“Shadow.” He reached for her again.
“No—” She smacked his hand away, taking another step up. “Why are you being cruel? I get that you don’t want to be near me, that you’re too dangerous!” she spat the words. “I mean, it’s why you’re leaving, but to deliberately hurt me?”
“I will never do that,” he said gently.
At the stark sincerity in his eyes, she swallowed hard, agony crashing through her in a huge wave. The only person to genuinely care about her was gone. She wrapped her arms around her trembling body. “How?”
“Gang fights. Aethan and Týr found the aftermath when they patrolled underground. He’d been stabbed.”
“Wh-wh—” She cleared her tears-swollen throat. “When did it happen?”
His gaze searched her face. “The night after you were hurt.”
“And you didn’t tell me straight away?”
“You were injured, feverish. It took you nearly two damn days to fight through whatever dark magic the bastard used in his tracking spell. You couldn’t do anything, Shadow, not then, not now, not until that bull’s-eye on you is fully healed.”
Frustration choked her, knowing he was right. But her blood burned for vengeance. While Nate and Aba had saved her, Eddi was the one who truly cared about her…watched out for her.
“Thanks for finding my backpack.” She wheeled away and sprinted up the stairs.
“Shadow, wait.”
Now he wanted to talk?
She ignored him and dashed for her room.
His footsteps thundered after her. Callused fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, halting her escape. And meeting his understanding gaze, yearning flashed through her. She wanted to throw her arms around him, ask him to hold her until her pain eased. But that would never happen.
Nik hated demons, and she possessed a part of them.
“Don’t you have to be wherever you had to rush off to several minutes ago?” she asked, tone flat, stifling her pain and unwanted jealousy.
Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. His mouth tightened. “Don’t leave the castle.”
Yeah, that was the most important thing to him, that she kept her ass safe, and his duty would be done.
She marched off because crying wouldn’t bring Eddi back. So, she locked down her sorrow. But she was going to kill that son of a bitch, Tolvi, as soon as her damn wound healed.
And Nik… he…he could go fly a kite.
As if she would just sit back and not avenge Eddi’s death.
Chapter 11
The pain in Shadow’s eyes at learning of Eddi’s death torqued Nik. If he could bring back the dead, he would, for her. But he couldn’t.
He strode through the empty rec room, fingers fisting, the dark souls’ shrieks spiking his skull—theós. He ground down on his teeth. It was the price he paid for the emotions he let free while kissing Shadow. She had a way of cracking his usually rigid control.
He had to get back to the monastery ASAP. With the blood moon growing stronger, his mental shields were thinning precariously, as proven by his early morning gym ice session.
Nik stepped out onto the terrace as dawn broke, rubbing his chest, the emptiness back in spades. But three days away from her…and with her impulsiveness…
Dammit. He got out his cell and shot a message to Hedori.
Have to go to Romania.
Don’t let Shadow leave the castle.
She might be furious with him right now—when was she not?—but at least she would be safe.
He summoned his powerful mystical abilities, and with a wave of his hand, the air split open. Nik stepped through the swirling portal and into the warm, midday sunlight of Romania.
Chirruping insects welcomed him as he shut the gateway. He stood beneath a tree for a moment, letting the quiet of nature seep through him. But memories of Shadow, her taste, her scent crowded his mind. The urge to go back yanked him by the balls.
Hell, he dragged his palms over his buzzed hair, pacing alongside the thick growth of trees. Still hours until midnight and lockdown. He needed an outlet to work through this spiking pain inside him. There was only one thing left to do.
He dematerialized to the tallest summit of the Apuseni Mountain range, some distance from the monastery, and reformed on the granite surface. Looming peaks surrounded him. Wisps of clouds drifted past, strengthening the feeling of isolation.
“Race,” he snapped, pacing the rugged grounds. Wherever the dragon hibernated, he would know Nik was there, close to his precious hideout. Even with his fracturing mind, Nik wasn’t insane enough to seek the dragon’s lair. Race responded to intruders with a bellow of fire.
The air shifted behind him, the loud rustling of beating wings causing a heavy air current to slam Nik forward.
Growling, Nik pivoted as the scary mofo landed on his massive hind legs on the granite plateau. Enormous wings settled against his body, his car-sized head lowered, and dangerously sharp twin horns curled back, as if pointing to the silvertip serrated spikes running down his entire spine to his lethal tail.
From the primeval, fading pantheon of Lemuria, Eracier was one of the few of his kind left, and probably even craftier than the deadly black dragon warrior who’d spawned him.
You called, Race telepathed, lowering his huge reptilian face to Nik’s. The dragon’s mouth stretched in a disturbing smirk, revealing a mouthful of lethal fangs. Need a fight?
“Not in that fucking form.”
The dragon chuffed. In a blink, his enormous shape shimmered, folded, and a tall, naked male emerged. A pair of black sweats appeared in his hands, and Race drew them on before strolling over. His long hair glinted like a silver halo beneath the bright sunlight, despite the streak of ebony at the front. “So. You’re back.”
To stifle his agitation, Nik summoned his obsidian dagger, then flipped and caught the weapon by its tip. “Yeah.”
“I smell her on you.”
His mouth clamped tight. He didn’t want to talk about Shadow. Another flip of his weapon.
“Mate?”
Nik cut his fellow warrior an impatient stare. “You wanna fight or be a pain in my ass?”
“I take my pleasure wherever I can.” Race grinned, revealing a pair of fangs in his human form. The sharp canines, plus the slash of ebony in his silver mane, and his claret irises glowing eerily like some sinister force, broke up his otherwise ethereal image. The bastard was no angel, not with his huge destructive, motherfucking alter ego.
Yeah, looks could be deceiving as Nik had discovered eons ago. His mother, his sire, even his caretaker, Zeus, had shown him the truth—perfect to look at, but their actions taught him that love didn’t exist, only lust, and nothing could ever be real.
But then five months ago, he scented her…
“So you just gonna stand there and admire me?” Race arched an eyebrow. “Now, indeed, I’m worthy of your worship, but I need blood. And that dagger ain’t gonna help you, youngling.”
“Fuck off.” Nik flipped the obsidian dagger, and it vanished. He had no idea how old Race was, nor did he care. “I don’t need a weapon to bring your ancient, scaly ass down.”
Race laughed, the rough sound a ghostly echo rumbling over the mountaintop. A chain rattled as it appeared in his hand, a spiked ball attached to the end.