CURSED SHADOWS
CHAPTER ONE
Baron
Grimreap
Shadow Realm
Three are men and one is a woman. She’s done an admirable job of hiding her body by draping herself in a gray cloak, but her female form is unmistakable. From beneath her hood, I see flashes of dark purple hair, and her hand reveals skin that is dark as night.
All are in disguise.
I can see the shadow magic weaving in and around them, shrouding them. Whoever wove the magical net is skilled; the only reason I can see through it is because I’m composed of shadow. Shadow magic animates me, it woke me from the grave.
Reveal True Form , I whisper, focused on the four of them. Instantly, the shadows scatter and only the truth remains, at least to my eyes. Their disguises remain intact to any within the tavern who care to look.
The woman is stunning. Her white hair frames a face of which I’ve yet to see an equal. I can see the lightness radiating from her and I conclude she must be fae. Or an angel, but the chances of her being an angel are slim. Yet, there’s something beyond the blazing light that surrounds her. I can see the tip of something dark, something sinister and shadowy. It makes little sense to me, and I have a hell of a time pulling my attention away from her.
Gargoyles, I say to myself as I study the two men on either side of her. Their rubbery, black wings and their immense size give them away. The third man is an elf and, as such, of less interest to me. Gargoyles, though… perhaps Crongus wasn’t as full of shit as I previously believed. And, since he mentioned a gargoyle, then isn’t it within the realm of possibility… I look back at the woman. She could easily be an angel. I can’t recall the last creature I beheld with white hair.
For some reason, though, it’s not the woman who keeps my attention now. It’s one of the gargoyles—and as I glance back at the elf across from him, I realize there’s something arresting about him, too. I’ve never laid eyes on either of them, but I feel as though I recognize them all the same. Yet when I try to place where from, I don’t have an answer.
I watch the table with curiosity, until I notice I’m not the only one. Three booths down, I recognize Ferchad, a weapons smuggler who is well known here. In typical blood-elf fashion, he’s pompous, righteous, and considers himself the biggest fish in the vile pond that is Grimreap. With him is my least favorite of his accomplices, Hendor. He’s a man so disfigured and grotesque, I can only guess at his race. But he’s large and mean, lacking the wits of his leader but able to deal twice the physical damage.
Ferchad is the type to constantly assert his dominance in a city that has little use for hierarchies. Still, there are always those weaker to exploit in whatever way possible, and Ferchad has a knack for finding them. Granted, he sometimes chooses incorrectly. He once made the mistake of coming after me, but quickly learned his lesson; now, he knows enough to leave me alone. I can’t say things are amiable between us, though we have an unspoken understanding to avoid one another. I haven’t and don’t wish to test the bonds of that tenuous arrangement.
I watch Ferchad gesture toward the two men whose faces I recognize but can’t place. Moments later, he notices the woman. Although she’s still in disguise as far as Ferchad’s concerned, she still appears as a woman—and most women in Grimreap have a price.
Ferchad walks over to the table. I can’t make out what he says, but I can tell by the tension between the strangers that he’s insulted them. The largest one, the one whose face I can’t place, leans forward, his fists clenched tightly in front of him. Even from where I sit, I can see the vein on his forehead protruding. One of Ferchad’s cohorts returns from the bar to join the excitement, seemingly vibrating with aggressive energy.
Propping himself on his palms with his arms out straight, Ferchad leans over the table. I can sense there’s about to be a fight and I have every intention of being well on my way before Ferchad is even able to deliver the first blow.
After nearly a century as an assassin, I’ve become something of a master where unceremonious exits are concerned. Remaining unnoticed is a necessity. Thus, I slither my way around my table and covertly stick to shadow, invisible to prying eyes. I turn at the sound of a large thud to see Ferchad laid out flat on the ground. The large creature whose face I can’t place is standing over him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his arms rippling with power.
In that moment, the girl turns in my direction and looks up, directly into my eyes. I don’t know how it’s possible that she’s able to see me, but our eyes lock all the same. The seconds tick by and I find I’m incapable of pulling my gaze away from hers. I’m both dumbfounded and profoundly bothered that she can see through my shadows.
Finally, I break her gaze and glance at the door of the tavern. I need to depart now if I’m going to avoid the trouble that’s already started brewing. Yet, I find myself hesitating. I glance back at the girl and find her eyes still fixed on me.
I cannot explain why, but I approach the table where Ferchad’s just finished dusting himself off from his fall to the floor. He’s fuming, angrier than I’ve seen him in a very long time. And for good reason, he’s been made a fool of.
I have no interest in dealing with the vile man, especially since we have a fragile agreement between us, but the angel…
My interest lies where all of my interests lie: in selfishness. Everything I work toward will benefit me at a future date. And if ever there’s an opportunity that goes counter to Variant’s edicts, I’m more inclined to get involved. I hate Variant and his fucking rules.
Thus, if Variant wants to possess each and every angel, I will do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen. As a general rule, I will go to extreme lengths to ensure Variant never gets what he wants.
I feel an inexplicable pull to the girl’s pale blue eyes, which haven’t stopped studying me. There’s knowledge in them, a wise understanding of the world and all within it. I have a strong desire to know those eyes, to see what they’ve seen, to understand what they understand. To see if they know anything about me.
Who I am… What I am… Why I am.
Ferchad approaches the table once more. The large gargoyle made a mistake in pushing him; Grimreap is no place for power plays. Survival, for most, demands a bent head and the ability to allow things to roll off one’s shoulders. But gargoyles and elves aren’t typically the types to back down. Here, it could mean their death.
I step closer to the group and pick up Ferchad’s cold, slithering blood-elf voice from the crowd.
“You’ve made a mistake, friend,” he hisses to the gargoyle. “And it’s just cost you your lives.”
“No one will die today, friend, ” the gargoyle spits back.
Immediately, something stirs within my chest and my mind. A flash of memory, like a blot of color against a canvas of gray. For the last century, there’s only been gray. My memories from before my revival have been only blank but now, something rouses me—an image from a half-remembered dream. The stranger’s growling baritone pulls me forward, urging me to learn more.
I think again to the angel’s eyes. To the answers I know lie beneath their surface. I take one last look at the door, but turn away again. I can’t leave the angel. Not yet. I’m not certain why, but something within me insists she can give me the answers I so desperately seek.
***
DRAGAN
It’s a mistake to come here. The moment we enter the city, I feel fear for the first time since the Great War—not for myself, but for Eilish. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so long away from the presence of women, but despite angels being among the most powerful creatures in existence, she emits a fragility I feel personally responsible to safeguard.
Why? Because if Eilish’s wings really are intact, she is the answer to overcoming Variant. And it’s for that reason that I must ensure her continued safety and survival. Eilish is the second chance I never thought I’d get. And it’s a chance I’ll do everything in my power to protect.
Baron’s murder and Variant’s subsequent rise to power is a personal failure I’ll never be able to accept or escape. We four were charged with one task: maintaining balance and protecting the realms. We failed. And because of that failure, one of us is dead, Cambion and I are prisoners, and the fourth is a tyrant. This town, in all of its immorality and constant state of destruction, is a direct representation of that failure and I feel it all the way down to my toes.
Now, here I am, marching through the embodiment of my shamed demise with my last hope for redemption. And I’m worried that something is going to happen and I won’t be able to defend her. I have half a mind to take her in my arms and run far away from this place. But where would we go? I could hide her in shadow, bring her to the Gorge and tuck her away forever. But that would be a prison all its own, and imprisonment is no life for an angel. She was never meant to be a kept pet. Besides, she’d never survive in the shadow realm, anyway.
As soon as her strength returns, Eilish will be the only living creature powerful enough to take on the false king. And as she walks beside me, I feel the weight of a century pressing down on my shoulders.
I don’t intend to fail twice.
“Keep your eyes on the ground,” I whisper to her. The last thing I need is for her to make eye contact with the wrong creature and end up possessed by a ghost or something worse. She nods and does as I instruct.
We wind our way through alleys, side-stepping merchants and beggars along our way. Grimreap is home to a plethora of unscrupulous creatures, all of them fallen on hard times. The sounds of the city hint at the chaos within it: howls of caged animals, transitioning werewolves chained to crumbling walls, screams of people being beaten by thugs, violent explosions, and lepers begging on every corner while rats freely run rampant. I feel Eilish shift closer to me as if she’s afraid. As well she should be; there’s no place scarier than Grimreap.
The line of her lithe body presses up against my arm and my cock instantly responds. I have to dampen the desire down, force away the images of her naked and spread out beneath me. This constant desire for her is getting exhausting. Any accidental touch now seems to set me off and it’s all I can do to turn my mind to other things. I fight hard, knowing I’ll need all of my mental and bodily faculties intact in order to face the horror that is Grimreap.
We keep our heads bowed as we hurry along the narrow corridors of crumbling buildings, our bodies pressed against the ruined stone.
When we come across a tavern, I point Thoradin in its direction and he nods. First bit of business is attending to our growling stomachs. We haven’t eaten in far too long.
I crouch to enter the low doorway and then we’re faced with stairs that lead down, into the belly of the beast. Inside, it’s even darker than the gloom of the city. Eilish grabs my forearm as she stumbles down the stone steps and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright as I pull her into me. She looks up and our eyes meet. She appears surprised. I merely nod at her and she seems to understand that she can trust me. I will protect her.
A few burning torches decorate the stone walls. Their light casts dim circles against the low ceiling but does little to illuminate the creatures within its bowels. In the cramped space, the stench of unwashed bodies festers alongside the moldy dampness.
The tavern is at capacity with monsters, all bold and rowdy. Tables are scattered around the room and all are full, but half the chairs are tipped over or broken. The crowd is raucous, the cacophony of conversation and belligerent yells echoes across the sticky surfaces. We form a line, with me leading the way, and weave a path to a table in the far corner of the room, currently occupied by three hooded figures. I can’t see their faces but I’m fairly sure they’re wraiths. Even though wraiths are spirits, many don cloaks to appear as though they’re living, then they drain the life-force of those around them. And what better place than a tavern to feed on the energy of the unsuspecting?
Along our way to the table, we barely miss two drunken brawls. Eilish’s eyes widen as she notices an oily demon openly fucking one of the tavern women, a well-used harpy, against the wall. The harpy shrieks in either delight or anger as she shreds the demon’s back with her claws, and he continues to thrust into her.
Stench and disease linger in the air and I doubt my decision to bring Eilish to this place for the nth time since coming here. Thoradin wordlessly breaks the line to find the barkeep and we approach the table. The wraiths don’t acknowledge us.
I hold Eilish at arm’s length behind me. I would shield her from view with my wings, but I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I’m a gargoyle. Even with the charm that’s currently protecting our true identities, I must be careful.
“It’s time for you to leave,” I say with tight lips as I face the three occupying the table. They look up at me and, just as I thought, there’s nothing but blackness beneath their hoods.
They make no move to disappear and just continue floating above the chairs, as if trying to give the impression they’re sitting.
“I don’t enjoy repeating myself,” I warn them, my tone harsh.
“For fuck’s sake,” Cambion interrupts and pushes past me. He eyes the wraiths narrowly then holds his hands together until a tiny ball of light forms within them. “Unless you want to be blasted back into the darkness you came from, get the fuck out of here.”
The ball of light does the trick as the wraiths immediately disappear, leaving only their black robes. Cambion extinguishes the ball of light between his hands and throws the robes onto the floor before he takes a seat.
“That was risky,” I point out.
“No one noticed and it worked,” he responds.
I can’t argue with him, so I stand to the side and motion to Eilish to take her seat. “You sit on the inside, next to the wall,” I tell her. She simply nods and sits. I follow suit beside her, being extra vigilant when it comes to taking in my surroundings. When the barkeep and Thoradin return, we’re presented with four full bowls of “stew” and tankards of foul-smelling liquor. The bowls contain a gray, brackish liquid with chunks of questionable, possibly rancid meat.
I doubt any of us even taste the meal as we go about shoveling it into our mouths. Even Eilish has forgone her spoon and is taking long, deep gulps from her bowl. Once the fatal edge of her hunger is satisfied, she lowers the bowl and wipes her face with the back of her hand. She places the remainder of her stew on her lap and I see Flumph’s small head extend from his hiding place beneath her cloak so he can slurp the contents unseen.
When our meals are finished, we lean over the table so we can hear one another over the dissonance of the other customers.
“Fine place,” says Cambion. “You always frequent the nicest establishments.”
“For Grimreap, it’s bordering on pleasant,” I reply honestly. There’s far worse than this tavern within the city’s limits.
Cambion appears annoyed, but just as he leans in to speak, a man bumps into the corner of our table.
He’s big. Not so big as Thoradin and me, but still big enough to pose a risk. And I’m sorely attempting to avoid risks at all costs.
The man appears human but, of course, he isn’t—humans have been extinct for longer than I can remember. The fire red of his hair and his point-tipped ears signify he’s an elf. A blood elf. His blazing irises lock with mine and I realize trouble has finally found us.
“You all look a little too pretty to be from around here,” he says, his voice thin but threatening. A second man appears behind him, his face pockmarked and scarred. The side of his body is ravaged with burns, deforming his neck and arms in a look so grotesque, he could be one of the walking dead.
“We’re not looking for trouble,” I mutter in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the discordant noise surrounding us.
“Then, it appears you’ve come to the wrong place.” The blood elf laughs, a sinister and smug smile lingering even after his chortle has evaporated from the damp air. “This city got a mind all its own. Dangerous place for strangers. Bein’ a charitable man, I thought I’d introduce myself. Maybe inform you ‘bout the way things work here.”
“We can figure out the way things work for ourselves,” replies Cambion, coldly. With his red hair, he looks like he could be kin to the man before us, but even disguised, Cambion’s lightness outshines any transfigurations and enchantments he can cast on himself.
A few tables nearby have sensed the tension and the patrons sit poised, eager for violence, hungrier for it than they are for the women on their laps or the tankards balanced precariously against the sides of their tables.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the blood elf continues “You’ve already made mistakes.”
“Such as?” Cambion demands before I can stop him. The last thing we want is to play into this asshole’s game. I would have paid him off and sent him on his way, but Cambion always makes things more difficult.
“For starters,” the bastard continues. “You came here, somewhere’s you clearly don’t belong. Second, you failed to pay me the courtesy you should have.” Then, he turns to look at Eilish and his smile returns. “And you brought a sweet, little nymph wiffout offerin’ me first dibs.”
“The woman isn’t for you,” I tell him, turning my chair and body until I’m blocking his view of her. My voice is deadly. Fire is already brewing in my gut at the thought of this fiend laying just one finger on Eilish. If he touches her, I’ll kill him.
“All women are for my enjoyment.” He turns to his comrade, “Hendor, when do I not get what I want?”
“Never,” confirms the man, a dumb grin spreading across his marred face.
I’ve had enough. I stand up, towering over the stranger by at least a head. But he doesn’t back down. He’s large in his own right and he’s broad.
“You need ta understand just how things work,” the man continues. “There ain’t no law here. No one to protect you. You chose a bad place to die.” His tongue pokes out from behind his brown, decayed teeth, yellowed juice leaking out of the space between them.
He takes a step closer, which puts him closer to Eilish. He’ll regret it. This man doesn’t realize who I am. His tactic of intimidation has likely worked numerous times before, but he’s in for a surprise if he expects me to cower before him. The only reason he isn’t already dead is because I need to avoid attention.
But I also need to get him off my back. He tries another step and I push him backward, choosing to show him only a fraction of my power. As he falls to the floor, I realize I’ve failed in that mission; everyone within a ten-foot radius is now turning in their chairs to watch as the loudmouth is leveled. All eyes are fixed on us, greedy for the fight.
He slowly stands, the venom behind his crimson eyes visibly swirling. “You’ve made a mistake, friend,” he hisses. “And it’s just cost you your lives.”
“No one will die today, friend, ” I spit back at him. My arms are tense with fury. “Except you.”
He squares his body toward me, snarling, his eyes nearly pulsing in their anger.
I’m aware of all the other eyes on us, and I wonder how I can settle this without causing more of a fuss. I clench and unclench my fist. We may have to fight more than just these two to get out of here alive.