Shadowglass (2 page)

Fluid scorched into my wing veins, swelling them tight. I held my breath.
Calm, Ice. He’s touching you. You’ve practically got your face in his lap. Say something really cool and seductive.

“Oh. Um. Hi, Indigo. It’s me.”

Yeah. That
so
wasn’t it.

Effortlessly, Indigo lifted me to my feet. Rusty wing-glitter shimmered warm on my shoulders. His coppery claws grazed my wrist, and tiny electric shocks crackled up my arms, sparking my diamonds blue.

I stared, my fingerpads itching. He wore black, as usual, jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off lean blue arms.

I wanted to rub my cheek against them, tickle my tongue along his biceps. Metalfae are usually twisted, hunchbacked little monsters with razor metal teeth and an attitude. Indigo—well, he’s tall and sculpted and moves light, like a cat burglar, but he’s still got razor metal teeth and an attitude. Licking is strictly off-limits, especially for a no-account geek girl like me.

He surveyed me back, steely eyes cool. “Nice diamonds.”

His dark quicksilver voice broke my skin out in bumps. I tugged my skirt shyly down over my butt, my skin zinging all over under his scrutiny. My tank top was splashed with pink drink, and my nipples poked the wet fabric, painfully visible. I caught myself fiddling with my hair and yanked my hand away, embarrassment squirming inside. I so wanted to be like Azure, elegant and gorgeous, instead of gangly and yellow and pointy-nosed like me.

At least I had a shiny score to impress him with. Not that it’d impress him much. He was the real deal, Indigo. Not just a petty con artist. I wanted to be him when I grew up. “What? Oh, yeah, thanks. They’re not mine. You like ’em?”

He gave me a dark silver-fanged smile, and my tongue tingled. Like candies, Indigo’s smiles. Make your mouth water, but you only get one when you’ve been a very good girl. Probably rot your teeth, too.

He tinkled a copper claw along my glittering bracelets. “Pretty. They suit you.”

My cheeks sizzled at his compliment. “Yeah? Wow. I mean . . . Thanks, you look great, too. I mean, not that you don’t always look gr . . .
Well
, that is. You look well.” Shit.

Indigo brushed pink froth from lean denim-clad thighs, electricity arcing between his fingers.

Great. Not only had I snorted my drink on him, but I’d spilled his as well. Metalfae rust, doncha know. Good job, Ice. Well done. “Sorry ’bout the drink. I’ll get you another one—”

“It’s okay. I was finished anyway.” He adjusted brittle silver wings, and hard fae muscles did sexy things inside his shirt. I stared, my fingerpads burning to touch that narrow body packed tight with faelight flesh. He’s bigger than Blaze, stronger, harder. His muscles, I mean. I can only dream about the rest.

My mouth crinkled inside. This so wasn’t going the way I’d imagined it.

Every time I saw him, it was like this: I made a gibbering fool of myself and then spent the time until I saw him again thinking of all the cool things I should’ve said.

I licked my sharp teeth. He didn’t make it easy, so dark and silent and all. Guess he was shy. “So . . . Umm . . . You got anything happening? Me and my friends, we’re always—”

“Not right now.” His coppery lashes glinted.

“I mean, not that you need our help or anything, but we’re real good, like tonight, there was this alarm system wired into the window when we smashed it, and me and Blaze—”

“Ice.” Clipped, like he didn’t want to listen to me or something.

“Yeah?”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

I peered around him. A blond banker type, sleek black suit and golden rings, sipping a bottled green drink through a straw. He glinted black eyes at me, and ash drifted from golden lashes.

I shivered. Spooky. Maybe a client, he looked rich enough. I fluffed my wings out as prettily as I could, grubbing up the dregs of my courage. “Oh, sure. Hi. I’ll wait. Maybe after, we could go for pizza or something—”

“Ice?”

“Yeah?” My pulse fluttered. I held my breath.
Please say yes, and I’ll never tease Azure about Blaze again.

He stared at the bar, his elegant jaw tight. “Leave us alone? Please?”

Nausea warmed my stomach. I swallowed, beestung. “Fine. Sure, Indigo. Later.” And I walked away, flicking a little updraft to keep my step light.

Embarrassment and alcohol burned my skin. For the fairy of my dreams, he sure was a condescending asshole. That was like ten times he’d brushed me off like that. Why did I set myself up for this? I was so over him.

Fluid boiled in my wings, and my head swirled. Azure smirked at me from the bar, but I ignored her. Just because he’d never turn her down. I made it halfway to the dance floor before my feet tangled and I fell, my kneecaps banging into grippy metal. Nice move. That’d impress him.

I chanced a look up, and he wasn’t even watching me. Prick. I scrabbled to get up, my plastic heels slipping on the metal. My ankle twisted, and I yelped, my palm slapping into the floor. “Ow! Shit.”

A blue-eyed vampire boy slipped his cold hand in mine and lifted me gracefully to my feet. His black hair scrunched wild in his eyes, blond roots showing. “You okay, fairy lady?”

Nice teeth, white and twinkling sharp. Narrow pretty face, lashes long and green, sexy sapphire stud in his violet-dyed eyebrow. Kinda cute. All the same, too thin, too much eyeliner, smelled of meat and cigarettes. Not my type. No one else was my type with Indigo in the room. And guys who paid attention to me were usually trouble, the kind of guys who liked me because I looked desperate enough to be a sure thing. And it wasn’t always a good time they were after.

But at least this one had manners. I slid my arms around his neck, glancing over his shoulder in case Indigo was looking this time. He wasn’t. Damn it. “Sure, sweetie. Wanna dance?”

H
er sugarbright scent recedes, and Indigo exhales bitter iron temptation. His thighs are still sticky with rum and pink vodka, and imprints of her tiny hands still scorch his skin, too pleasant. She hasn’t given up on him. Like she wants to be his girlfriend or something, and the world knows Indigo doesn’t do girlfriends, not anymore.

He does thieving, chasing, fleeing from pissed-off hellspawn. Girlfriends just get in the way.

Indigo scrapes wetness from his thighs, wanting to lick his fingers. Silly mango girl has no idea. Pretty amateurs like her should stick to taunting electric alarms and swiping diamonds from faeblind humans. Not playing in the dark where the monsters are.

Indigo flexes tense wings again, raining glitter. Still, something bright and clean about her refreshes his metal-laced blood. Sweet. Charmingly inept. Innocent. Precious things he lost a long time ago.

But not harmless. Ice is never harmless, with that cheeky smile and cute pointy nose and beguiling amber eyes and tempting skin the lost color of sunflowers. In his darker moments, he can admit her awe strokes his ego. Not for a moment harmless, that wide worshipful glow in her eyes, the way her fingers twitch when he touches her, the way she wets her lips without thinking when he gets too close. . . .

His copper claws tingle. Rust crunches along the silvery edges of his wings, and he cracks it off with an electric jitter. Iron-scented particles puff, littering the ash-strewn floor. Better she never knows what hell is like. Better he forgets her. She’s probably false anyway. The rest are.

Beside him, the demon lord sips his lime vodka drink, blond ringlets tickling his cheek. Immaculate black suit, lime tie, golden cuff links, the distant smell of thunder. Soft boyish face, fresh with rosy lips, and his voice splits the numbing music effortlessly. “Do you have it?”

Indigo tightens his fingers around the ridged metal sphere, and something evil inside slithers against his palm. He’s thieved a demoness’s lair for this, and it’s not the first time he’s stolen it. He should be wise to its tricks by now. Still, giving it up again crawls a hot snake of false regret into his guts. Maybe he should take it home, keep it for his very own, where no one else can see. . . .

The damn thing’s gnawing at his mind again. He clunks the heavy sphere on the bar. Good riddance. The demon better keep his end of the bargain. “We done?”

Kane taps blue nails on his bottle, and the sphere rolls across the glass to his waiting hand. It flowers in his palm, iron triangles flashing open like razor-curved petals to reveal the gleaming mirror inside. Kane smiles, childlike, his black eyes swirling green. “You looked, didn’t you? I warned you.”

Indigo clenches steely teeth in denial. Maybe he’s peeked into the glass, drawn by the shimmering silver surface. Wouldn’t be the first time. He’s a fairy. He likes shiny things. So what? That was days ago. Nothing’s happened. Has it?

A sly new whisper rustles warning in his ears. He ignores it. The mirror winks, triumphant, and he drags his gaze away, his stomach twisting. “Are we done?”

“Oh, yes, we’re done. For now.” Kane admires the glass in colored strobe lights, green sparks playing in his hair. “Who’s that pretty yellow child? She smells like strawberries.”

“Mind your fucking business.” Jealousy shoots hot quicksilver into Indigo’s blood. He itches to look over his shoulder, warn her, make sure she’s all right, and the irony heats his claws molten. His fingertips scorch. The whispers in his head grow louder, more insistent, mocking him, eating at his reason like acid. His vision flickers like an electricity surge, mirrorshiny images of tangled limbs and fresh auburn hair and blood, and he lights blindly up from his stool with a twist of quivering wings, Kane’s empty laughter stinging.

Nausea claws his guts as he staggers away like he’s drunk, though he’s had only one. Music rocks his ears like motion sickness. A table bangs into his hip, metal crunching, and someone curses, but he doesn’t stop or apologize. He tries to focus, but limbs and eyes and fairy wings swim before him, running together like watercolors, wrapping him in a stinging cocoon of gabbling colors. His limbs hurt and yearn. His mouth stings with chrome. His teeth ache like he’s grinding them on glass. Something’s not right. It’s that cursed mirror again.

A slick giggle slides around in his head, and dread wipes his skin with hot grease, but it’s too late. Something dark and warm like a snake darts with jagged teeth for his senses, and before he can do anything, the world snaps black.

2

O
utside the club, the stormy midnight sky burns orange with reflected city lights, and ozone drenches the pregnant air. No breeze relieves the heat under the cantilever where blue neon gloats on stressed metal walls and queued wannabe starlets, colored glitter makeup and sparkling fairy wings. From inside, the bass throbs, a tantalizing promise of oblivion.

Across the street, pale twins watch in shadow, hands linked. Bleached faces, sapphire eyes, features sharp and identical. Soft white hair curls on their collars in the humidity, and street dust smears their matching white suits. Their arrival in this forsaken city was swift and untidy, crash-landing them to their knees on dirty concrete. It doesn’t matter. They don’t intend to stay long.

“Here.” The first twin speaks, voice neither male nor female, blue gaze unflinching.

The second twin’s voice is indistinguishable. “He is inside.”

“The demon lord.”

“Kane.”

“We must face him. We will not fail.”

The second twin’s smooth brow creases. “We must not fail. I want to go home. I do not like this heat, Akash. The city is . . . not as I expected. People are free.”

“People are not free, Indra. It is as Shadow told us. The city is stolen by this demon. We will take it back. We will not fail.”

The sharp rip of an engine turns two heads simultaneously, and the twins stare at a leather-vested biker and his girl climbing off a gleaming black bike and staggering up the street with his tattooed arm around her shoulder. The boy is tall, handsome, muscular, his greased dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. The girl walks unsteadily in delicate heels, makeup smeared, her clammy skin shining under loops and studs and rings of metal.

“A big one,” Akash remarks.

“And a little one,” Indra adds.

Akash sniffs the air. “She is his possession.”

Indra sniffs the air. “He is her . . . protector.”

“They are in love. Like us.”

“Like us. Perfect.”

“Perfect,” agrees Akash.

The twins look at each other and smile, and walk hand in hand toward the couple.

The biker girl points, ragged black hair falling over multipierced ears, and hitches her leather skirt up with a drunken laugh. “Look, it’s Mary-Kate and Ashley.”

Her boyfriend laughs, dragging his studded lips over hers as they stop before the twins. “Yeah. Hey, bitches. Your movies suck.”

“Yeah. And you killed Heath, you slut.” The girl flicks her cigarette, deliberate, and dark ash smears on Akash’s white suit.

Akash frowns. It’s possible. “I do not remember Heath.”

The boy flips a pearly switchblade from his pocket and flicks the spring, his dark eyes glassy. “Sure you do, Mary-Kate. Hand over your fucking cash, bitch.”

A chain of silver skulls glints around the boy’s neck, rubies glowing bright in the eye sockets. Interesting choice. The twins look at each other and smile. Two identical white hands flash out, each grabbing a sweaty throat.

“Whatthef—!” The boy clutches at Akash’s arm, the knife slipping from his fingers. Akash squeezes harder. Blood runs scarlet under white nails, and the boy’s eyes bulge, his face purpling.

Akash drags him forward and forces a kiss on his mouth.

The boy convulses, but Akash doesn’t let go. Bloody froth drips from their kiss. The boy’s limbs jerk, muscles locked hard like stone. His body judders one last time, and Akash’s white form crumples to the pavement, lifeless.

The boy lifts his head, and his once-brown eyes glow sapphire blue.

Akash rolls muscular shoulders, stretching in his new body. He lifts his arm, admiring the light glinting on his chains, and bloody claw marks on his throat seethe and vanish in a wisp of steam.

A good disguise. He tosses his ponytail over his shoulder, heaves in a breath, and lets it out. “Perfect.” His voice settles, no longer flat and echoless but the boy’s bourbon-cracked baritone.

Indra shakes new black hair from her face and smiles, flexing long white legs in strappy heels. “Perfect.”

Akash plucks the switchblade from the smeared pavement and flips it over his fingers, a perfect copy of the boy’s flourish. The once-twins link hands, tarnished skull rings clinking together, and step out into the street toward the club. Behind them, discarded white bodies crumple in the dust.

I
nside, Angelo Valenti swallows the dregs of blood-tainted wine and thumps the glass on the bar, excitement still burning in his blood. The death of his gang rival, Dante, still arcs his nerves, and his vampire senses flower wild with a thousand scents of blood and flesh and salty skin. He slams his fist on the bar, enjoying the twinge of pain. “Fuckin’ DiLuca scum. They got it coming. Now it’s time to crush ’em.”

Beside him, Tony LaFaro chugs back a beer, scaly hands slipping on the bottle. Ange’s faeborn second is calm, unruffled as always. Doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying it. Tony thrives on bloody war. It’s what he’s good at. “So you wanna do all three in one night?”

“Yeah. Sal’s two nephews and that bitch of a mother. Give ’em no time to fuckin’ text each other.” Ange orders another wine, his gaze lingering on the blond bargirl’s succulent vein-blue breast as she pours. Famine wets his mouth, stinging his fangs hot. She’s fresh. Virgin. No smell of other scum on her. Jade, Kane’s gift girl, always stinks of other men. This one’s clean.

Fury and hungry desire flush his balls tight. Jade’s a filthy whore. Even fed Dante before he died. Next time Ange sees her, she’ll be sorry.

Tony scratches his flat yellow nose with a crusty claw. “Kane know about this?”

“No one knows. Not Kane, not Sonny. I don’t want word getting out. We case it first. Then we bring Kane in.” Ange drinks deep, the wine a dark premonition of the girl’s virgin blood. His cock jerks hard, delicious and uncomfortable.

Tony sucks the lemon from his beer with a forked tongue and lifts his pointed chin toward the mirrored wall. “What about him?”

Ange glances, and spits on the floor. “Joey? That snake-ass freak? Forget about it.”

“He’s clever.” Clear inner eyelids flicker like a lizard’s. Tony disapproves.

Ange snarls, his mouth watering. “He’s a cringing dog. Just the kind of DiLuca boss I want. Joey stays.”

Tony shrugs. “Whatever you say, mate.”

“Yeah.” Ange gulps his glass empty and flicks the girl a hundred, flashing sharp teeth. “Another one, love. Keep the change.”

She takes it, greedy eyes glazing. Done deal. She fills his glass, and too swift for her to see, he grabs her slender white wrist. She gasps, and wine drops splash his sleeve.

He leans closer, inhaling her unsullied perfume. Her pulse thumps sweetly in his palm. “What time you finish?”

She licks purple-painted lips, tempted. “Two thirty.”

“Make it now.”

J
oey DiLuca lounges against the mirrored wall wreathed in green neon smoke, his black fedora tilted over unblinking eyes. He knows LaFaro’s watching him. He doesn’t care. He watches the mirror pass from the blue fairy to Kane, and his skin ripples, warmth flooding his cold blood.

Leathery black webs crackle from the skin between his long pale fingers, slicing at his cigarette. He sucks in a nicotine lungful and grits his teeth hard to suppress the shift. Last night, Kane murdered Joey’s cousin, Dante, boss of the DiLuca family. So now Kane’s business is Joey’s business, and Kane just showed a weakness that makes Joey want to crawl to the floor and slither.

Joey holds the smoke, adrenaline scintillating. Dante would have liked this—the stalking, the shadows, the plots. His twisted sense of justice thrived on it; his jealous vampire nature devoured it. He’d have laughed that chaos-bright laugh, snorted a river of stinging fairy sparkle, and ghosted off to eat. Joey liked watching Dante eat. Liked the blood, the sighs, the way their skin paled as they emptied. Liked watching them gasp and fight and die, helpless. Liked to bug out, slide closer, rub his scales on their cooling bodies.

He exhales, smoke rolling. Dante’s dead, murdered, brilliant life-blood sucked out by Kane’s cowardly bitch of a succubus. And the DiLuca matriarch despises Joey. He’s alone, and the DiLuca clan won’t bend to his will if he can’t show them what he’s made of.

He tosses his glowing cigarette away and taps his lacquered black cane on the metal floor to get Mina’s attention. “See that?”

His mad banshee bodyguard yowls and stalks a few paces in her shiny black catsuit, her long spike-heeled boots kicking up sparks. “I see a fairy with a steel spike rammed so far up his ass, his teeth rust, and the luckiest hellspawn in town. I say we waste them.”

Joey smiles. She’s young, wired. A fresh counterpoint for his cold blood. “That metal ball is Delilah’s. She’ll want it back.”

Mina cartwheels, sleek ultramarine hair flying, her reflection a black blur in the mirror-tiled wall. She lands in a graceful crouch and cracks a grating banshee laugh, full green-painted lips curling. “Delilah? That demon whore? We don’t need her, master. We DiLucas owned this city once. We’ll own it again without no purple hellbitch to hide behind.”

Joey’s sinuses vibrate sweetly with her movement. She’s no relation, but he doesn’t hold that against her. Mina is his protégée. She owes him her life. She’s the only person he dares trust.

The snake inside gnaws again, and he wets his lips with a forking tongue. Little stray girls grow up so fast. “Valenti have Kane, and they’re stronger by the day. We need Delilah. If we can return that ball, she’ll owe us a favor. We’ll watch Kane, see what he does.”

Mina spears Kane on a ruby-eyed glare, her black-sheened thighs quivering to spring. “Fuck that. Let’s kick his ass and take it.”

“Ever try kicking a demon’s ass, Mina?”

“Always a first time—Ow, for fuck’s sake!”

Joey snakes out a black-scaled hand and locks her wrist tight. Minions need discipline. Especially the pretty ones.

She struggles, green nails clawing, but Joey’s stronger than he looks. Anger and desire swirl green in her crimson eyes. “Dante’s dead! Our cousin’s dead and them Valenti assholes did it. D’ya forget that? D’ya even care?”

Angry black spines spring from Joey’s shoulder blades inside his jacket, and he flings her hard into the mirror and rams his cane crosswise into her slender throat.

Her skull cracks into the glass. Shards tinkle on steel, and splinters pierce her blue hair. He stares, unblinking, inches from her eyes. No one questions his loyalty to the family. Not even Mina, who knows him better than most. “Say that to me again, and I’ll chew your nipples off.”

Mina pales. Scarlet trickles from her scalp, staining her forehead and running into her bell-pierced brow. Very fetching, glass in that fresh young skin. Joey likes the smooth slide of glass on his reptile tongue. Her leather-taut breasts press into him, her hip bones sharp and arousing. All that glass and blood make him hard. She’ll like that. He smiles, faint.

She flinches, and scrabbles for her knives. Joey jams the cane in harder, forcing her head back, and his poisoned black claws slice her straining forearm.

Her tight body quivers. She chokes, and her wrist tendons pop. Her knife clatters to the floor, her fingers numb, and a conciliatory hum gurgles in her throat. “I’m sorry—”

“I know you want to hunt down the brass-bangled slut who killed Dante.” Joey’s hot breath wets her mouth. “I know you want to slit Ange Valenti’s throat and watch him bleed. When we’ve won, you can do that. I promise. But to win, we need Delilah. Tell me why.”

She tastes trembling lips, tempting him. “But—”

“Why, Mina?” Joey jams his thigh into her hot lap. She smells tasty, bleeding in broken glass over the delicate scent of female skin, and his sinuses quiver, pleasured. He wonders if she knows how long it can take for a snake to come.

She croons, seductive, nails scraping the glass at her sides. “Because you say so.”

“Yeah. Because I say so. Don’t cross me, little girl.”

“Yes, master.” She parts raw green lips and leans in.

For a moment he believes it, and their mouths mash together, shocking and bright with lust. She tastes of sugar, aching on his palate. Seductive song blossoms deep in her throat, the vibration stroking pleasure into his burning sinuses. The delicate forks of his tongue flicker in the tiny gaps between her teeth, and sensation sparks in his balls.

But it’s not right. She’s young, supple, attractive, and he’s an inhuman creature, black and twisted inside even when he hasn’t shifted. She’s lying. She has to be.

Joey shoves his cane in tight one last time, just to taste her salty phlegm, and jerks away from her. Fuck.

She chokes and clutches the scarlet welt across her throat, glass fragments crunching beneath her heels. Her pretty voice cracks. “Jesus, Joey, you’re a real prick, you know that?”

Joey flips his cane vertical and squelches his fingerwebs away, discomfort boiling his blood that he let her fool him even for an instant. He won’t allow it again, no matter how he craves her. “I pay you to fight for me, Mina. Not to fuck me. If you think you can screw your way out of taking a bullet, think again.”

A
whiff of damp snakeskin slides in Kane’s nose, and disgusted ash bursts from his golden hair to coat the bar.