Shadowfae (14 page)

Unseelie Court

, a few tequilas, seeing Killian Quinn. . . .

Goose bumps constricted my skin, and I snapped upright, the soap slipping from my fingers to bang against the cracked tiles. Quinn. Jesus.

I sprinted into the lounge, not minding about a towel. Water sprayed from my soaked hair as I scrabbled on the floor for my purse and rummaged inside. My heart stopped as I felt nothing—but then my fingers closed around the cool brass neck of the bottle, and I drew it out, my pulse thudding. I held it up before my eyes, water dripping, and something heavy inside
shifted,
like it wasn’t happy to be there. If I listened hard, I could hear a hissing whisper of fury.

The message tone on my phone squeaked, and automatically I fished it out, the soultrap still seething in my other hand. A mobile number I didn’t recognize. I pressed View.

Dont 4get 2nite eureka tower cy@9 xx Dante.

Pleasant memories stirred. He’d invited me with him to a party, with a handsome blush when I teased him by asking if it was a date.

Dante DiLuca, the most feared man in Melbourne, blushing for me.

I wanted it to be a date. We’d barely kissed—I remembered that now, his baffling blue eyes, the way he’d savored my taste, and my spine prickled, pleasant—but I felt he knew me better than almost anyone I’d ever met. I wanted to bask in his attention, even if it only lasted for a while, until he found out I was Kane’s spy and chewed my throat out. Was that so wrong?

Rajah certainly thought so. I recalled the distant look in his gold-flecked eyes when he’d seen Dante and me, the tight lines around his perfect mouth. Hurt. Confused. Sick. Like I’d betrayed him.

Well, I hadn’t.

My heart somersaulted, and I swallowed firmly on guilt and regret. There was nothing to betray. Rajah didn’t own me. He had no right to control me, just because we’d kissed. Just because we’d burned for each other, breathless and sore with desire. Just because if I thought about it I could still feel Rajah against me now, his glorious scent wrapping me, filling my senses, making me long for his smile, his cheeky laugh, the warm feeling of his hand in mine.

The doorbell clanged, jagged.

Absently I put the phone and the soultrap on the table, and twisted the dead bolt before I remembered I’d just stepped out of the shower.

Shit.

My skin burned all over again. I poked my dripping head into the gap, trying to keep the door closed as far as possible and hoping to hell this wasn’t anyone I knew. The door stuck to my wet breasts, uncomfortable.

A teenager in a blue cap stared at me, blond hair sticking out. “Jade?”

“Yeah. What?” Only then did I notice what he carried, and my breath caught.

“These are for you.” He handed me the basket, the heady scent of roses rolling over me like a wave.

A couple of dozen scarlet blooms, curling petals still dotted with water drops, green foliage shining. No one had sent me flowers for at least a hundred years. Apart from Nyx’s daisy chains, if you counted those. I inhaled, dizzy, and plucked off the note, the door still awkward as my shield.

Still working up the courage. D.

A foolish lump swelled in my throat, and my eyes stung. God, I’m so pathetic. A little romance and I’m anyone’s.

“Is everything okay, miss?” The delivery kid’s gaze darted to my bare shoulder and away a few times.

I swallowed, and smiled despite my aching head. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Thank you.”

I pushed the door shut and put the flowers on the table, burying my face in velvety petals. My nose tingled with sweet fragrance. Glorious. A man who didn’t think I was easy. Who thought he had to work for me. Someone should bottle this guy . . . Okay, bad joke.

I laughed, but my gaze kept drifting to the soultrap, and the pleasure soured a little. What would happen if I earned my freedom? Lost my immortality? Just as things were starting to look up.

I glanced at Rajah’s phone number, still scrawled in the thickening dust on the opposite side of the glass.
Primordium.
For once, ten years of the Bible shoved down my throat in Latin came in handy. The origin, the beginning. But whose origin? The beginning to what? I was even more mystified by the others,
terminus
and
animus
. The last one especially was a lousy clue. Soul. I mean, duh. And
terminus
, the dividing line. Who was that supposed to mean?

And even if I figured that out, what was I supposed to do? Drink Quinn’s soul now? Or wait until I’d trapped all four and guzzle them all at once? I was feeling drained, drawn, tired, even apart from my hangover. Did it matter if I fed on other souls in between? And what if Kane found out? Rajah had earned a split lip, but he’d kept Nino’s soul. How had he done that?

Frustration and embarrassment stirred a prickly cocktail in my queasy stomach. There was too much I didn’t know, and I had only one chance. I couldn’t let my pride screw it up.

My fingers strangely clumsy, I picked up the phone, entered the digits, and pressed Call.

It rang three times, four, five. Blessed relief washed over me. It’d go through to voice mail, and I wouldn’t have to talk to him.

But then he picked up, and my tender abdomen clenched. I heard a muffled clunk while he switched the phone from hand to hand. “Yeah. Rajah.”

His voice made me think of rogan josh, spicy and mouthwatering. Great. I was talking to him naked. I swallowed, my mouth crusty. “Umm . . . it’s me. Hi.”

“Jade? Are you all right?”

The animated concern in his tone made me bristle. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason. Just after last night, I thought—”

“Well, don’t think, okay? I’m fine.” Irritation at his possessiveness crawled on my naked skin, and I stalked into the bedroom, scraping damp hair from my face.

“Hey, you rang me. If you’ve got nothing to—”

“Okay, I’m sorry, all right?” I realized that he now had my number, and cursed that I hadn’t thought to call him from a public phone. “Listen, I need to talk to you. About this . . . thing you told me about. You know.”

“Sure.” He hesitated, like he swallowed or bit his lip. Or ran his tongue over them. Making them wet.
Jesus, don’t think about his lips.
“I’m at home. You want to come over?”

“What, now?” More bumps shivered my skin, my bare nipples tight. But it wasn’t such a dumb idea. I’d probably be safe from my lustful fixation with him today. Between the gut ache, the headache, and fatigue—the physical kind—I’d never felt less like having sex.

“Okay. Where is it?”

11

H
is address was the top floor of a refurbished apartment block at the casino end of

Spencer Street

, where plane trees blew lazily in the summer breeze and the distant sound of trains rumbled. I hopped off the tram at about five, the hot sun turning golden and the streets starting to fill with tired, sweaty commuters dressed in business suits far too warm for the weather, coats tossed over their shoulders and damp patches showing on their shirts and blouses.

The glass security door was unlocked. A sleek fountain trickled in the marble-tiled foyer, and the silent lift gleamed inside with chrome and mirrors. I pressed the button for five, trying not to look at my reflection. I’d put on a thin white cotton skirt and sleeveless top, and left my hair out to dry. It curled around my shoulders, wild. I wished I’d brought something to tie it back with, or at least a brush, but could find neither in my purse. I combed my fingers through it uselessly, just making more knots.

What did I care, anyway? Right? I was going out with Dante tonight. I’d dress to kill for that. For someone who gave a shit.

Daylight shone in a broad skylight in the top-floor lobby, glistening on slate floor tiles and pale clay-rendered walls. Air-conditioning hummed softly, the air cool and refreshing. It was a change from my place, where the summer sun baked everything to boiling in five minutes flat. Especially if you crashed until three in the afternoon and didn’t close the blinds.

When he opened the door, he was wearing those same faded black jeans he’d worn the night I met him, soft as a baby mouse’s skin and as touchable. Not much left for the imagination there. Top button undone. A glimpse of smooth brown hips. I’d bet no underwear.

I flushed, my guts warm. Honestly. There’s only so much a girl can take. At least he had a shirt on this time.

“Come in.” He turned immediately. Was he avoiding looking at me? Maybe I’d embarrassed him by staring. I’d sure as hell embarrassed myself.

I followed him down a short carpeted hallway into the living room, where the sun filtered through half-closed mini venetians over the broad windows. A sweet, smoky scent drifted, like incense or an oil burner. Books stacked a dozen high on his low glass dining table, and above it hung a frieze of the Hindu god Shiva, multiple arms gesturing. The couch lay sprawled in front of the plasma TV, and a console game showed in pause, some first-person shooter set in a swamp, green slime dripping into swirling gray water littered with alien bodies. Looked like he was kicking ass. I smiled. “Busy, huh.”

He shrugged, sheepish, clearing magazines off the couch. “Can’t work all the time. Umm . . . can I get you a drink?”

I wanted something to do with my hands, but I didn’t know what to ask for. I hadn’t seen him drink alcohol. I glanced over the marble island bench and noticed an ice tap in the door of his stainless fridge. “Water?”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

I sat on the cool cushions, velvet fluffy under my fingers. He returned with two tall iced water glasses and handed me one, his gaze drifting away as he realized he’d have to sit next to me. He settled finally a few feet away, silent.

I sipped, the icy water stinging my tongue, aware that we were avoiding each other’s eyes. This was ridiculous. I put my glass aside. “I wanted to—”

“Jade, I—”

We’d both spoken at once, and he grinned, bashful. “You first.”

I licked my lips, dry despite the water. “I wanted to say sorry for snapping at you last night. I don’t really remember, but—”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. It was entirely my fault.” He took a deep swallow of his water, his long hand tense and pale on the glass, fingertips slipping.

I tried again. “No, really. I was rude, you surprised me, I didn’t mean to—”

“You did mean to, and I deserved it. My question was totally inappropriate. It’s none of my business what you do, and it’s I who should apologize.”

Well, bullshit. He was so obviously lying, the way his fingers shook and whitened, his gaze sliding all over the place but not on me, the ever-so-slight quiver of tension in those strokable thighs. So obviously repeating what he thought I’d want him to say.

He probably thought I’d slept with Dante already. Sorrow and anger tightened my jaw as I remembered how I’d thought Rajah understood me, wanted to know me. Jesus. I’d been so stupid. He might be an incubus in thrall, but he was still a man like all the rest, focused on his own need and not giving a stuff for anyone else’s. Why didn’t he just say,
You’re a cock-teasing slut, Jade,
and be done with it?

I forced a smile, sure I looked as insincere as he did. “Sure. Fine. Forget it.”

He swallowed the last of his water, ice clinking, and set his glass on the table with a clunk. “Fine. So what did you want to talk about?”

Unease tickled my spine, and I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder. I knew Kane couldn’t hear me, but I dropped my voice to a whisper anyway. “I got one.
Odium.
”

I heard Rajah catch his breath, and he looked at me in spite of himself, a little smile turning his lips. “No way. Already?” He inched closer on the couch, cheerfully conspiratorial. “When? Who was it?”

I swallowed. “Last night. Before you . . . before I saw you. It’s a guy I know, a cop. He’s always hated me.”

“You don’t mean our charming friend Quinn?” Sultry admiration sparked in his golden-brown eyes, and the tip of his tongue touched his teeth, delicate. “Well. I’m impressed.”

By what? My audacity? My technique? My willingness to humiliate myself with men I despised? “It’s at home. I didn’t know what to do now. Do I keep it, or what?”

He nodded, animated. “I think so. I mean, I have no idea, but it makes sense, right? Remember the day you got these?” He brushed his finger across my thrall bangles, just for a moment before pulling away, his lips tightening.

I felt it deep under my skin, even though he hadn’t touched me, and I squirmed. Maybe I’d been wrong about the hangover.

But I did remember the day of my thrall. Sick terror, flowing over me like choking black mud, golden manacles pinning my fists against the floor, hot stone rough beneath my naked back. Burning demon blood, sticky on my lips, coating my tongue. Kane’s sweet mouth on mine, hot, ravenous; distant flames crackling, scarlet sunlight glaring in my eyes, the crisp ashen stink of hell. My soul screaming, ripping from me in a thick acid rainbow like vomit, flooding into him.