“We can’t do this here,” Eli went on, the words lost in their kiss.
Dajia fell back against the porch, chest heaving. She let her arms fall above her head, and the movement raised her shirt above her belly button.
Every inch of him begged to lean down and lick the sensitive skin below her belly button. To taste her abdomen and move lower.
He closed his eyes. “This is insane. We don’t even know each other.”
“You’ve been inside me,” Dajia murmured. She lifted his right hand from the boards and pressed it between her breasts. “Stealing my magick. That’s nearly as intimate as…” She trailed off, her hips rotating, her core rubbing against his hard length. “This.”
“Fuck,” Eli gasped the word, rolling away from her. He sat up, head in his hands and his cock so hard he was sure he’d destroy his pants.
He sensed movement behind him as Dajia sat up. They remained silent for a long time, though Eli felt her heat at his back, felt in tune with the gentle movement of her breath. He’d fucked a lot of girls in his life, but none of them had felt quite this intimate. He wanted her so bad his chest ached.
“You’re the heir regent.” Her voice broke through his befuddled thoughts. If he’d thought her voice melodic before, now it seemed a siren song. “Why did you need my power? You could wipe the floor with me.”
Eli didn’t hesitate. Why lie to her? They were all as good as dead anyway. “I am not as powerful as my father has led you to believe.” He glanced over his shoulder and locked gazes with her. “You’re infinitely more skilled than me.”
Dajia laughed bitterly. “Yeah, me. Little ol’ Dajia Bray, without a wand of her own or any training to speak of, performing water tricks to please her friends. I might as well still be a child playing with her daddy’s wand.”
“Was Vanele Bray your mother?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked.
“I remember her,” Eli said softly. “She was my mother’s friend. I couldn’t believe her power. Your dad, too. My father saw them as his greatest threat.”
“I saw them die. Watched the masked regulators decapitate them in our living room. On my birthday.”
“How did you survive?”
She shrugged weakly. “The curse didn’t work.” Dajia stood, looming over him with a sad smile. “Going to arrest me now? Tell your father his perfect spell failed?”
Eli stood, brushing dirt from his black pants. “Even if I had wanted to before, I wouldn’t now.”
“Because we kissed?”
“Princess, that was a whole lot more than a kiss.”
11
Eli
Eli’s room wasn’t empty when he returned.
A fire burned merrily in the grate, deepening the corner shadows and illuminating a slumped form in a wheelchair. The regent glared at his son, less frightening with a soft pink quilt tucked around his legs and the right side of his face sinking like egg yolk. But still Eli’s heartbeat quickened at his presence, as if the man would know about Dajia without Eli saying a word.
The regent’s manservant stood behind him—a balding mute named Kiev, who had served his father faithfully longer than Eli had been alive. Kiev’s unblinking black gaze had always unsettled Eli.
“Where have you been?” the regent barked, narrowing his eyes at Eli’s regulator garb.
As heir regent, Eli didn’t walk a beat like other regulators. He was law enforcement in name only.
Eli closed the door and tossed his hood on the sideboard. He masked his disquiet with a brisk, vague answer. “Out. What are you doing in my room?”
“I need to show you something before this infernal body fails me.” The regent glanced up at his servant. “Kiev, if you please.”
The manservant nodded once and took the handles of the wheelchair, wheeling the immobile sector leader across the room.
“Follow me, Elliott,” the regent commanded as he slipped out the door.
Eli sighed. He could still smell Dajia on his skin. He wanted to peel off his clothes, slip between his soft sheets, and fall asleep with that scent surrounding him. He certainly didn’t want to traipse about the castle with a man he hated increasingly more with every passing moment.
But even now, he couldn’t force himself to disregard his father’s direct order. He was conditioned to obey a sociopath, and it disgusted him.
The regent remained silent as Kiev wheeled him through the palace. Eli trailed behind them, avoiding conversation. They passed into the regent’s wing and took a hallway with a steep decline into darkness.
The hallway zig-zagged down, lit only by intermittent witch-lights that flared into being at a wave of Kiev’s wand. Walking into darkness lit only a few feet at a time unnerved Eli. He felt like they were heading into the bowels of hell.
The hallway ended at a tall wooden door locked by an iron bar. Walls and earth pressed in on them, making the tiny foyer too eerily hushed. On edge, Eli shifted uneasily as he waited for Kiev to unlock the thick bar.
A smell of rot and feces leached out as the door swung open. Kiev waved his wand and a witch-light flared high above them in the center of a massive room.
Eli smelled death, despair, and blood. The empty pit in his stomach grew deeper. He didn’t want to pass through that open door. He didn’t want to see whatever this hell was.
“Ten years ago, my power began to wane,” the regent said bitterly. “Damn body began to fail, and so did my magick. An entire sector relies on me. What choice did I have?”
Kiev pushed him into the room. The wheels of his chair squished across floors wet with a substance too thick and dark to be water.
Eli followed them into the massive room.
Iron cages lined every inch of the stone walls. Each cage was barely big enough to house the huddled form within. A rod topped each cage and curved out towards the center of the ceiling beneath the witchlight, where they came together around a hunk of obsidian.
As Eli stood silent, breathless with horror, the room began to hum. Beneath his feet, the floor shook as if a giant machine had come to life. Electricity sparked along the bars of the cages, lighting the room as if the sun itself had risen on the occupants. Several of the prone, rag-covered forms moaned in pain—even more remained silent and unmoving.
The electricity moved up the rods and into the obsidian, which glowed black with power. Eli realized it wasn’t electricity.
It was magick. The caged prisoners’ energies.
Eli stumbled back out the door and put his back to the cold stone wall in the foyer. He took a deep breath, the edges of his vision threatening to go dark. He could no longer hear or feel the humming of the magickal generator, but he couldn’t erase the sight burned into his mind.
Kiev rolled the regent to the doorway where he could look out at his son. His face was pinched as if he smelled something bad, but Eli knew it wasn’t the rot and shit of the prisoners that disgusted him. It was his son’s weak response to his underground operation.
“Is that your wand?” Eli asked, finding his words around the ball of rage building in his throat. He motioned to the ceiling behind his father.
“No. I underwent a splitting five years ago to create two new wands. I carry one. It is connected to the obsidian in the cage.”
Nausea rolled through Eli. What his father had described was against the laws of nature and witchkind. He’d split his soul a second and third time, essentially destroying thirty percent of himself. And the very act of draining energy from other witches—dozens of other witches—had blackened his fragmented soul.
No wonder he was wasting away. Nature had come to take her due.
Eli shoved away from the wall, whirling on his father. “You weakened yourself even more to siphon power from innocent people.”
“For the good of the secto—”
“No.” Eli’s interruption cut through his father’s justification. “This is not for the good of the sector. This is for the good of Murray Pierce. You attempted to repla
ce what time and age had taken, and now it’s caught up to you. Does Mom know about this?”
“Of course not. And she won’t hear a word of it, if you wish to live.”
“According to you, I’ll die when you’re gone anyway,” Eli snapped. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at his father. “I ought to kill you myself. Right now.”
Kiev reacted quickly. He drew his power, his wand glowing white, ready to stop Eli’s attack.
The regent reached up and placed a hand on Kiev’s wand, lowering it. He kept his gaze on his son. “You don’t have the stomach to do it. You may be a trained warrior, but you’re still my scared little boy. You couldn’t kill me, even if you truly wanted to do so.”
Eli’s stomach turned at the truth in his father’s words. His own weakness disgusted him. He failed at witchcraft, and now he would fail at ridding the sector of the disease destroying it. His father, High Regent, a curse worse than the ravagers.
“You could use the cage when I’m gone.” His father’s voice had gone low and cold. “Utilize it to make your useless talent strong enough to hold the dome and power the sector.”
Eli backed up a step, his lip curled. “Never.”
“Reconsider.”
Eli pocketed his wand, irritated at the way his hands shook. He turned his back on the regent and the voiceless Kiev.
“You are no son of mine,” the regent called as Eli walked away.
Eli didn’t respond. He had no need to. The high regent was no father of his.
12
Eli
Eli’s fitful sleep gave him little respite. He dreamed of bloody cages, sparks of magick, and Dajia Bray. Before he awoke, he sank into her body on a floor covered in blood, her nails raking across his bare back, her magick dancing against his skin.
He opened his eyes to a Saturday morning overshadowed by knowledge of his father’s clandestine “solution” to the fall of Sector 14. But even the horror of the regent’s cage of death couldn’t erase the memory of Dajia Bray’s body against his.
Eli lay on his stomach beneath his covers, warm and comfortable but incredibly aroused by his dream. He stared out the window at a metallic gray sky, but he didn’t really see it—all he could see was Dajia beneath him, her dark eyes heavy with lust. The wanton way she’d given over to him.
Fuck, the wanton way he’d given over to her. The mere brush of her lips, and Eli forgot who he was, where he was, or why he was even there. She evolved from possible apprehended criminal to sexual conquest in the time it took for her to bat those gods-damned eyelashes.
Eli shoved his face into his pillow and squeezed the ends of the soft feather-down against his ears. Too bad the pressure couldn’t ease what Dajia had started.
He flopped over to his back, the sheets tangling around his legs, and stared at the canopy over his bed. The palace was silent but for the steady, gentle hum of the regent’s magick powering the building. He listened to that hum, trying to separate it from the working cage beneath the palace. His father’s magick existed in a continuous sphere of time, powering the palace, powering himself.
Fuck. He didn’t know what to do about the cage. Hope his father died soon and he could destroy the evidence? Pray he could find another way to keep the sector safe?
Until the true silence of night or early morning, Eli found it easy to forget the sound of the palace electricity, block it out, relegate it to background noise.
But when even the background noise stops, silence becomes deafening.
Eli lifted his head from the pillow, skin prickling. He leaned over to hit the switch on his bedside lamp, but the bulb stayed dark.
Sliding from bed, Eli jerked on his discarded black pants from the night before and padded barefoot to the antique register set in the wall beside his armoire. He held out a hand, searching for the rush of warmth from the furnace.
Nothing but cool, stagnant air, getting colder by the moment.
Eli hurriedly shoved his feet into his boots, sans socks, and tugged a sweatshirt over his head, then left his room.
He jogged down the hall, passing open doors and confused faces with barely a sideways glance. Several voices called out for him, but he ignored them—he didn’t have the answers they needed yet.
Answers he needed.
His father’s bedroom door hung open a crack. Eli shoved through it, shoelaces trailing the floor. He came to an abrupt stop as he took in the sight on the other side.
Two palace guards held the regent with firm hands. One regulator held his head, a thick rope bisecting the regent’s mouth, while the other man held his legs. The regent bucked against them, the whites of his eyes visible and spittle flecking his face around the rope.
Noelle stood back from the scene, accompanied by the palace medic. The doctor’s face was almost as white as his hair. Tears streamed down the queen regent’s cheeks.
On the other side of the bed, Kiev stood watch, his arms dangling casually. Eli recognized the posture, his weight on his toes, ready to jump into movement. A predator protecting his leader.
Eli pulled his mother into his arms, resting his chin on her head. She tucked against him, small and scared.
“What is it?” Eli asked the medic, sparing a glance at Kiev.
The mute nodded once, his black gaze promising retribution if any word passed his lips regarding their midnight rendezvous.
Dr. Connell clasped his hands behind him and shook his head. “He’s been seizing off and on all night. Small episodes, very minor. This morning, however… as you can see.”
“Can we do nothing?” Eli couldn’t fight off the desperate desire to be told this was the end. His vile father’s messy exit from life. He wanted the man dead as much as he wanted him to live and keep protecting them from disaster.
“I don’t have much experience with the Wasting, Your Grace. I think it’s time we call in an experienced witch medic.”
Noelle straightened abruptly and stepped away from Eli, wiping her eyes. “No. We can’t do that. It’s Founding Day. Sector 14 needs today.”
“Mother, don’t be ridiculous,” Eli rebuffed. “It’s just a silly holiday. Sector 14 needs the truth of what’s happening. They aren’t stupid. They know by now something is wrong. The power is out in the palace, which means it’s out everywhere.”
His mother gripped his arm, her punishing fingers digging into his skin even through the thick cotton of his sweatshirt. “Do not sass me, child. Your father’s condition changes nothing. We go forward with the day as planned.” She slid her gaze to the medic. “Dr. Connell, please get me the name of a skilled witch medic. Tory, Blakemore—you will bring the medic here with as little fanfare as possible. Do not tell him why he’s coming, and once he’s here, he doesn’t leave until the day is over.”
“Mother—”
Noelle cut Eli off. “Until your father leaves this realm for the next, I am still the queen and you will bow to me. Today goes forward as planned. You are to return to your room and get ready. I’ll have Maylynn bring your clothes.”
Then she turned her back on Eli and left the room.
In the silence after she left, Dr. Connell looked to Eli. “He won’t last the weekend.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Frankly, I’ll be surprised if he lasts the night.”
On the bed, the regent gave one last shudder under Tory and Blakemore’s hands, and his eyes fluttered shut. He breathed heavily, wearily, his body fighting a battle none of them could see.
The lights flickered back on but didn’t hold.
“What is the weather forecast for today?” Eli asked no one in particular.
“Sunshine, Your Grace,” Blakemore offered, removing the rope from the regent’s slack-jawed mouth. “But single digits after dark.”
“And snow moving in tomorrow,” the medic added.
Eli felt a throb behind his right eye. “We have to get the power back on before dark.” He took a deep breath, searching for the leader inside him whe
n all he wanted to do was run away. He looked at Blakemore. “Send a message to General Coyle. We must have an emergency council meeting this afternoon at the conclusion of the parade.”
Blakemore nodded.
Eli looked at the medic. “Coordinate with them to get the witch medic here as quietly as possible. Maybe he can get my father stable long enough to keep the sector from freezing to death tonight.”
13
Eli
“I look absurd.”
Eli watched Turner’s reflection in the mirror as he chuckled. “You do,” Turner agreed. He sipped his mead before he added, “Don’t tell anybody I said it, but your father usually looks pretty absurd.”
“He’s a showman,” Eli replied, raising his arms. The long bell sleeves on his black robe flapped like wings, the purple satin interior shimmering in the sunlight. “It’s always been about power. But it’s also about how he looks doing it. He has a flair for the dramatic.”
Eli stared at his reflection. Shiny gel slicked his black hair away from his face, the hair feathered in the back to resemble his father’s trademark look. The purple tie tightened at his neck beneath his black collared shirt and silver vest shone as bright as his hair.
“The black eye really pulls the whole thing together.” Turner grinned, resting his mug of mead on his chest as he slouched lower in the chair. “I gotta tell you, man. That chick was tiny. Where’d she get enough balls to clock you like that?”
Eli traced the edge of the purpling bruise with a wry smile. And though she be but little, she is fierce. He thought of the shock on her face when he’d said the words, as if the Heir Regent couldn’t possibly be smart enough to quote Shakespeare. “She’s scrappy.”
“Clearly.” Turner waved his knees, tapping his fingers on his mead. “You gonna tell me exactly what occurred during this encounter? Or do I have to use my imagination?”
The Shadows and Sorcery Collection Page 46