Shadow's Pleasure: The Shadow Warder Series, Book Two (A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (20 page)

Methodically, Kiernan drove them at a creeping pace down each of the three streets off the intersection, ignoring the one they’d already traveled. It took two full circuits before Sorcha caught her again. This time, the faintest scent in the air, tickling her nose, calling to mind a memory of Caerwyn the last time Sorcha had seen her. She’d been grinning over a joke she’d been trying to tell, collapsed with giggles before she reached her own punch line. Sorcha couldn’t remember if she’d ended up hearing the rest of the joke. At the sight of Caerwyn gasping for breath, cheeks pink, eyes flashing with glee, Sorcha had begun to giggle herself. Before she’d known it, they’d both been on their sides on the couch, laughing until tears had been streaming down their faces.

Sorcha bit her lip, welcoming the spark of pain, using it to drive back the surge of despair in her chest. It wasn’t working. A heavy swell of frustration and guilt took her breath. She pressed her teeth into her lip until she tasted blood. She had to stop this. Had to keep her attention on tracking Caerwyn. She could punish herself for her guilt later. When she had Caerwyn back, she could spend all day repenting for her failures. Giving in to frustration would only slow them down. Pep talk over, Sorcha licked the blood off her lips and scanned the street. The last trace had been ahead and to the right. She pointed to the next right turn.

“Try that one,” she said, glancing at Kiernan.

He was watching her, brows furrowed. His eyes dipped to her lip, but he didn’t say anything, just drove up the street and turned right. For half a block, she’d thought she had a trail. Then it went cold. Nothing, not a scent, not a flash of color or sound. They had circled the block five times before she caught another sign. Barely anything, just enough to send them in another direction.

Kiernan didn’t comment. Didn’t ask if she was sure she knew what she was doing. He sent her quick, concerned glances, but he didn’t question her. Sorcha was grateful. She had enough shit swirling in her head. Between their glacial progress and worry over Caerwyn, the last thing she needed was anyone second-guessing her. She was second-guessing herself enough as it was.

The last trace, the one that sent them veering off in a new direction, died completely. Kiernan marked on his phone the intersection where she’d caught the sign. As hard as they tried, she couldn’t get another hit. They drove in circles for an hour, checking every alley, every street. The trail was dead cold.

It was too much. They were still less than a mile from the Citadel. Hours of tracking and they’d gained so little. To her horror, a sob tore from her chest.

“Fuck,” she cried out, kicking the sole of her foot into the dashboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Each scream punctuated by another kick to the dash. Hot tears flooded down her cheeks. For the moment, Sorcha was too pissed off to be embarrassed. “Why can’t I fucking find her? How can his spell be this good? I catch a trace and it feels like she’s so close. Then there’s nothing…” Sorcha trailed off, her voice caught in her throat. She felt the truck stop, then Kiernan pulling her into his arms.

He drew her against his chest, stroking her hair. “We’ll find her, Scorch. I promise you. We’ll keep looking and we’ll find her.”

“This is taking too long,” Sorcha whispered.

Kiernan didn’t answer. Just pulled her tighter to his chest, put the truck in gear, and pulled out onto the empty street. A few minutes later, he spoke.

“Tomorrow, we’ll try it on foot. We’re far enough from the Citadel that we should be safe. I don’t know exactly how it works for you, but putting our feet on the ground should help.”

“Now. We should try it now,” Sorcha said, trying to sit up and look at him.

He didn’t let her move. “No. It’s the middle of the night after a long day. You’re still recovering from rebuilding your shield and Madoc’s ink. You need to sleep. And the two of us wandering in this area at three in the morning would draw the kind of attention we don’t need.”

Sorcha sighed into his t-shirt. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Kiernan was right. She needed to crash. Funny, a few hours ago she’d been eagerly looking forward to stripping off all his clothes. Now she just wanted to curl into his heat and pass out. If they couldn’t search for Caerwyn, Sorcha wanted sleep.

By the time they were pulling into Kiernan’s garage, she was halfway gone. Stumbling to the elevator, still tucked into his side, she started stripping off her shirt and jeans the second they reached the bedroom. Bypassing a trip to the bathroom, Sorcha fell into the soft sheets, one sock still dangling off her left foot. She barely noticed Kiernan pull it free and join her, drawing the covers over them before they both fell asleep.

The morning sun was a rude assault. Sorcha’s eyes had barely cracked open when she felt a shift beside her, then heard a whirring sound. The room dimmed. Sleep weighed her lids, shutting off her vision and dragging her back down. Curling into Kiernan’s heat, she nestled her head into his shoulder, draping one arm across his bare chest. His hand came up to tangle in her hair and she was gone again.

Sorcha woke slowly, cocooned in warmth. Her pillow was a little hard, but smooth. Her hair, usually braided before she slept, was everywhere. A blink and she felt the crunch of old makeup on her eye. The night before rushed back, jolting her upright. At the disturbance, Kiernan opened his eyes.

His brain clicked into gear faster than hers. A swoop of his arm and she was laid flat, rolled beneath his long, hard body. Legs tangled together, Kiernan settled himself against her. Sorcha’s thoughts stuttered. She’d been about to get up. They had to go, had to get started.

Her urgency shifted at the touch of Kiernan’s lips to hers. Feather-light, they brushed by, as if in passing. A heartbeat later he was back, this time his mouth pressed deeper, lips parting, the gentle pressure easing her own mouth open. Access granted, Kiernan’s tongue swept in and Sorcha forgot everything but his taste. She grabbed his shoulders, her breasts grazing his chest. Hands sliding up into his hair, Sorcha lost herself. He had the softest, silkiest, thickest hair she’d ever felt on a man. Every time she looked at it, she itched to bury her hands in the golden strands. To pull him to her. He was like a drug.

They’d just begun to kiss and already heat spread between them. She’d assumed their experience the night before had been something she’d done to them. But she had just enough of her brain engaged to feel that the growing heat had its source in both of their bodies. It built higher every second, flowing from her to Kiernan, and from Kiernan back to her. Not just heat or energy, but both together, melded into something new.

Forgetting their obligations, focused instead on their heat and need, Sorcha moved easily when Kiernan rolled them. Settling herself over his hips, she ground down on the thick length of his cock between her legs. She should have wiggled out of her thong before they rolled over. Oh well, the scrap of lace could be pushed aside. Sorcha wasn’t getting off him. Kiernan’s burning eyes stroked over her skin as he tugged on the strap of her camisole, dragging it off her shoulder all the way to her elbow until he bared a breast. Cupping her, he lifted his hand and drew her breast to his flicking tongue. Pleasure lashed through her. Thinking only of getting more of him, Sorcha leaned forward, rising just enough to push at his boxers. He shifted his hips, both of them doing their best to free his cock. Finally, Sorcha had him in her hand.

Thick, hard, pulsing against her palm. She slid forward, tilted her hips and prepared to give them both what they needed. Then she saw the clock.

Two o’clock. Two fucking o’clock in the afternoon. They hadn’t slept late, they’d lost more than half a damned day. Groaning in despair, Sorcha released Kiernan and rolled to the side, away from his aroused body and off the bed before he could stop her. Just the day before, she’d promised herself he wouldn’t be a distraction. Now she was getting ready to fuck him when she should be out there looking for her friends.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up. His opalescent hazel eyes were dazed with passion and confusion.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon. We slept all day. We have to go,” she said in panic, looking around the room for her bag.

Kiernan let out a groan and flopped back into the bed. “Son of a fucking bitch,” he said. “We have the worst fucking luck.”

“I can’t find my stuff.”

“In the corner. By the bathroom.” His voice resigned, Kiernan got out of bed, readjusting his boxers. “You can have the bathroom first. I’ll make some coffee. Then we’ll get some food and head out.”

Sorcha didn’t answer, just ducked into the bathroom, her toiletries bag in one hand, body still pulsing with arousal. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved she’d seen the clock, or pissed off she’d stopped. She decided she could be both. If they didn’t get back to that bed in the next twenty-four hours, Sorcha thought she might explode. Literally.

Kiernan stood guard at the narrow entry to the parking lot behind a strip mall. Tucked out of sight of passersby, he had one eye on the busy street beside the mall and the other on Sorcha. She paced the deserted space, hands on her hips, eyes darting between parked cars and a dumpster. Searching for something. He had no idea what. Nothing he could see with his Warder’s eyes. He scanned their surroundings again. Ever since they’d left his loft that afternoon, he’d had the uneasy sensation of being watched. So far, he hadn’t been able to pin it down. The skin between his shoulder blades hadn’t begun to itch until they’d left his place.

After the way they’d woken up, Kiernan had hustled them out of the loft as quickly as he could. Food, then back to work. And away from his bed. He’d let Sorcha disappear into his bathroom without a protest. At least not a verbal one. His body had bellowed with rage. Her hand had been on his cock, positioning him just at the hot, slick gate of her body, and then she’d been ten feet away, an expression of guilty anguish distorting her passion-flushed face.

If she’d been fucking with him, or teasing, Kiernan would have had no problem charming her back to bed. But Kiernan could see what she was going through, even though Sorcha didn’t seem to understand. Warders were trained to recognize the symptoms of survivor’s guilt. Sorcha thought she was responsible for Caerwyn’s continued imprisonment. While Sorcha had been trapped at the Sanctuary, struggling against Steven’s sabotage of her shield and trying to figure out a way to go after Caerwyn, she’d been too occupied to dwell on her friend’s suffering. Kiernan guessed that in Sorcha’s mind, she had equated freedom from the Sanctuary with finding Caerwyn. And finding Caerwyn was proving to be far harder than they’d thought.

Every minute that passed without success increased her anxiety. Kiernan understood. She was wrong, but he got it. If something had happened to Conner and he hadn’t been able to do anything, he’d be just as fucked up over it as Sorcha was. All the same, she needed to let it go.

In the four hours since they’d left his loft, they’d made a little progress. Working on foot was easier. Instead of having to backtrack so often, Sorcha was able to catch smaller traces of Caerwyn, keeping them moving forward rather than in repetitive circles. They’d started almost a mile from the Citadel, and now they were close to three miles away. Heading northeast, the denser blocks of office buildings and condos had given way to a mix of commercial and residential structures. Not quite suburban, but not the heart of the city. For the past hour, they’d been tracking Caerwyn at a steady, though slow pace. Until the signs had led Sorcha to the back of a run-down strip mall.

Kiernan had faith that she’d untangle the signals and pick up the trail again. He didn’t really get how she worked, since he couldn’t sense what she was looking for. But watching her follow Caerwyn’s traces, her intent focus and authoritative changes of direction, he was confident she knew what she was doing.

Their progress should have been reassuring. And it was. Except for the itch between his shoulder blades. Nothing jumped out at him as off-key. As far as he could tell, they weren’t being followed. A few times, he’d caught the prickle of Vorati nearby. In another situation, he would have dealt with them. Today he had other priorities. So far, he hadn’t said anything to Sorcha about his unease. She was completely focused on her search. Telling her that he was jumpy for no reason would only distract her.