Shadow's Awakening: The Shadow Warder Series, Book One (An Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (4 page)

He hadn’t fit in with the other students. Duty and dedication to their cause was bred into Warders from birth. A smartass kid who saw himself as human had no place at the Academy. Conner hadn’t liked Kiernan much, seeing his pranks and attitude as a waste of time. Until the day he’d watched Kiernan set fire to a professor’s desk using a carefully hidden spelled disc.

Kiernan never said where he got the illicit piece of spell craft, but when the professor stepped out for a moment, he’d tucked the disc deep into a ridge on the underside of the professor’s desk. It had begun to smoke a few minutes after the professor returned. As much as Conner was one of the good kids, even he couldn’t help but laugh at the professor’s panicked hopping around the desk as he searched for the source of the smoke. He might have felt bad for the older Warder if the professor hadn’t spent the past forty minutes taunting Kiernan about his base human origins. Kiernan refused to be ashamed for having a human mother or for never knowing his Warder father. He’d sat in his seat, trembling with rage, refusing to give in to the professor’s snide comments.

Conner had endured similar teasing when he’d been younger. In his case it had been about his exiled parents, but the adult’s jibes were close enough to remind Conner of the sting. Warders might be the good guys, but they could be bigots. The professor with the burning desk had been one of the worst. When the fire fully caught and the desk was ablaze, the professor had turned on Kiernan, ready to crucify him. Conner had been as shocked as the other students to hear himself deny that Kiernan had been anywhere near the desk. No one in the class had contradicted Conner’s claim. Kiernan got away with his prank and Conner gained a friend for life.

As different as they were, that friendship had never faltered. Conner understood Kiernan’s disregard for structure, but it wasn’t his way. Raised in the Academy since the death of his soldier parents at age six, Conner was a part of the fabric of his people. He didn’t always like the system, but he respected it. Working from within and following protocol were instinctive. Which is why his next words took even Kiernan by surprise.

“I wish we could talk to the Shadows and see if they’re seeing the same thing,” he said quietly. Kiernan looked at Conner in shock.

“Have you ever spoken to one?” Kiernan asked.

“No. The closest I’ve come is tagging a body for Vorati removal and healing. I thought I saw one once right after a tagging, but that’s it. I don’t even know how to get in touch with a Shadow.”

“There must be a way. The higher-ups communicate with them when they have to,” Kiernan said.

“It’s a stupid idea,” Conner said. “They only remove Vorati and heal the infected humans. They won’t know anything.”

“Maybe not.” Kiernan stared at the table, lost in thought. “Maybe not,” he said again.

“Anyway, I have no idea how to find one and I’m not going to ask. I’d get put on indefinite leave.”

“No way.” Kiernan laughed. “They’d never take you out of the field. They’d just make you write ‘I will not play with Shadows’ on the blackboard a thousand times and send you back to work.”

“Yeah,” Conner responded, mind wandering.

Kiernan leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise to keep quiet.”

“Will I regret it?” Conner asked.

“Probably not. It’s something Gabe told me,” Kiernan said.

Gabe was a friend of theirs, closer to Kiernan than to Conner. He was also a Sicarius—a Warder assassin. His job was to kill any Warder who went rogue. That happened so infrequently, most Sicari spent their time hunting Vorati demons, not other Warders. They were more than a little scary, even to a Warder who’d been a soldier for a hundred and thirty-five years. Gabe was one of the darkest. Eleven years ago, he’d executed his own brother. Word was that Daniel had gone rogue. The Directorate must have believed it, since Gabe hadn’t been sanctioned. Those who’d known Daniel found it impossible to accept the good-natured soldier could have turned on his own.

“I won’t say anything,” Conner said. “What did Gabe tell you?”

“We were both a little drunk. He said nesting is the least of it. The Vorati have found a way to infect Warders. He said they got Daniel. By the time Gabe realized what had happened, it was too late to save him.”

Conner leaned back in his chair. If this was true, it explained why Gabe would have killed his brother far better than the story about Daniel going rogue. The problem was, Warders were impossible to infect. They’d been designed to resist infection.

“That’s not possible,” Conner said. “I’ve never heard of a Warder being infected.”

“Neither have I. But Gabe isn’t a liar. He was drunk, but he’s not crazy.”

“Unless he’s twisted things around to make it easier to live with what he had to do. He killed his brother, Kiernan. He and Daniel were tight. That could make anyone nuts.”

“Yeah,” Kiernan said. “He’s also missing.”

“What?” Conner sat up in surprise.

“No one has seen Gabe since just after the New Year. I’ve called him, but his phone is going straight to voicemail.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Conner said.

“Neither have I. It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth and no one cares.”

“The Sicari go under sometimes when they’re on a hunt. He’ll turn up.”

“Maybe.” Kiernan sounded unconvinced.

“You think Gabe disappearing has to do with the changes in the Vorati? That on top of nesting, they’ve managed to figure out how to infect us?” Conner asked.

He couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice. Kiernan was smart. Not one to go off chasing crazy rumors. But the idea that after thousands of years the Vorati were suddenly evolving was more than Conner was ready to accept.

Kiernan didn’t answer at first. Just took a sip of his beer, studying the humans in the bar. Eating and drinking, laughing and talking. They were a perfect illustration of everything the Warders had been created to protect. After a few minutes, he answered. “I think we need to keep our eyes open. Things are changing. I don’t know why. But something is building.”

Conner didn’t argue. He might not be ready to agree with Kiernan, but he’d seen the changes himself. Part of him wanted to side with their handler. Stick with the status quo. But burying his head in the sand wouldn’t help him do his job. He’d keep his eyes open and see what else turned up.

Abruptly, he pushed it all aside. For the moment all he knew was that they had a problem. Let it sit in his brain for a while and see what came of it. Maybe an idea would rise to the surface.

Hannah lay in bed, waiting for the sound of feet on the stairs to the third floor. She’d had a busy morning. As soon as her eyes had opened to the gray light of dawn, she’d crawled beneath her bed to complete the final stages of her escape plan. It wasn’t a great plan, but it had taken ages to figure it out. Her mind, quick and lively before she got sick, was slow and fuzzy from the static. It felt like it took ten times longer to think through the simplest problems. Devising a way to escape from a third floor room with barred windows and locked doors was no simple problem.

Several months ago she’d discovered a loose metal bar in the frame of her bed. Methodically, she’d been working it free, scraping at the bolt with a stolen spoon she’d bent into a makeshift wrench, then twisting with her fingers. Careful not to damage her hands and draw attention to the plan, the process had been excruciatingly slow. Jammed beneath the bed that morning, Hannah had gone back to work, twisting and wrenching at the bolt, tearing her fingers bloody in the process. Time was short and she was out of patience. If this was her chance, pitiful though it was, she would give it what she had left.

Hannah had finally worked the metal bar free. The width of the twin bed, the bar was hollow, but heavy enough to do some damage. Without the bar, the bed wobbled slightly. Hannah didn’t think anyone would notice right away. She’d returned to the bed and waited for someone to come into the room. The man who had delivered her meager breakfast of water and toast didn’t venture past the doorway. He’d checked the peephole to make sure she was on the bed, opened the door a foot and slid the tray in. Hannah called him the timid one. He’d cleaned the room after the one who tried to rape her had imploded. The timid one liked to watch her hurt, but he was afraid to approach her himself.

Disappointed, Hannah returned to the bed and resumed her wait. Now the sun was high in the sky. She remained alone in her room. After all this time as a prisoner, she’d finally worked up the nerve to make another attempt at freedom and she was stuck lying in bed. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned her great escape. Hannah knew the plan was a long shot. But at least it was a shot.

Her first try hadn’t worked out well. She’d hidden behind her door and run when it opened. Ineffective was putting it mildly. Glenn had been enraged. Hannah’s punishment had scared her off trying again for a few months.

Endless seconds ticked by until she caught the clomp of booted feet on the stairs. Her heart sank. There was only one of her captors who wore boots. He was huge. She would have preferred the timid one. None of them were weak, but at least the timid one wasn’t the size of a mountain. Hannah sighed and tried to relax. The electrical hum of his body preceded him into the room.

Unthreatening victim
, she thought to herself.
I’m a frightened little bunny. Don’t be scared. Just a little closer
. Hannah pretended she was sleeping as he drew nearer to the bed. His feet shuffled closer. Expecting her to have woken when he entered, he bent close enough for Hannah to smell his sour stench. His bulk cast a shadow over her face. She fluttered her eyes and softly moaned. The man drew back just enough.

Bracing her legs against the mattress, Hannah rolled toward him, throwing all her weight behind the metal bar in her right hand. The bar struck the side of his head with a sick, hollow thump. His big body stumbled but didn’t go down. Hannah followed her momentum and rolled to her feet.

In happier days, when he’d been family and not her jailer, Glenn had taught her how to hit a baseball. He’d said Hannah was a natural. Watching the big man stumble on the hook rug beside her bed, Hannah drew a calming breath. She fell into her batting stance as naturally as if she’d been in the cage that morning. Feet planted, weight shifted to the balls of her feet, slightly more on her rear foot. Her hands close together on the base of the metal pole, Hannah took aim at the man’s temple.

Hitting a moving target isn’t easy, but Hannah swung in a fluid curve, sending everything she had inside her into the arc of the metal pole. She struck her target dead on. With a sharp crack, the pole connected with the man’s skull and he dropped to the floor, shaking every piece of furniture in the room. Hannah stared for a moment, shocked by her success. A shout echoed below her.

Hannah flew through the open door of her room, down the first flight of stairs. One of her captors was already on the way up. The timid one. Hannah braced her arms on the handrails and swung her feet into his chest. At impact, he flipped backward, feet flying over his head. Hannah laughed in giddy triumph as she raced down the remaining flight of stairs, hand outstretched for the front door. The knob turned under her fingers. She wrenched it open. A wide lawn stretched before her, bisected by the long gravel drive that led to the road and to her freedom. Hannah lunged through the door, almost escaping the fingers that closed around the back of her neck.

She screamed in despair and rage as she felt her body yanked backward, away from the clean, sweet air outside and back into the dark, stale prison of a farmhouse. Her momentum shifted and she slammed headfirst into the door frame. The hand on her neck held her body upright as she rebounded off the hard wood. Stars exploded in her eyes, bright against the darkness crowding out the view of the lawn and road.

Again, she was thrown forward into the door frame. A crack echoed between her ears. Her skull or the door frame? Hannah fought to remain conscious. The hand on the back of her neck was a steel manacle. Pain and disorientation sucked the strength from her muscles. She didn’t resist as her body flipped and swung upside down, a hard shoulder jammed into her stomach. Glenn. Even through her fading vision, she recognized the sweater as one her mother had given him for Christmas three years ago. Royal blue merino wool. His favorite.

Hannah struggled, arms and legs moving slowly, fighting the weakness stealing through her body. This close to him, that odd electrical hum grated against her, draining her strength. The dark red of his aura shaded her skin the color of dried blood. Head pulsing in sharp stabs of pain, the roar of static in her ears had gotten so bad she could barely think. Any adrenaline that fueled her through her escape attempt was gone, sucked out of her body the second Glenn’s hand had gripped her neck. Hannah hung limp over his back, head throbbing in time to his feet striking the stairs, the buzzing in her brain deafening.

Glenn returned her to her room and threw her on the bed. Gripping two of her hands in one of his, he drew her wrists to the metal headboard and pulled free the handcuffs he kept for special occasions. In seconds Hannah was secured.