Not fucking happening.
About to take off, a pained moan escaped the female, and she crumpled. In preternatural speed, Nik moved and caught her before she face-planted on the floor. Guess his chivalrous instinct still floated somewhere inside his dead-cold self.
This close, her scent hit him like a fist to the gut, stunning him senseless. Wildflowers merged with an undertone of…acrid woodsmoke?
A small shaky hand pushed at his chest, hauling him back to her. “Unless you plan to fight me, female, it’s back to bed for you.”
Her head snapped up. Shiny black hair streaked with purple cascaded down her back in a silky waterfall, revealing the dressing on the side of her brow. Remnants of black make-up smeared around her striking eyes, highlighting irises the colors of a starburst, reds and blues speckling a velvety-brown background. They glittered like neon stars in her pale face.
“No—” the word tore free in a harsh breath. She thumped his chest, shaking her head impatiently as if to make him understand. About what, he had no idea. I-I have to go,” she rasped.
Her husky voice stroked his senses like a gravelly caress, throwing Nik for a loop, and he stiffened. “You can barely walk. If you plan to crawl outta here, be ma guest.”
At his acerbic tone, the claret flecks in her irises blazed. She yanked his shirt with a strength that surprised him. Buttons snapped, pinging everywhere. “You can’t keep me here, you big jerk. Lemme go!”
Uninterested in more of her theatrics, Nik scooped her into his arms, simply wanting to dump her in bed and leave. He didn’t like being touched, yet he endured the intrusion.
“No-no—” She lashed out again.
“Behave. Or I will tie you to the bed.”
She went deathly still. Fear leaked off her, sharp and acrid.
Yeah, he was a moody, psychotic asshole. Good she knew this upfront.
She whimpered and buried her face in his chest, startling him.
Hell, he wouldn’t have hurt her. He’d said that so she wouldn’t injure her hands hitting him. Then he became aware of her palm pressed flat on his naked chest. An odd sensation crawled through him, pulling at his psyche—even the rioting souls slowed their demented battering. Her touch awakened a primal need. One he’d hadn’t experienced in eons. And it nailed him square in the groin.
What the fuck?
Teeth clenched, he strode into the bedroom and set her on the mattress, willing her to sleep. He did a quick scan of her and picked up her slight psychic vibe, and nothing more. For a human, she had damn strong shields. Maybe this was what rubbed him up all wrong?
Kira darted inside, eyes widening in panic. “What happened?”
As if he could answer her when he had no damn clue himself.
He shrugged. “Found her wandering in the hallway, moments from collapsing. Who is she?”
“My friend, Shadow.” Kira set a tea tray on the side table. Worried hazel eyes briefly met his before lowering to the girl. “Týr brought her here earlier. She got grazed by a bullet.”
Hazily, he recalled a female caught in the middle of the gang war while he’d been busy playing Death. With their short life span, humans really had no self-preservation.
Kira pulled the covers to the woman’s chest and gently brushed back her purple-streaked hair.
Nik studied her pale, delicate features. Faint purplish circles shadowed her eyes as if she didn’t sleep, then he frowned at the fading yellow bruise marring her cheekbone. Someone would dare harm a fragile woman?
You failed one.
Right. His mouth thinned.
Just as well this female was Týr’s and Kira’s responsibility.
He only fucked up things.
Nik headed for the door, clenching and unclenching his fingers, the sensation of her warmth lingering on his skin. He glanced back at Kira. “What’s her name?”
“Shadow.”
“No, her true name.”
“I don’t know…” Kira scrunched her brow. “If she has one, she’s never said.”
Nik nodded and walked out.
There was something—hell, so many things about her puzzling him.
No mortal or immortal had ever affected him, because nothing penetrated the innate coldness inside him. Yet, she’d dragged him over by her scent alone. But she was human, and yet she didn’t feel like one…but something more.
He didn’t like paradoxes.
No matter, he’d find out the truth soon enough.
Chapter 2
Five months later…
Summer heat rose from the backstreet in lower Manhattan. The stench of piss and garbage stung Nik’s sensitive nose, the downside of patrolling the alleys.
He hunkered down near the grimy wall of a brick building, arms braced on his leather-clad thighs, and bolted his mind shields against the growing ruckus of the dark souls inside him. His thoughts back on the dark-haired female, Shadow.
It had been several months and still no sign of her after she’d left the castle the very next day. Hedori had said he’d driven her to the Lower East Side, where she asked to be dropped off near a Starbucks—which didn’t help much.
He’d searched the alleys, since it was where she’d been shot, and nothing. Hell, he should just forget her—but she’d caused a chink in his armor, drawn him, and he needed to understand why.
The space near him shimmered. At the familiar brush on his psyche, yup, his days of solitude had ended.
Dagan, his fellow warrior and friend, took form a short distance away.
The Sumerian strolled over, his warrior braids flowing down his back like black whips. Yellow eyes skimmed him. “Haven’t seen you around recently.” He crouched next to Nik. “You okay?”
“Are we ever?” Nik asked, watching a homeless man wandering along the opposite side, looking for a place to bunk down.
Dagan exhaled roughly. “None of us came out of that hellhole unscathed, so I get you. You need me, I’m here.”
Nik caught his tongue piercing with his teeth and remained silent.
“Is it the souls?”
Damn. He rubbed his inked biceps at the Sumerian’s persistence. “Let it go, Dag.”
Sure, they all had their own demons to live with. But admit to his friend he was teetering the edge again—a walking threat they let around their precious mates? Yeah, no. “I’m good.”
“Tartarus altered us all in one way or another.” Dagan’s mouth thinned briefly, revealing the tips of his fangs, his own changes, courtesy of the Creator-forsaken place. “I more than anyone know this.”
Tartarus.
Just the name and the malevolence in him stirred like chittering beetles scurrying all over him, claws digging, looking for ways to escape their prison. Escape him.
Yeah, safer for everyone if he kept his distance.
After a minute, he murmured, “You ever think this is why the Arc kept us crazies isolated in Romania?”
“You mean you, Race, and me?” Dagan asked wryly. “I guess we are the riskier ones.”
Nik didn’t respond, his attention fixed on the ghostly shapes—shadow demons—lurking in the gloom of the building, drawn to the churning darkness in him. Like he didn’t have enough shit to deal with.