Dajia blinked. “Booby-trapped.”
Turner slouched back in his chair with a wide grin. “If he tries to take it off, he’ll break out in hives.”
“And it’s safe for me to do it?”
Eli stepped in front of her. He took her hand and lifted her palm to his lips. He let the kiss, and his gaze, linger. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong, princess.”
Eli couldn’t be sure exactly what was taking place in Dajia’s mind, but her cheeks flared and her eyes went glassy. Eli trailed his lips over the inside of her wrist, losing his grip on reality. The tight cotton shirt she wore hugged her curves, doing things to his libido no clothed woman had ever done. He tugged on her arm, ready to pull her from the chair and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.
“Should I leave?” Turner joked. “It’s weird as fuck watching the regent kiss on your girl.”
Eli relinquished his grip on Dajia and tried to rein in his desire. Turner’s acknowledgment of Eli’s staked claim earned him immediate forgiveness for his flirtations.
“Oh!” Dajia said with surprise. “He can’t see through it?”
“That privilege is all yours, princess.”
“I wonder why.”
“One of life’s great mysteries?” Turner offered.
“Is it because you’ve been inside me?” Dajia wondered absentmindedly.
Turner covered his ears. “Whoa, hey, TMI.”
Dajia ignored him. She extracted her wand from her coat and pointed it at Eli. “Finitum.”
Eli shrugged off the enchantment as it melted away. It had felt nearly as ill-fitting as the tight vest, so the relief was instantaneous. He fought an urge to capture her hand and kiss it again.
Dajia stared at her wand as if she didn’t recognize it. “Well, Mr. Turner. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“How so?”
“This guy”—Dajia hooked a thumb at Eli—“took my power to patch a giant breach in the dome, and I was seconds away from losing my protective circle when you rode up on your white horse and dispatched the ravager before it could eat us. That is what I mean by being inside me. He ripped my only protection from me.”
Turner executed a neat bow in his chair, his lips quirked at one side. “My pleasure.”
Eli winced and sank onto the small couch across from them. “I am genuinely sorry about that.”
Dajia waved away his apology. She pocketed her wand. “Don’t sweat it. You did what you had to do to save the sector.”
“I’m really tired of hearing that.”
Dajia smiled sympathetically. “Power and responsibility are seldom separate.”
Eli ran a hand back through the gunk in his hair. “Regardless. I regret my decision.”
“Well, don’t. Luck happened to be on our side in the form of our friend Mr. Turner.” She smiled at said friend.
Eli’s fingers roughened on his hair as he took his frustrations out on the pomade. His entire being hummed for this girl, ached to touch her and kiss her. He had villainized himself when he took advantage of her—nearly killed her.
Turner, on the other hand, had saved her. He was the white knight. The hero.
Asshole.
“Was the lady in the closet with you your mom?” Turner asked, again unaware of the inferno dancing beneath Eli’s gaze. “The woman who raised you, I mean?”
Fuck, he’d almost killed her and her mother. He sure was boyfriend material.
“She’s my mother,” Dajia said firmly. “She may not have birthed me, but she’s the reason I’m alive. That, and the fact the regent’s curse failed on me.”
“What happened the night of the purge?” Eli asked. If he focused on her story, maybe he’d forget what an asshat he had been.
Dajia cut her eyes to Turner.
“He’s a friend,” Eli assured her. “You can speak without fear.”
Dajia spoke haltingly at first as she unwove her story for them. She gained strength with each word, shaking off the dust of time and secrets. She told of the night her parents died, and how her nanny had been there with them for her birthday. How the curse had failed, and her nanny had insisted Dajia was her human child.
Eli hated that her parents had died. He hated even more that this beautiful woman’s birthday was a grim reminder of the darkest day of her life.
The darkest day in sector history.
“If Myra hadn’t been there, I think I would be dead,” Dajia finished. “She saved my life.”
Eli looked pointedly at Turner. “What did I tell you? The survivors were with humans. Dajia, you indicated you thought more children had survived the purge. Did you say that because you know of any?”
Dajia’s teeth worried at her bottom lip.
Eli sensed her reluctance to tell him, and he didn’t begrudge her it. It was one thing to risk one’s own secrets, and another to betray someone else.
“You don’t have to tell me who they are,” Eli said softly.
She nodded and took a halting breath. “There are more. I don’t know how many.”
Turner glanced at Eli. “If they’re anywhere near as powerful as Dajia, they’d be formidable allies.”
Eli nodded his agreement. “We need to know who they are, and we need to grant them immunity. We need them on our side when the walls fall.”
“How much power can you wield politically now that the regent is incapacitated?”
“Probably more than I think—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dajia interrupted. She held up both hands, palms out. “Back up for a minute. You guys lost me at ‘formidable allies.’ I’ve had no formal training in magick. Anybody like me, out there forgotten in the sector, is in the same boat. We’d be useless if the walls fell.”
“Magick is innate, princess. You’ve either got the gift or you don’t. Formal training just hones your skills, like sharpening the blade of a sword.”
Dajia wrapped her arms around herself. “My dad always told me if you didn’t practice magick daily, it would atrophy. Like a muscle.”
Eli grimaced. “It isn’t that bad. You can’t lose your innate power. You just… wouldn’t grow stronger.”
“What makes you think any of us would be strong enough to help if the walls fall?”
“There’s no ‘if,’ princess,” Eli said darkly. “The end is coming, sooner than you think.”
17
Eli
Dajia shivered and straightened her shoulders as if she could hide her fear behind a tower of fake strength. Eli admired the way she let the flow take her where it willed and remained rooted anyway.
She looked him squarely in the eye. “The regent is dying?”
“He is.”
“When he goes… you don’t have the strength to take over?”
Eli couldn’t find the words to answer. Disgust with himself left a bad taste in his mouth.
“What about your mother? I always heard she was powerful in her own right.”
“She is,” Eli agreed. “Or she was, thirty years ago. I don’t know that there’s much left of who she used to be, before she married my father.” His tone darkened. “The regent has a knack for draining everything from the people around him.”
Dajia shook her head. “Why did your father never come up with a back-up plan? He’s the most powerful witch in this sector, and we’re all his responsibility. He’s not an idiot. He should have planned for his death when it was obvious you wouldn’t be strong enough to protect us.”
“You’re right—my father isn’t an idiot. But he’s arrogant.”
“What, he didn’t think he’d ever die?” Dajia scoffed.
“Maybe. And maybe he thought we’d be safe before that ever came to pass.” Eli shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s run out of time, and we’re left to clean up his mess.”
Turner, who had followed their conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, asked, “Do you have a plan?”
“Of course not. At this point, I’m working on a minute-by-minute basi
s. One crisis at a time,” Eli finished, parroting Coyle’s words.
“What’s the first crisis?”
Eli laughed humorlessly. “Fuck if I know. Survive the night.”
“Then we need power,” Dajia pointed out. “I’d say most of the population isn’t in imminent danger of freezing to death, but some will be. Those who live alone. The elderly and infirm. The young.”
“The young?” Eli repeated, horrified. The young were the future of Sector 14. Witches and humans both would be needed after the regent passed.
Turner spoke up. “The most talented of witches will be able to warm their own homes with little problem. The humans, though…”
Eli didn’t like the way he let his thought trail off.
“Crisis One—keep the humans warm.” Dajia smiled kindly at Eli. “That’s your first step.”
“I have a council meeting to discuss it.”
“Provide kindling to those with working fireplaces,” Dajia said. “Provide shelter for those who don’t.”
Turner nodded vigorously. “We can take some people in at my house. Chad and Rollins won’t care. Shit, Rollins is screwing a human girl.” He glanced at Dajia and grimaced. “Sorry. He’s dating a human girl.”
“Not everyone is as tolerant as you and your friends.” Dajia wrapped her arms around herself, fighting off a chill. “There’s a clear delineation between us. Magickal and non. I grew up human. I know firsthand.”
Eli bit back a violent need to track down and punish any witch who had ever done wrong by Dajia. He had frittered away twenty-eight years in the palace, oblivious to the real world. He hated to think any sort of prejudice existed in Sector 14, but he knew Dajia wouldn’t lie or embellish. He didn’t know much about her, not yet, but he knew she was honest.
“I’ll put out a call for help,” Eli said. “If anyone wants to step forward and help the humans, they can. And anyone who needs sanctuary tonight, but can’t find it elsewhere, can come here.”
“To the palace?” Turner asked, astonished. “What about your dad?”
“Screw the regent,” Eli snarled. He didn’t even want to call the man his father anymore. “The people of this sector are more important to me than the sociopath who raised me.”
Dajia’s eyes were wide in the firelight. Eli slipped forward in his seat and caught her gaze.
“Can you find them? The hidden witches?” he asked. “Get me names and addresses so I can start the paperwork to Record them.”
She looked stricken. “Record?”
Eli continued. “Recording them will give them legitimacy in the eyes of the council. I’ll meet with the council, tell them what’s happening and what my plans are. As soon as the meeting is over, I’ll make the PA regarding safe haven here at the palace. Turner, can you get me books from the academy? Specifically on spell language.”
Turner didn’t bat an eye at Eli’s swift change in subject. “Sure. I’ll stop by my aunt’s.”
“Can you do it now? Get them back here before nightfall?”
“Whatever you need, boss.” Turner stood and saluted. “Dajia. I look forward to seeing you again.”
The lanky red-head exited the room, and in the silence following his departure, a knot cracked in the fire. Eli and Dajia stared at one another without speaking, without moving. Flames danced in her dark eyes, and he thought he could glimpse a universe within them. He wished to fall among her stars and forget how life had begun to crumble around him.
“Can I kiss you?” Eli asked huskily.
Her breath hitched. “I wish you would.”
Eli didn’t hesitate a second beyond her assent. He reached for her, tugged her through the space between them, and deposited her roughly in his lap, slanting his lips over hers.
Dajia’s lips felt cool, despite the warmth of the fire. She twisted against him, straddling his hips, and tangled her fingers in his hair. Her weight rested on his erection, a tease of what he really wanted.
Eli slipped his hands beneath her shirt, seeking her hot, silky skin. He deepened the kiss and pulled her in tighter, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.
Her lips had grown hotter, almost as hot as her core, where only the fabric of their clothes separated their bodies. She reached for the buttons on his silk shirt, never breaking the kiss as her fingers worked the tiny pearls. She tugged his shirt open and traced her fingers down his abdomen.
Eli gripped her cotton shirt and yanked it over her head. She gasped in surprise, and then her head dipped back as he trailed kisses down her neck, his tongue tasting the soft hollow of her collarbone. One hand drifted further, cupping a breast. He could feel her nipple pebbled beneath the thin fabric of her bra. He slipped lower, his lips cresting her cleavage, and he hooked a thumb in her bra to expose her breast. He closed his lips on her perfect, pink nipple, his erection aching as she rocked against him.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Sir?” a voice called through the thick wooden door. “The council meeting has begun. They wonder at your absence.”
Eli groaned, burying his face in Dajia’s breasts. “Fuck. I have to go.” He sat up and captured her lips in his. He wanted her with a desperation that bordered on insanity. If they’d had a little more time, a few more moments…
Gods, no. Eli didn’t want a few stolen moments. He wanted an entire night to worship the expanse of her skin, to memorize every scar and freckle. To consume her completely.
“Come back,” he murmured against her lips. “Tonight. There’s a tunnel that leads to the palace. I’ll meet you there.” He kissed her softly. “Stay with me.”
Dajia stroked his cheeks. Her gaze drifted wordlessly over his face.
Eli couldn’t recall ever finding a woman as beautiful as he found the aurora borealis. But this woman… Even in the cold dark of the northern tundra, he would have sat and gazed at her beauty in the night sky, impervious to anything but his longing to be near her.
18
Dajia
Dajia found her way through the streets of Sector 14 without seeing anything around her. Her body was still in Eli’s hands. His phantom lips had left heated impressions on her skin, as if he’d branded her his property and removed any chance she might recover. Her mind floated somewhere high above, lost in sensations of him, where an unregistered witch who had lived her life in fear of one man was now hopelessly, madly in love with that man’s son.
Because of her inattention, Dajia drifted on automatic, her feet carrying her of their own accord. They took her the long way around, past streets as familiar as they were alien, until they paused on the icy sidewalk.
Dajia wrapped her arms around herself and tried to disappear into the warmth of her wool coat. A sun-worn playhouse hunkered beneath smooth snow, the visible grass around it brown with hibernation. Justin and Vanele Bray’s comfy house glowed merrily, no longer hers but still there, still existing in a world she no longer inhabited. Her chest ached for that house, for those parents, for the girl she would have been.
That girl, a Recorded Dajia, would have been trained in her powers with parents holding prominent council positions. That girl would have been a perfect match for Elliott Pierce. A different regent would have celebrated their union as the best for his son, the heir regent.
The real Dajia, however, felt ill-suited for the job. Despite the current climate, and Eli’s certainty it was the end of times, Dajia had hope. She had faith in Eli and the people who surrounded him. When the dust settled and life returned to normal, Dajia had a sick feeling the heir regent would realize how she didn’t fit in his life. She’d be a quick fascination, gone and forgotten as he moved forward in the regency.
Dajia lost track of time as she stood there, staring at the house with her thoughts awhirl.
Then the front door opened.
A kind, round face peered out from a brightly lit interior. “Are you okay, honey?”
The woman had her messy black hair in a ponytail and a chubby toddler on her hip. T
he toddler watched Dajia with interest over his orange sippy cup. His legs were long, latched onto his mother’s waist like tentacles. His platinum curls waved around his angelic face like a halo.
“Honey?” the woman asked, bouncing the baby gently.
Dajia tore her gaze from the cherubic kid and offered a smile to the mother. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. Just passing by.”
“All right. Thought I’d check. Good night.” The mother backed into the hall with a pleasant smile and moved to close the door. The light in the hallway spilled onto the toddler’s face.
“Wait.” Dajia stepped forward, her gaze studying the foyer. “You have power.”
The woman looked stricken. She glanced over her shoulder. “No, no. Just candles. Goodbye.”
Dajia crossed the yard in three long strides and caught the door with her boot before the mother could slam it shut. “Please,” Dajia said softly. She tugged her wand from her pocket and showed it to the woman. “We need to talk.”
The toddler stared at the wand, his lips working on the lid of his cup even though he wasn’t drinking. The mother bit her lip.
“I’m not Recorded,” Dajia told her. A statement that usually felt like a slur, an abomination, suddenly felt like a secret club. A chance.
The woman sighed and opened the door wider. “Neither am I.”
CORA MASKEY’S KITCHEN HELD ENOUGH light and warmth to fill a stadium. She deposited the toddler in his high chair, where he promptly attacked a bowl of dry cereal. Another boy with a similar head of angelic fluff sat at the table scratching in a coloring book. He glanced up at Dajia with a wave.
“Hello!”
Dajia waved back. “Hello there.”
The boy returned to his coloring book.
“Sam,” Cora offered as she plugged in an electric kettle. “The most stubborn five year old you’ll ever meet.”
Dajia chuckled and sat beside him. “Is that right?”
Cora bustled around in her leggings and sweater, filling the kettle and setting it to boil. She had Rubenesque curves beneath the dark wool, like Myra—the kind of body a mother had, as if she held the weight of her children’s love under her skin. Dajia admired her as she plated a few cookies for them, wishing her own rail-thin form had a little more beauty to it. A little more love.
The Shadows and Sorcery Collection Page 49