Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (11 page)

She combed her wet hair, finished her morning routine, and pulled on her clothes. No more ugly tunics and baggy hippie clothes for her. If Steven hadn’t interrupted, she would have burned the whole pile. Perfectly broken-in jeans, another graphic t-shirt, and low-heeled boots might not have been the height of fashion, but they were comfortable, and they were her. Despite everything that was going on, it was a relief to be free. At the Sanctuary, she was always on guard for Steven’s invasions, trying to convince everyone else she was recovered and fine, never able to relax. The stress had been wearing her away.

Working on her glass art was the only thing that had brought her joy, but not even that could truly make her feel free the way she did now that she’d escaped the Sanctuary. Most of the Shadows she’d grown up with loved their isolated mountain home. For Sorcha, raised by status-hungry parents and forcefully guided by Steven, it had been a prison.

Before she left the solitude of the bedroom, Sorcha pulled out her phone to send Kate a text. She’d let Kate know they were all right with a quick message the night before, but hadn’t followed up.

Everything okay
? She typed.

Kate responded less than a minute later.
Steven’s sulking around. Your place was a mess. What happened?!?!?

Long story. Anyone else see?

No. I locked up and told Iris you had to go.

No questions?
Sorcha asked, surprised they’d gotten away with their hasty departure.

Everyone is distracted. Zach never showed up. Iris is freaked.

Where is he? Do you know?

Not sure. He was supposed to meet up with Keeley.

Sorcha sat down on the end of the bed, staring at her phone. Keeley had been her partner when she was a tracker. Her partner and good friend. Was she in trouble? Or had she and Zach hit a few bars and forgotten they were expected back at the Sanctuary? Not likely, but not impossible, either.

You worried?
she typed. Meaning, should
I
be worried?

Not yet. Heading out tonight to find him if he hasn’t shown up.

Not answering his phone?
That would be just like Zach.

No. Keeley’s phone is going to vm. You OK?

Good. Going to start looking for C. Keep me posted. Stay safe.

You too.

Sorcha shoved her phone back in her pocket and left the bedroom. She’d planned to tell Kate that Ben was in the States. Then she hadn’t been able to do it. If Zach and Keeley had dropped out of sight, Kate had enough on her mind without worrying about Ben. And it had sounded like Ben had no intention of going near Kate, so keeping quiet wouldn’t do any harm. She hoped.

Wandering down a wide hallway, Sorcha found the kitchen at the other end. Kiernan stood in front of the refrigerator, studying the empty shelves. In one hand he held a mug of steaming coffee. She’d hoped she’d smelled coffee. Without speaking, Sorcha headed to the coffee maker and the empty mug beside it.

“I thought you’d only been gone a few days,” she said, gesturing to the empty fridge.

“I was.”

“Not much of a cook, huh?”

“No.” Kiernan laughed. “I eat out most of the time. Which is what we’re going to have to do if we want any breakfast.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m hungry. My body fought that ink so hard, it burned a lot of energy.” Coffee poured, Sorcha hopped up on the counter and watched Kiernan close his empty fridge. She usually took her coffee with cream and sugar, but even if Kiernan had cream, she wasn’t sure she’d trust anything that came out of that refrigerator. The only things she’d seen in there were a few ketchup packets and a Styrofoam take-out container. Who knew how long that had been hanging around. “So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked.

“That depends. We’ll go get some food in a minute. First, I need to get straight how you work. And I don’t think we want to talk about it in a restaurant.”

“Good point,” she said. “I don’t have a set process. It depends on who I’m looking for and how well I know them. I’ve been friends with Caerwyn for most of my life. I should be able to focus on her energy signature and lead you right to her. It took me a while to figure out there must be spell craft blocking her.”

“Hannah pretty much confirmed that.”

“Yeah. That makes it more difficult. You know where they were being held?”

“I do. First thing on the list is confirming that they’ve been moved. Which I’m almost positive would have happened about a second after Michael discovered Hannah missing.”

“Okay. We can start from the spot they were last, and work it out from there. Even with the spell craft in the way, I should catch enough—I don’t know what to call it—glimpses? Traces? Anyway, I should get enough to lead us in the right direction.”

“So we work in a circular pattern, narrowing down the trail until you get another hit and then start again?”

“Basically,” Sorcha said. “It’s not perfect, but whatever he’s using to hide her, it’s very strong. My talent makes me better at finding people than any other Shadow I know of, but it’s still going to be difficult. Now that we’re closer to where she was held, my sense of her is stronger, but not what it should be.”

Kiernan nodded and drank his coffee, deep in thought. Sorcha concentrated on her own drink, though she wanted to ask what next. It was frustrating to be so deep in foreign territory, so dependent on Kiernan. Her talent could find the girls, but she didn’t know even the most basic geography in Charlotte. Going out on her own would be foolish in a city thick with Warders. Even with the tattoos to protect her. As much as it rankled after so many years of restrictions, she’d have to follow Kiernan’s lead.

“So we’ll start searching after we eat?” she asked, suddenly eager to get going.

“Not exactly. We need to talk to two people. Over the phone isn’t going to work. And neither of them will be available until tonight. So we have a day to kill. I thought we could go shopping. You need some clothes.”

“Wait until tonight? No way. Not only are we more at risk every day we’re here, I’m not leaving Caerwyn and the girls to rot while I go shopping.” Sorcha set her empty coffee mug on the counter with a determined clank. “You can’t be serious.”

“Scorch—”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, annoyance ratcheting up.

“You like it,” Kiernan said, with a glint in his eye that made her think he might be teasing her.

“I don’t.” Great. Now she sounded like a petulant child.

“Yes, you do. But that’s not the point.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. And it wasn’t. Even though he was right, she did kind of like it. She’d never had a nickname. And Scorch was kind of cool. Not cute and fuzzy, but a little tough. Still, she wasn’t telling Kiernan that. Not while he was being so unreasonable. “We’re not wasting the entire day hanging around and going shopping.”

“Fine. How about we eat breakfast, I take you by the Citadel, and you try to pick up a trace of the girls? Then we can go shopping this afternoon.”

“Better.” Looking at her empty coffee mug with regret, she tried to let go of her irritation. Logically, Sorcha was aware that she was overreacting. Empaths were taught at an early age to be hyper aware of their own emotions. Otherwise, they could end up overwhelmed too easily. Because of this, Sorcha knew her response to Kiernan telling her what to do was the result of a decade of having her choices taken away. Funny how she could know she was being unreasonable and still feel an angry, petulant rush of emotion toward Kiernan.

She didn’t need to go shopping. While she hadn’t been in an actual store for years, she did have a credit card and a laptop. With the help of friends who moved easily in the outside world, Sorcha had been able to transform her newly acquired talent with heat into a lucrative career creating and selling glass art. Small galleries and gift shops all over the Southeast carried her work and filled her bank account. After giving a portion to the Sanctuary to cover her living expenses, she still had a very healthy balance in the bank. And she’d spent some of it on clothes. The jeans and t-shirt she wore were only a few months old.

“I don’t need new clothes,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

“You do.” Seeing her glare, Kiernan held up a hand. “I’m not knocking your style, Scorch. I like the way you dress now that you’re out of the hippie stuff. Those jeans do great things for your ass. But one of the people we need to see tonight runs a very high-end club. We can’t go in looking like this.” He gestured to his casual shirt and jeans. “Not even if we use the back door. We’ll draw too much attention. And asking Cameron to come here isn’t a good idea. We have enough trouble. We don’t need to get noticed by some of the people who have their eyes on him. If we go to the club like regular guests, we can slip into the back without anyone noticing. And to do that, you need to go shopping. Unless you have a killer dress and very high heels in that duffel bag?”

“I don’t,” she admitted. Kiernan was checking out her ass? Sorcha resisted the urge to turn around and see what he was talking about. She’d always thought these jeans looked cute on her, but she’d never specifically noticed her ass.

“Besides, I thought women liked to shop,” he said in a drawl.

“Yeah, and all guys like video games and cool cars,” she shot back. Then she thought about his living room and garage. And she had to admit, she always had liked to shop. It was just that, at the moment, it felt like a waste of time.

In response, Kiernan raised his eyebrows at her. Teasing her. Again.

“Fine,” she admitted. “I like to shop. And clearly you like video games and cars. We’re both walking clichés. So we’ll eat, drive around and see if I pick anything up, then go shopping. But one thing…”

Kiernan tipped his head to the side, waiting. Sorcha thought about the contents of the garage below them. It had been ages since she’d been behind the wheel of a car. Despite her comments about them being cliché, she’d always loved a fast car. Especially when she was behind the wheel.

“When all of this is over,” she said, “I want to drive your Maserati.”

“Scorch, if we get out of this free and clear, I’ll give it to you.”

They did exactly as planned. Kiernan took her to a tiny breakfast place with stained menus that looked like they hadn’t changed since before she was born. She filled up on eggs, waffles and about a gallon of strong coffee. Then they drove to the Warder Citadel, the location of the underground lab where Hannah, Caerwyn, Sara, and Lissa had been held. Tall, shiny and extremely modern, it looked more like a bank than the headquarters of an ancient race of demon hunters. In Charlotte, it blended right in.

To Sorcha’s immense frustration, she was only able to get an impression of Caerwyn. Enough to know she’d been there at one point but wasn’t there anymore. At first pass, her friend’s energy signature flared around the parking garage entrance. Made sense, since they most likely would have been brought out through the garage. They followed the trail for two blocks before it abruptly dissipated. Sorcha slammed her palm on the dashboard of the old truck, swearing out loud.

“Gone?” Kiernan asked.

“Just fucking gone. Like she was never here. Not like they went airborne or underground—neither of which would make sense, anyway—but completely gone.” She sat back in a huff, trying to think.

Kiernan pulled over into an open parking space on the side of the street and took out his new phone. He marked the spot on an app, then pulled back into traffic and began making concentric circles around the point he’d marked until Sorcha got another hit. The process was agonizingly slow. Sifting through the crowded energies of a bustling city for the traces of one person was like trying to find a grain of red sand in a box of white. Especially when the person was being actively obscured by magic. Like the red grain, when it was there to find, Caerwyn’s trace shone brightly to Sorcha’s senses. The rest of the time, she got nothing. After two hours, they gained five short blocks.

Grudgingly, Sorcha agreed it was time to shop. She hit the mall south of the city with a vengeance, a high-test coffee drink in hand. Kiernan, to her surprise, was a patient and helpful companion. He didn’t rush her, didn’t complain. When she asked, he gave his opinion. Honestly. He was diplomatic, but she didn’t have to wonder if he was telling her the truth after the first time he hadn’t liked something. He’d taken one look at a pair of bright yellow capri pants and shaken his head.

“Not you,” he said. “And they make your legs look shorter. No idea how it’s possible to make those legs look shorter, but they do it. Try this.”

He tossed her a skirt. Calf-length, it was tight through the hips and thighs, with a sexy flare just below her knees. Not something she would have bought to wear around the Sanctuary. But the cut made the most of her curvy figure. And it was dark-wash denim so she could wear it to dress up one of her many t-shirts. Perfectly her.

She bought it. Or, rather, Kiernan did, along with the dress for that night, more jeans, shoes and a pile of other things she’d had to have. They’d been getting along fine until they hit the register. He pulled out a wad of cash and, with one of his melting grins, handed several folded bills to the saleswoman. The woman, at least sixty, blushed and returned his smile.