The Cloak's Shadow Read online

  Not that she had. Wren had never seen a Shadow—but she’d heard about them.

  “I know you have to purify it,” she said, thinking back to a years-old conversation she’d had with Bridgette. It hadn’t even been on the topic of evil forces or Shadows, but Bridgette had said something in passing about malevolent forces needing to be purified. Whatever that meant, exactly. “But I don’t know anything more than that. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Zander replied. “That’s one hundred percent more information than I had five minutes ago. I’m honestly just glad to hear you say I haven’t lost my mind.”

  Wren tried to laugh but fell short.

  “Hey, you okay?” Zander asked. “You sound... I don’t know, off, I guess.”

  Which was when Wren’s eyes started to burn and the words slipped out, her voice quiet. “Nah. Bridgette’s gone.”

  “Oh shit. What happened?”

  “Her ICD—her pacemaker—it failed.”

  “Wait, she—she died?!”

  Wren nodded. It took a second before she realized she hadn’t spoken in response. “Yeah, she said. “It was four or five days ago.”

  “Holy hell, Wren.” Zander sounded genuinely shocked. “I don’t know what to say.”

  A sad, quiet kind of smile pulled at Wren’s lips. She didn’t know what to say either, that was the thing. “I’ll be okay,” she said, for lack of a better idea. “I’m just a little messed up still.”

  “Of course you are,” Zander replied. “Jesus. Look, when I’m back in New Orleans I’m going to swing by your place, okay? I’ll bring wine, or chocolate, or whatever you want.”

  Wren found herself staring at the tarot cards in front of her. “Yeah, okay,” she said, even though something in her knew that wouldn’t happen. She’d be gone by then. Or close to it, at least.

  “Chocolate sounds good,” she said after a beat. “And then you can tell me how this whole Shadow thing turns out.”

  “We can talk about whatever you want,” Zander replied. “Or sit in silence, for that matter. Don’t feel obligated to ask me about this Shadow shit.”

  “Nah, I’ll want to know,” she said. At least, she assumed she would. Right then, she could barely muster the energy to keep talking. “Hey, I gotta go. I should, like, shower or something.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Zander replied. “Just—I don’t know, call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will, yeah,” Wren said. “Thanks.”

  She went to hang up, but brought the phone back to her ear on some sort of instinct she didn’t have the energy to fight. “Hey Zander?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t hold back from him,” Wren found herself saying. “Callum, I mean. I just—yeah, I feel like I need to say that.”

  There was a pause, and when Zander responded her tone was laced with something like bewilderment. “Yeah, okay.”

  Wren ended the call after basic “talk laters” and “byes.” But minutes later, she realized she was still sitting in that chair, still staring at the tarot cards on the table in front of her. Zander was dealing with something heavy, and Wren wanted to help—or, wanted to want to, rather—but right then, she didn’t have anything left to give, in the way of knowledge or the energy to deliver it.

  But it all became so clear as she stared at those tarot cards. Why she'd stayed in bed for all those hours—why her curl pattern was ruined, despite her satin pillowcase, and why her mouth tasted like a dumpster—was because the thought of returning to normal life was more than she could withstand.

  Going back to work and returning to this apartment alone was more than Wren could handle. The idea of staying in New Orleans was more than she could take.

  She took a breath and blew it out on a sigh.

  She didn't know why it had to happen. She didn't know why Bridgette had lied. And she didn't care.

  "Okay," she said to the air—to Bridge, who she knew was there even if she couldn't see or hear her. "I trust you."

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Zander lay under a thin blanket on the sofa in the living room, staring at the dark ceiling, counting and recounting the dim spears of light the moon made as it shined through the wide-slat blinds on the living room windows. She was exhausted. Falling asleep shouldn't have been a problem, but the day was running on repeat in her head.

  Callum’s thoughtful expression while they’d all been sitting on these very sofas. The way he’d looked around her room, observing it with such reverence. The look on his face when she’d told him her given first name.

  And starker memories; the sound of Wren’s voice when she said her girlfriend had passed away.

  Holy shit, that had been a shock. When Wren had said “Bridgette was gone,” Zander had assumed she meant she’d left. It had never occurred to her that the woman had died! Wren had to be crushed. Hell, Zander knew she was—she’d been able to hear it in her voice.

  They’d been so in love.

  The gentleness in Callum’s blue eyes ran through Zander’s thoughts again and a warmth blossomed in her chest.

  She liked him a whole hell of a lot. She knew that. She also knew that would normally have been her cue to pull away, to distance and protect herself—but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not with him.

  On the contrary, she wanted to be with him now. She wanted to go lie with him in her bed. To feel his body against hers, to press her mouth to his mouth and let her hands roam. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to relinquish control—and relinquish it to him.

  Like proof they were both here. Were both okay.

  Don’t hold back from him. That’s what Wren had said, wasn’t it?

  She wondered if he was awake, lying in her bed.

  Glancing at the clock she could see from the sofa, she added up the hours until her mom was due home. Six hours. And no reasonable way she'd be home earlier than that.

  Cecily and Alyssa had to be sleeping—they were all but incapable of being as silent as they were now unless they were both unconscious.

  So fuck it.

  She pushed herself up from the sofa, throwing the covers back before she could second guess. If Callum was sleeping, she'd let him be. Otherwise...

  Zander carefully turned the knob on her bedroom door and slipped inside.

  "You awake?" she breathed into the darkness. She could see the outline of him lying in her bed, the edges of his features highlighted by the moonlight through the window—his open eyes catching the soft glow.

  "Yeah, I'm awake."

  Oh thank god. She crossed the room on long strides, only now feeling the full impact of her need for him.

  He sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed so when she reached him, she could crash her mouth down on his. Standing between his knees, she kissed him hard, hands firm on his jaw, fists closing on the ends of his hair as she drank in the taste of him, the smell of him. Her tongue licked into him, and he followed suit without pause, stifling the sound of a groan in the back of his throat that just egged her on.

  She sighed, the kiss slowing to something deeper and more detailed—less desperation and more savoring. Relief sang in her veins, his lips, his skin a soothing balm to her raw need.

  She brushed her kiss-swollen lips from his mouth to his jaw, then his neck... "We have to be quiet," she said against his skin as she pressed her lips to him in a meandering line that traveled to his shoulder, then his chest.

  He wasn't wearing a shirt and the knowledge he'd been lying in her bed shirtless was like spark to kindling.

  She dipped to her knees, and her teeth grazed his stomach. His breath shuddered, which only worked to bring the need buzzing in her blood to a new high.

  She looked up at him as she split the fly of his boxers and slid the opening down the hard length of him, quirking an eyebrow in silent question.

  He nodded his consent, the smallest tick of his head.

  Not that she'd expected him to say no.

  She felt her lips
pull into a private smile before drawing the velvet smooth length of him into her mouth.

  There was something powerful about giving him pleasure this way. About kneeling at his feet. About listening to the sound of his breath change, and sensing the way his spine stiffened, then relaxed as he held himself back, then gave into the sensation. She took her time, running her tongue from the base to the head, where a crystal bead of moisture had appeared, salty and sweet. Then she took the head of him into her mouth and slowly swirled her tongue around it as she pushed down, taking him deep. She continued the routine, mixing it up between languid licks, and soft suction, while she listened to his quiet groans and gasps, and reveled in the feeling of his fingers in her short hair.

  Just as she was ready to pick up the speed and pressure, sensing he was ready for an uptick in intensity, his hands turned firm and still on her shoulders.

  "Hold up."

  Sitting back, she looked up at him. He smiled and took her face in his hands, guiding her up as he leaned forward to bring his mouth to hers. He continued to guide her upward, until she was standing. He followed, turning until the mattress was pressing into the backs of her thighs. She sat and let him guide her back while they kissed, bringing her hands to his chest, to the back of his neck, to his back where she let her fingers curl so her fingernails could rasp against his skin. She savored the sound of his hushed moan.

  A moment later, he was nipping at her jaw, then kissing her neck hard so electric need shot down her body and her nails turned to claws against his back.

  Moving lower, he pushed up the hem of her black tank, his lips grazing her stomach. Lower, to the edge of the purple panties that fit like a second skin. He slipped his fingers beneath them, and she lifted her hips as he pulled them downward. He followed the panties down her legs, trailing kisses as he went, down to her feet, where he slipped them off and let them fall to the floor. Then he slowly kissed his way back up, driving her mad with every kiss that brought him closer to where she knew he was going.

  She gasped when he lifted her leg and put it over his shoulder. He kissed up her inner thighs, drawing closer to her core, little by little, until her fingers were knotted in the comforter beneath her and her sawing breath lifted her chest in a quick rhythm.

  God, she wanted him there. She needed his touch.

  The first brush of his tongue against the top of her sex nearly sent her off the bed. She whimpered when he dipped into her again, kissing her with his lips, then licking with his tongue. She drew her legs up, needing him deeper, giving herself over to the sensation of his warm, wet mouth against her. The sensation of his soft tongue and smooth lips caressing her most sensitive skin.

  Her hips began to rock as a pressure started to build, and Callum matched her need, picking up the pace as she did. She felt his palm skim up her leg. Then his fingers were against her core, where they slid inside. Immediately, her body tensed, the pressure reaching a new high as he pressed them in deeper.

  The sound of his own satisfied groan sent her over the edge. She let go—and shattered apart.

  Her back arched off the mattress as the building pressure snapped back, escaping in a great rush that pushed out from her middle, along every nerve, speeding under her skin. Aware enough to keep herself quiet, she swallowed her moans as Callum rode the climax with her, drawing it out until it doubled on itself, crashing down and climbing again.

  Minutes later, he was climbing up her body as she sunk into the mattress, sated. Her arms were heavy as she reached for him. His lips were tangy with the flavor of her own pleasure when he kissed her.

  Next thing she knew, his hands were firm on her hips. Then he rolled, so she was on top of him, staring down at his beautiful face. The color was high in his cheeks, his pupils dilated and eyes bright like giving her pleasure had doubled his own desire.

  Crazy words came up her throat. Crazy—and lovely.

  But she bit the words back. She wished she could trust them, but they were born of pleasure and hormones. They weren't real.

  They couldn't be.

  She hadn't known Callum long enough to love him.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Cecily silently slipped out her bedroom door and closed it behind her, careful to ease it shut just so, ensuring it wouldn't make a sound. She held her breath as she tip-toed the short distance to the living room.

  Her shoulders relaxed when she rounded the corner.

  Zander wasn't asleep on the sofa—not that she'd expected her to be. She and Callum might have thought they were playing it cool and platonic, but the sexual tension between the two of them had been thick enough to slice and serve when they'd sat side by side on that sofa. They weren't fooling anybody.

  That said, the apartment was silent—like, way silent—so either they were getting it on like ninjas, or they'd fallen asleep.

  Cecily looked at the time on the microwave as she passed the kitchen on her way to the front door. It had been three or four hours since she'd first gone to bed after her shower—still a couple of hours until her mom came home from work, even. It was likely everyone in the house was sleeping at this point. She just had to check one thing, then she would rejoin them in sleepy land.

  She felt more like herself than she had in days. Her brain was firing on all cylinders, her body didn't hurt, and she wasn't on the verge of tears.

  The Shadow was gone. But so was Trey.

  And she knew why. Callum had said that while Zander was in the apartment, Cecily was invisible to the other side. Which meant Trevor couldn't find her.

  So, she had to find him. She just wanted to talk to him and explain what had happened. Then, once Callum and Zander helped get rid of the Shadow, and once the two of them returned to New Orleans, she and Trey could relaunch...whatever it was they were doing now.

  Cecily sighed as she made her way down the stairs in front of the building. This whole thing took the “it's complicated” relationship status to a whole new level.

  She kept her eyes up, on the lookout for Trey as she quietly padded down the stairs, careful not to trip on the hem of her too-long sweats that used to be his. She figured she just had to get far enough away from the apartment so that Zander's mojo couldn't prevent Trey from seeing her—which had the added benefit of making sure nobody would overhear her while she talked to him. At least nobody she cared about.

  Trevor appeared at the bottom of the steps, flashing into existence as her feet took the last stair.

  His smile was radiant with relief as he rushed toward her. She rushed toward him, but then they both stopped before colliding in a hug. The sudden reminder that she couldn't wrap her arms around him, couldn't stand on her toes to kiss him, like she'd done so many times when she'd taken these stairs to meet him in the middle of the night, was stark and hard on her heart.

  "Where the hell have you been?" he asked after a beat of awkwardness.

  She smiled. "I'm fine. That Shadow thing I told you about wouldn't leave me alone. But it's gone now, thanks to Zander."

  Trevor's expression turned questioning.

  God, she was glad to see him. And glad to feel better. Relief made a smile stretch across her lips as she started to explain, telling him first that Zander had brought Callum with her from New Orleans.

  "And, get this," she said, "he can see spirits!"

  "Whoa. Really?"

  "Yes! So he's going to help—"

  A hissing chuckle snapped Cecily's attention to the right, stopping her words in their track.

  It was dark outside, all the shadows bleeding into one another, but a quick, terrified look at Trey confirmed what she'd known already. The Shadow had found her.

  "Cissy?" Trey's voice was far away.

  "I'm okay," she replied, unsure she believed it. She searched the darkness, eyes straining to pick-out the amorphous figure from among the rest of the shadows thrown by the light on the front of the building. She backed toward the stairs—and the darkness followed.

  Cecily turned on her he
els, her heart sprinting like it thought it could beat her up the stairs. Then everything was gone, everything turned to cold.

  Plunged into a frigid void, she lost the feeling of the ground beneath her feet, like being dropped into the middle of an ocean. She was sinking fast as the freezing needles pierced her skin, slicing between her ribs, gripping her beating heart. Pulled under the surface, she couldn’t fight the current, couldn’t withstand the pain enough to even try.

  This is it. This is how I die.

  A wave slammed into her from behind.

  A gasping yell and a snarling growl sliced through the sound of her heart hammering in her ears.

  She could feel her feet again.

  Then she could hear more growling, savage and deadly. Growls that faded, as if moving away with great speed.

  Arms, warm and living, were around her.

  Cecily's eyes sprang open and she dragged a gasp of a breath in through her lips. Her hands went to the arms that were still around her, holding herself to whoever had kept her from sinking—whoever had pulled her from the water.

  "You okay?"

  The arms unwound from across her shoulders, from around her waist. Then firm hands on her arms turned her around.

  It was Callum, eyes wild and searching. "You okay?" he said again.

  It took a second to realize he'd asked her that already.

  "I'm fine," she gasped, breathless. Her heart was pounding so hard her chest hurt. "What was that growling?"

  Callum glanced out into the parking lot, then back at her. "It was Rhia.” Then he gave a laugh that fell short of humor as he released her arms and stepped back. "She hates that Shadow son-of-a-bitch."

  Cecily felt her own expression turn questioning. Rhia? That wicked snarling had been Callum's dog?

  Questions started to pile up in Cecily's head. She peered up at Callum like maybe she'd find order to her thoughts in his eyes. "I just wanted to come outside for a second,” she said. “But the Shadow found me.”