The Shadow Reader

I sit up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m only a little disoriented,” he says. “I’ll be fine as soon as I return to the Realm.”

I start to peel back the comforter.

“No.” Kyol rests his hand on mine. “Don’t get up. Sleep. I’ll send Taber for you in a few hours.”

He squeezes my hand and then lets it slide through his as he stands. Even if the tech wasn’t bothering him, he’d still have to leave. I’m sure Atroth and Lord General Radath both want a report. They’ll want to talk to me, too.

“Kyol?”

He peers down, waiting, but I don’t know what I wanted to say. Something about Aren? The rebellion? The words that come to mind now all sound like I’m defending what they’ve done. That’s not right, so I settle on, “Thank you.”

The barest of smiles touches his lips as he opens a fissure. “I’ll see you soon.”

He steps into the bright light and disappears. Even in the darkened room, I can see his shadows. I can’t get a precise read on them, though, not without sketching a map, but there’s no paper in sight, just the queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a matching chest of drawers, all red oak in color. Jeans and a gray, long-sleeved shirt are folded on top of the dresser, and a pair of boots—human, not fae-made—rest beside it. Knowing it’s unlikely I’ll be able to go back to sleep, I climb out of bed.

The clothes and boots are the right size. I grab them, walk to the door, and peek out. It’s clear, and the bathroom is right across the hall.

I start the water running, then shed my dress, unfasten my diamond necklace, and lay them both on the counter beside the tub. A few minutes later, I sink into the water and let the heat pull the stiffness from my muscles. Beneath the surface, the twin scars across my stomach wiggle. It’s a good thing Kyol and I didn’t go further last night. If he saw these scars, he’d have felt even worse about my abduction. And he would have learned where Aren’s hands were.

My stomach clenches, remembering Aren’s touch. Frustrated, I suck in a breath and sink beneath the water’s surface. I need to drown out his memory, forget that one kiss. It was just another one of his manipulations. Aren and I are enemies. I know that. He knows that. He should never have given me that damn necklace.

I burst out of the water and suck in air. The diamonds glitter from the edge of the sink, mocking me. I have to hand over the anchor-stone, don’t I? Even though it’ll feel like I’m twisting a knife in Aren’s back?

I run my fingers through my wet hair. I just want this to be over. I want to live a normal, human life. With Kyol.

You could never be a normal human. Aren’s words from the riverbank in Germany. He said them with a smile on his face, as if I was too extraordinary to be normal.

“Damn it.” Before my thoughts settle on his kiss again, I stand, sloshing water over the side of the tub. I towel off, wring the water from my hair, then snatch the diamond necklace off the counter. I don’t want it hanging around my neck, so I wrap it around my wrist a couple times and then fasten the clasp. It actually works as a bracelet, and with the long-sleeved shirt Kyol left for me, no one will see it unless I want them to.

A few minutes later, I’m dressed and exploring the castle. That’s what it feels like, at least. The place is huge, two stories with a theater upstairs and half a dozen closed doors I’m too afraid to open. There had to be some type of party or gettogether here last night. In one of the living areas, red plastic cups and beer bottles are scattered about the room, on the floor and tables, even the pool table, which I’m pretty sure isn’t good for it. And someone’s snoring on the couch. Not wanting to wake him, I tiptoe through the room, find the staircase, and then head down to the first floor, hoping I can find the kitchen.

The size of the house shouldn’t surprise me. A limo picked me up last night. Shane obviously has money. But I can’t help but wonder how he earned it. What does he do for a living? How does he keep a high-paying job? How does he keep the Court from interfering with . . .

I stop, scan the tall walls of the foyer and its arched ceiling. Surely the fae haven’t paid for all of this. I mean, I know the king would give me more money if I asked, but I’m fairly certain they get the bundles of cash by fissuring in and out of bank vaults. I feel guilty for letting them pay for my little apartment—it is stealing, after all—but maybe Shane doesn’t. Maybe he feels this place is his due.

“Lost?”

I turn. Shane—I’m assuming it’s him because he’s standing there like he owns the place—is a few years older than I am. He’s wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and jeans, which are slung low on his hips. His brown hair is mussed up, but he doesn’t look like he’s just woken up. He looks like . . . well, like he’s just attended a party.

“I’m McKenzie,” I say, just in case he thinks I’m some leftover guest from last night.

“I met you a few hours ago.” At my frown, the corner of his mouth tips into a smile. “You were unconscious. Taltrayn carried you upstairs. You a heavy sleeper?”

“Not usually.” It doesn’t surprise me I slept so hard, though. My insomnia issues disappear when I’m with Kyol, and the last three days—hell, the last couple of weeks—haven’t exactly been pleasant.

“He said you had a bad day.” Shane crosses the foyer and then, as he walks past me, he says, “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

I follow him to the kitchen where he starts a pot of coffee and nukes breakfast: frozen waffles from a box big enough to supply a small army. After the microwave dings, he takes the two plates to a table in a separate room. Tall, arched windows curve around the breakfast area, separating it from the terraced backyard.

“Know how long you’ll be staying?” he asks while he floods his waffles with syrup.

It’s a good question, one I’m not sure how to answer. I don’t want to hunt for a new apartment, but I understand why I can’t go home. The rebels traded me for Lena, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want me back. Aren wants me back.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

“No rush,” he says. “I have plenty of room.”

“Yeah. This place”—my eyes take in the view outside, the stone archways inside, and the marble fireplace in the next room—“it’s . . . big.”

“Extravagant, you mean.” His crooked grin says he’s not ashamed of the fact. He cuts into his waffles. “The Court doesn’t care where I live so long as it’s near a gate, so I picked a place that suited me.” At the look on my face, he adds, “What? I risk my life for them. I’ve earned this, especially lately.”

No one needs a place like this, but I don’t open that debate right now. Instead, I focus on the last part of what he said. “What do you mean by ‘lately’?”

Around a mouthful of waffle, he says, “They’ve been keeping me busy these last few weeks.”

“Busier than usual?”

“Yeah. They used to only need me when the rebels attacked, but they’ve started going on the offensive. Have you heard of the Butcher of Brykeld?”