Erin Kellison - Shadow Fall

“Adam, surprise—it’s Custo. I’m back. Remember that time at the Shelby School when we cut the power to the compound long enough to stop the clocks? Don’t trust anyone at Segue until you speak with me.” Custo paused. “I’m headed now for our New York storage cache. You can reach me at this number, or there shortly.”

His message made her head hurt. What kind of cryptic crapola was that? “Excuse me…? I’d like my phone back.”

Custo handed it back to her, slightly smiling, as if her irritation amused him. “If it rings, answer immediately.”

She wasn’t about to let him boss her. She let her finger linger on the power button. Off. No more calls for the crazy cab moocher.

They turned off the main road and shot down a smaller side street lined with cars already parked for the night. Must be getting close.

She had her own questions, and she only had a few more minutes to get the answers. “That wolf…it’s been stalking me for days. I haven’t slept. I’m so hopped up on caffeine I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again. And I have to be my best for tomorrow night. My best. Can you please tell me what is going on?”

“I have to hear your end of it first to know for sure.” A tremor ran through him, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he mastered himself.

Maybe he was on drugs. “I just told you my end of it.”

“When it began. How the wolf found you.”

Annabella threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t know when—” No, wait. She did. “Rehearsal. Last night, when we put the second act together. We’d been rehearsing separately, working on one bit one night, another bit another. This was the first time that we had the full company there.”

“How did it happen?” Passing headlights coasted over his features and accented the golden flecks in his amber-green irises. So pretty, too bad he was…unbalanced and rude.

“I was dancing one of my solos—I thought I had it right. Felt good anyway. I looked up and saw the wolf. Heard him growling at me. I don’t know how he got there or why. I thought I was just super tired and stressed. Is he for real?”

“Very much so,” Custo answered. “You see him only when you are dancing?”

“No. He followed me last night to my bus stop.”

He frowned. “You were alone?”

“Yes.”

“How did you escape him?” His questions kept coming, rapid fire. When was he going to start answering some?

“He’s afraid of light,” she explained, lifting her improvised weapon. “He stays in the shadow.”

Custo frowned and cursed, “Damn it.”

“Are you going to tell me what is going on or not?”

He held his breath, then expelled all his indecision. “The wolf is a creature of Shadow, of that I am certain.”

“A creature of wha—?”

Custo looked down at his hands, fisting and flexing them strangely, as if he’d never seen them before. “He is a creature of Shadow, bound to Shadow, but he crossed into this world with me tonight, you understand?”

Okay, the man was deranged, and she was going crazy right along with him. Crossed from where?

The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “You got an address, mister?”

Custo glanced out the window. “Here is fine.”

The car pulled over to the curb, and Custo opened his door. Panic rolled over Annabella. What now? She couldn’t go off with a stranger. He could be psycho or a murderer, or, or…

Custo climbed out, turned, and grabbed her bag. He dropped it on the sidewalk and reached in to her, his fingers sharply beckoning. “Come on.”

This was so not what her mother intended when she offered to pay for the cab. Annabella shrank back, though her body perversely thrilled all over at the prospect. The man was certifiable, but damn hot anyway. “I don’t even know you.”

He bent to make eye contact. “You know you’re safe with me.”

From wolves, maybe.

“Annabella?”

Oh, this is stupid. But she slid across the seat dragging the heavy flashlight, took his hand—warm, strong—and climbed out of the cab. He reached into his pocket and produced a wad of bills, handing the driver a twenty.

As the cab pulled away, Annabella had the strangest sensation that everything normal in her life was going with it. What the hell was she doing?

“Let’s get off the street.” Custo put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his body. Her heart thumped, but she didn’t fight him. She fit snugly, tucked alongside him, and his tight hold somehow made her both more and less nervous. He smelled dark and sharp. Sweaty, but still very good.

His body against hers was rigid with tension. He hurried them down the block and across the street to a doorway tucked into an alcove. A keypad was affixed at eye level. He punched in a code, and the lock released on the door, almost inaudibly.

She felt the tug on her waist as he tried to draw her inside.

“Um…” she said, her stomach suddenly knotting with nerves, “I do have to get back to my apartment soon. The gala is tomorrow, and if I don’t get some sleep—”

“You’ll be staying here now,” he said.

She pulled back against his forward momentum. Staying here? Tonight?

Custo took her shoulders, dipped his head to catch her gaze with his marshy eyes. The back light from the interior lit his dark blond hair into a soft gold halo. “Annabella, there is a Shadow wolf stalking you. It sounds absurd, I know, but the creatures of Faerie know no reason. You can rest here. Sleep. You’ll dance better for it tomorrow night. I’ll see that nothing touches you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I won’t touch you either.” He lifted a brow, making fun of the direction of her thoughts, but the deliberate guttural rumble of his assurance had her mentally pinning on the word yet after his statement.

Her gaze drifted to his mouth. His lips curved up slightly in response. She lifted her gaze just in time to catch the wicked gleam, lit by humor, in his eyes. She tried to look away but couldn’t. The air around them hummed with energy generated by his intensity, her nerves, and the electricity of their closeness.

What to do…What to do… Annabella’s body hummed with painful indecision. Go off with the psycho, hot man in the short pants or brave the wolfy night alone? Groaning, she gave a reluctant nod—last night’s vigil had been fueled by strong coffee. It might be early for anyone else to think of bed, but there was no way on earth she could keep her eyes open for long. This man seemed to know what he was talking about, in spite of his ridiculous clothes.

Custo must have seen her acceptance, because he pulled her inside and led her down a long, low hallway. The white paint on the walls had cracked with age and time as the building settled. The place had a dusty smell, as if it hadn’t been aired in forever. The only window in the interior was narrow and high with a dirty view of concrete. The main room was filled with stacked army green plastic cartons, blocky lettering identifying them as the property of something called The Segue Institute. A storage room.

Okay…so maybe she could be safe here, but she’d be excruciatingly uncomfortable. Her dance bag made for a rotten pillow—she’d tried that in rehearsal enough times. Maybe they should go back to her place. Or get a hotel room. Correction, adjoining hotel rooms.

Custo hefted a carton out of the way. Judging by the strain of his bunched muscle against the too-small fabric of his shirt, it must have been heavy. With his efforts, however, the top of a doorway was revealed, so there was a little hope.

She watched as he moved the rest of the cartons out of the way. The man had a tight, sculpted ass under those ridiculous navy khakis. When he was done, his shirt was damp with sweat. Another numbered panel was attached to the wall. Custo punched in a code, and the lock on the door released. The successive containment of the place reminded her of a prison. She had to be out of her mind.