Chapter Sixteen Dominic
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
After three nights and only the tamest of Shade sightings, I feel like I can breathe again.
Especially since the third night passed without any interruptions from Inana.
Gods, she’s a problem. Too curious. Too stubborn.
And too damn effective at getting under my skin.
Not to mention the surges of emotion I keep feeling.
I almost kissed her, for fuck’s sake. As much as I might have wanted to, and as hot as my blood roared as she stroked my hair and called me a good boy, I can’t let anything like that happen between us.
She’s my Summoner and I’m her master. Anything more is a distraction I can’t afford.
Besides, romantic relationships are taboo for my kind, especially with a subordinate.
A Shadowbane’s duty is to his king, his patron prince, and the church.
Everything else comes second until we’re granted full Absolution.
No pious Shadowbane would ever romance a sinner.
Which means being alone with Inana is a bad idea. But trying to keep her at bay with curt words and a cold demeanor doesn’t fucking work. It only makes her more riled up. More intrigued. More verbally combative. More attractive. More enticing in the way she lifts her chin, licks her lips, and—
I shake the thoughts from my head.
Inana meets my eyes across the rough-hewn table in the dining room of the inn.
She gives me a perplexed look, which makes me realize I’ve been staring.
Like an idiot, I glance away and pretend to have been scanning our surroundings.
The dining room is brightly lit, with lamps on each table and wooden chandeliers that hang from the rafters.
The buzz of quiet conversation fills the air, along with scents of meat, fresh bread, and watered-down ale.
This is the first time I’ve been with my crew since we returned from dispatching the dragon.
Until now, my hours have been spent resting, interviewing villagers for potential leads regarding the artist responsible for the Shade, or keeping watch from dusk to dawn.
With the threat officially de-escalated, I invited my crew to dine at the inn’s tavern.
The mayor was generous in his compensation, and even after the cut owed to Prince Leeran and the church, I still have ample coin left.
What better way to spend it than by rewarding those who did the most important work to earn it?
My crew seems to be enjoying their prize.
Bard savors the largest bowl of stew I’ve seen while Harlow works on her second plate of pork belly and eggs.
Calvin’s appetite is always on the weaker end, but even he splurged on herb-crusted lamb chops.
My eyes glide back to Inana, who tears into a buttery roll.
She seems to have a fondness for bread, which makes me inexplicably envious of the rolls she hoards.
My eyes move from her lips, glistening with butter, to her clothing.
It’s different today, thanks to the mayor’s other gifts.
Her bodice is brown leather, lacing up the front, the cut low enough to reveal the tip of her scar.
It juts through her delicately freckled skin, cutting diagonally across the modest swell of her—
I snap my eyes away again. Why the fuck was I looking at her…scar?
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Lust whispers.
It’s too bright for him to be anything more than a pool of shadow on my chair.
Unlike Sloth, who hides under the table, nudging Calvin for pets.
He tried to do the same to Inana, but I tugged him away.
“I thought for certain you were ogling her tits. I don’t blame you. They’re nice.”
Inana chokes on her bite of bread, then washes it down with a sip of ale. Did she…hear Lust? That isn’t the first time I’ve questioned whether she can hear my shadows. On the roof, she watched Lust and Pride with too much fascination for someone who couldn’t hear their argument.
So why not test my theory?
I lean back in my chair, posture bored. “They can’t be any nicer than all the others I’ve seen,” I mutter.
“Huh?” Calvin says, brow arched.
Harlow too casts a questioning glance, while Bard briefly looks up from his stew.
Inana is the only one who doesn’t look at all confused by what should seem a non sequitur.
From her flushed cheeks to her seething glare, I can’t think of any other explanation.
She heard him. While anyone can see my shadows—mostly invisible during the day aside from the pools of darkness they cast—no one but me should be able to hear their voices.
She sets down her half-eaten roll and mirrors my posture, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. However, instead of crossing them over her chest, she folds them…beneath it. Lifting certain assets until distinct swells rise above her bodice. Bloody hell.
“Are you going to eat or are you going to keep staring at my fucking tits, pervert?”
My first instinct is to say something cold and dismissive.
Then I recall how well that went for me on the roof.
She’ll only argue or bait me to argue back.
The only times I’ve left her at a loss for words are when I’m unintentionally flirting with her.
Pushing her boundaries. Normally I try my best to resist the pull to do so, but what if I give in for my own benefit?
Not so much that I almost kiss her again.
No, that was a different kind of giving in.
That was more letting my guard down. Allowing her to get too close.
This time I’ll give in just enough to startle her.
Embarrass her. Make her want to shut that tempting mouth and keep her eyes from straying to mine.
I lean forward, lips lifted at one corner as my gaze sweeps from her face to her chest. “Why should I have to choose? I can eat and look at the same time. Might as well make a fucking feast of it, right, sinner?” Still looking at her chest, I spear a piece of venison with my fork and bring it to my lips, emitting a sound of deep satisfaction as I chew.
As intended, by the time my attention returns to her face, her mouth is pursed tight, her cheeks blazing.
Victory floods me in a dizzying rush. Is that really all I have to do?
“Oh, my gods,” Harlow says, her voice strangled with laughter. She looks from me to Inana, covering her mouth. And that’s when I remember we have a bloody audience. “Have the two of you still not fucked?”
“No,” Inana says, but her tone sounds more like she’s scolding an unruly puppy than answering the question. “It’s not like that. There’s nothing between us.”
“Sure about that?” I say before I can think better of it.
Now that I’ve let myself give in, I can’t stop.
My blood thrums in a sensation that is both strange and familiar.
In this moment, I am the man I was six years ago, before my emotions were stripped along with half my sins.
It shouldn’t be possible. There’s only one way a Sinless or halfsoul can experience a reversal in Absolution—one of the deepest, darkest secrets I keep—and this isn’t it.
And yet…
Gods above, it feels fucking good.
“I’m sure,” she says through her teeth.
I’m about to quip back about lying to my shadows, but an uncomfortable sensation skitters up the base of my spine. “Not the ass, Cal. You know it’s weird.”
That, of course, has my three Summoners going still.
“Excuse me?” Harlow’s amusement grows tenfold. “What were you doing to his ass, Calvin?”
Calvin lifts his hands, an innocent grin on his face. “I was just petting Sloth. He likes butt scratches.”
“Yes, well, I don’t. Not from you.” I take a deep swallow of ale, as if that will wash the sensation down.
The screech of chair legs against flagstones nearly has me spitting my drink. Because it’s Inana who rises to her feet. The daggers she shoots with her eyes make me realize my mistake.
“Are you suggesting,” she says, voice quavering in her efforts to speak low, “you can feel when we touch your Shades?”
I lean back in my chair again, blowing out a heavy breath. “I can feel what they feel, to a degree,” I say. “Now will you sit down before the barkeep tells us to get the fuck out?”
She glances around the dining room. Sure enough, several pairs of eyes look our way. Public acts of anger or frivolity are frowned upon, for no one wants to be accused of doing anything that might attract a Shade, even during daylight hours.
With a feigned smile for the onlookers, she settles back into her chair and leans toward the table. “Why haven’t you mentioned that? And how is it possible? Are they…tethered to you? Is that how they can move about during the day, while regular Shades can’t set foot outside of shadows?”
“They are partially tethered to me,” I say, “and I didn’t mention it…”
I haven’t a clue how to finish that sentence. I should have mentioned it, but I didn’t because…
Well, because I liked when she began to warm up to Sloth. Liked the way her hands felt when she petted his coat. I almost liked it too much on the roof, when she scratched him just beneath his ears.
“He didn’t mention it because it’s weird as fuck,” Calvin says, coming to my rescue. “Long story short, don’t give Lust a handjob.”
“No one needs that warning,” Harlow says, then her lips quirk into a devious grin. “Unless…Inana, why are you so flustered? Did you diddle Lust after all? Oh, wait. Did you…pet his dog? Oh, my gods, you did.”
“She did,” Sloth says, whipping around excitedly under the table. “She’s so nice and her hands are so gentle.”
“You’re the worst,” Inana hisses, to Harlow’s tittering delight. Even Bard laughs, a single huff of mirth.
“No reason to feel awkward about it,” Calvin says. “Sloth is great to pet. You should pet him too, Har. Everyone should pet him.”
“Everyone should not pet him,” I say.
Harlow ignores me, responding only to Cal. “Ew, don’t call me Har.” She then proceeds to pet Sloth as he nudges her legs. He bumps next into Bard, who idly pats his head.
I wince at the soft pressure that reaches me through Sloth while the asshole dog relishes the attention. Yet I don’t tell my Summoners off, because there is a part of me that likes it almost as much as he does.
“At least now I know what to do to make you uncomfortable,” Inana says, a triumphant grin on her lips.
“I never said it would feel uncomfortable coming from you,” I volley back with a wink.
Her only reply is a muttered “Bastard.”
My amusement sharply drains as someone approaches our table.
I expect it to be the barkeep, scolding us for talking too much or being too carefree.
One doesn’t normally scold a Shadowbane, considering their unquestionable authority, but since I’m not wearing my sword, the barkeep might not know who I am.
But as I lock eyes with the figure, I find a familiar male face.
One that sours my stomach and dampens every good feeling I’ve had over the last several minutes.
“Dominic Graves,” says a man who’s been a fucking plague to me for the better part of a decade. “I was hoping I’d find you.”