.” His fingers trailed the edges of the dents in the railing. “A pity, isn’t it, that we cannot stay inside that shiny bubble forever?”

  Darken nursed his wine. “I suppose it is a pity, but I don’t think it is simply a loss.” He leaned his hip against the railing facing their host. “It also allows us to embrace a certain truth about things. By being able to fully acknowledge the bad things in our lives, we are also enabled to more consciously value the good things.”

  Dark eyebrows rose above even darker glasses. “An interesting notion for one who prowls the shadows for a living. I would have assumed that you, of all people, would wish to trade innocent ignorance against the knowledge of the darkness.”

  Swirling his wineglass, Darken studied the blood-red contents. A shade he knew so well.

  “Perhaps it is because I have so few good things in my life that I cherish the possibility to consciously value them all the more,” he said softly.

  A ripple of laughter drifted up to them from a group of young people below, in stark contrast to the weight of their conversation.

  “I’ve seen more of the darkness than most people ever will in their lives,” Darken said. “Death is part of what I am. My calling. It is a necessity in my life and while I don’t usually enjoy it, I have accepted it.” But, oh, how he would enjoy ripping the bastards apart who were after his niece and nephew. It was a kill he was looking forward to with sweet anticipation.

  “Death in itself isn’t always a burden,” Blayde said quizzically. “It can also be a relief. And it is part of nature. Would you condemn the wolf who snatches prey to feed his pack?”

  Darken frowned at him.

  The Custodian shrugged. “Death is a vital part of life, in itself neither good nor evil. The reason for it? That is another matter. But speaking of deaths—” He turned his head until Darken felt the weight of his gaze, albeit hidden, resting on him.

  “You’ve shown some uncommon restraint today,” he said. “Certainly, for a man of your refined skill set, seven opponents hardly pose a challenge. And yet I couldn’t help but notice that at least four of them fell from the claws of my wolves.” He paused for a second. “Also, I was informed that the sugar cube was almost speared by a flash bolt arrowhead.”

  When Darken didn’t say anything he leaned forward. “Such a lucky coincidence that my pack arrived in time to incapacitate the shot.” His deep, drawling voice gained a soft, dangerous edge. “But it wasn’t mere coincidence that brought you into my domain, was it?”

  And just like that, the dance floor turned into a slippery slope studded with razor sharp spikes, and one wrong step …

  “No,” Dar
ken admitted softly, “it wasn’t.”

  The truth was a delicate matter, but a lie would be devastating. He wondered how much he needed to say without saying too much.

  “We were using a portal to Ciradell, when the attack came. I … changed the coordinates. I knew your iron wolves would solve our little problem if we could cross the boundary into the Pacified Zone.”

  Nothing changed physically, but the terrace suddenly seemed to turn darker and colder. The torches on the walls flickered.

  “I don’t take kindly to being played, Darken.” Blayde showed him the edge of his teeth. “I might overlook your heritage when I allow you to enter my wards, but do not, as ever, mistake me as one of your pawns.”

  Darken sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly tired and weary. “Relax, old friend. It wasn’t my intention to turn you into a pawn in any game. But …” He let out a long breath, releasing some penned-up tension. “Alex was weakened from … She was weakened. And the children … If I lose myself for even a second …” He shuddered, drawing a shaky breath. Even thinking about it was too painful to bear. “I just … couldn’t risk it. Not with them so close.”

  Blayde gave him a sharp look. “You’re losing control of it?”

  Admitting it was like swallowing shards of glass. “It’s getting harder and harder,” he whispered.

  They both knew he wasn’t just talking about his current condition. There was a reason why the majority of forfeit didn’t live to see a high age. Most of them died on the job and those who didn’t … Well, every time they stepped into the red mist, finding the way back took a little more time, a little more effort. And if they got lost …

  Darken pressed his lips together. He’d seen forfeit being hunted and put down like rabid dogs because they were “out of control.” Of course, this was nothing the Council wanted to be shouted over the rooftops, but that didn’t change the fact that it happened time and again.

  Blayde’s covered eyes grazed the distorted railing. “When was the last time you fed?”

  Darken grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”

  The Custodian hiked his shoulders. “I’ve danced with you often enough to recognize the signs. Also, these might be an indication,” he said dryly and tapped the dents in the railing.

  “And just by the way”—his eyes pointedly flickered down to Darken’s groin—“those pants are gettin’ real tight, man. If they grow any tighter, you’ll be able to sing the female role in Pleine’s Soprano Aria.”

  Darken said something extremely pithy and to the point.

  Blayde laughed softly but sobered quickly. “No honestly, tell me, should I be worried?” He nodded to the dents again. “If you wish I could arrange a little something. I am sure I can come up with a willing lady or, perhaps, a whole bunch of them. You look like you could service an entire harem.”

  Darken clenched his fists. Refusing would be foolish. Not just that, it would be dangerous. Having some sexual release would take him off the edge, at least enough to get him through the next day. Him, and everybody else. He needed the release. It wasn’t quite like a kill, but the hormonal response produced by the sexual climax, particularly when combined with the feeling of power over another human being was akin enough to stabilize a volatile temper for a while. But just imagining letting a woman touch him …

  He shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.”

  Blayde’s eyebrows crept up in surprise. “You’re running on fumes, my friend. If you don’t get it out of your system, you’ll turn into a loose cannon sooner than later.”

  Darken gritted his teeth. Well, thanks to note that he was on the edge of sanity.

  “And do you really think it’s wise to lecture a man who is looking for an excuse to make a kill?” he asked mildly.

  Blayde cocked his head to the side, considering his reaction. “If you’re afraid about the rumors, you know I can be very discreet.”

  Darken closed his eyes and shook his head again. “I’m fine.”

  It was a plain lie and they both knew it.

  The Custodian puckered his lips. “Is it the sugar cube you’re traveling with?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Darken snapped.

  “Am I?” Blayde studied him thoughtfully. “A man who’s backed into such a tight corner doesn’t usually refuse the only chance at release he can get. In my experience, when a man makes such an obviously unreasonable choice, he’s thinking with his balls rather than with his brains and that usually has something to do with a woman.”

  Darken released a breath. “Even if that were true—I am forfeit.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Damn you, Blayde!” Cursing, he pushed himself from the railing and paced the length of the balcony and back. He wanted to smack something. Wanted to kill someone. Wanted to feel bone cracking below his fingers …

  Blayde looked merely amused. “Leash yourself pup, or I’ll have to haul your ass out of my boundaries till you cooled off.”

  There was a slight warning touch underneath the words. Darken snarled in frustration, but he leashed his temper.

  “I’m a forfeit,” he pressed through gritted teeth. “A Servant of Death. A killer.”

  “She doesn’t seem favorably impressed by that, now does she?”

  No, she didn’t. He reckoned it took a lot more than that to impress the spider. Darken shook his head, feeling slightly desperate. “A man like me is not good for any kind of woman.”

  “This woman has her own dark little secrets.”

  Darken stiffened. Stared at the other man.

  A half-smile tugged at Blayde’s dark lips. A dangerous smile, too.

  “Remember, my friend,” he pushed up his glasses, giving Darken a tiny glimpse of eyes that reflected the moonlight like two glowing orbs. “These eyes don’t even miss … the tiniest spider …”

  Letting his glasses drop back in place, he patted a hand on Darken’s shoulder, as he moved past him. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to my other guests. Enjoy your further stay and let me know if there is anything you need.”

  Darken stared after Blayde for a long time, even after the Custodian had long vanished inside, feeling chilled deep into his bones.

  Blayde had deliberately shown him that he knew about Alex’s shaper nature, thereby giving him a brief insight at just how much he really saw.

  So, the Custodian knew what she was and yet he’d invited her in. That, if nothing else, was a testimony of her credibility if he’d still had any doubts. Was there another message behind this revelation? If so, he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

  With a sigh, he drained his wineglass and made his way up to their suites.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ALEX braced herself at the shower wall, grateful for the hot water pounding her sore, tired muscles.

  She still felt shaky; from the rapid loss of her venom levels, the fight at the ward-line, her recent encounter with Darken—have your pick—and she was glad to be able to drown it all for a moment in the sound of rushing water and the simple physical pleasure of cleansing her skin.

  The water was turning a rusty red and brown at the drain from all the blood and dirt on her, and tiny pebbles clinked onto the shower floor. It seemed half the riverbank of the Hadez Channel was stuck in her hair and only the Jester knew what else.

  Sniffing the different little flasks of shampoo and shower foam strung along the wall, she opted for a slightly floral scent that didn’t give her shaper senses an “eewwk-sweet” reaction.

  She washed her hair diligently, applying shampoo twice.

  Finally convinced that there was no more blood or other substances on her that didn’t belong there, Alex slogged out of the shower, toweled herself off with a huge, fluffy white towel, and stepped in front of the mirror. A cursory check confirmed her suspicions: apart from a nick of a flash arrow bolt on her left upper arm, she’d gotten off quite cheaply. Sure, she was tender in places and sported a couple of bruises here and there,
but the worst of it would be gone by morning. A cheer for accelerated healing!

  Exhaustion was claiming her, though, and her legs were already starting to shake from the strain of standing upright.

  Hello, shaper’s bite—waiting to make another visit? Well, not if I can help it.

  Turning around, Alex looked for a bathrobe, yet the only thing she found was a tiny silk kimono of sheer material that didn’t even reach the mid of her thighs. Alex frowned. This was what Blayde equipped his rooms with? It certainly made you wonder what kind of purposes these suites were usually intended for. Oh well. With a shrug, she slipped it on and tied the belt around her middle. It would do until her clothes were returned in the morning. And it wasn’t like she’d planned on leaving her suite tonight anyway.

  Back in the main room, Alex switched on the bed lamp, but despite her drowning tiredness, she felt too restless to slip into bed immediately.

  She pushed the sliding glass door that led to the balcony of her suite open and stepped outside. The night air was pleasantly warm and hinted at even warmer nights to come. The spring that had eluded them so far, was finally catching up full force.

  Alex strolled up to the glass-and-metal railing and leaned against it. Far down below—twenty-five floors to be exact—a crescent of tiny lights indicated the town nestled in the hotel’s protective lap. Even up here, she could hear occasional faint flickers of laughter and music that the wind carried up together with the sweet, fragrant smell of a variety of night flowers. Mmmh, jasmine and gladiolus.

  Leaning back her head, she breathed deeply, savoring the scents. It reminded her of the night she’d stood behind the Jester, rallying against her fate, utterly unaware of what the world had up its sleeve for her. Could it really just have been two days ago? It felt like years had passed since then.

  The scene had changed a lot, no doubt: here she was now, in the center of trueborn territory, the night was mild and smelled of exotic flowers, and yet she wasn’t one jot safer then she had been then. If anything, she was probably in more danger than she’d ever been before.