Amanda Bonilla - Shaedes of Gray - A Shaede Assassin Novel

I lay on the cold metal floor of what I assumed to be a van. Unable to see, I had only my senses of hearing and smell to aid me. The sweet scent of Shaede hovered around me, and it didn’t take long to discover that Raif and Anya weren’t the only ones there with me. Several scents I couldn’t place, though they were unmistakably of my own kind. I’d learned since being exposed to these Shaedes that each of us has a unique signature, and I knew Raif’s and Anya’s. I heard virtually nothing. My captors grew quiet as doors closed me in and the vehicle pulled out into traffic. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the vibrations of each tire as they rolled over the road.

I had no doubt they were taking me to Xander. I assumed he’d been a little fired up by my dismissal, but all-out kidnapping hadn’t topped my list of possible retaliations. As we drove to who knows where, I tried to prepare myself for whatever punishments would be meted out. If Xander was mad enough—and I suspected he was—I could expect a severe ass kicking from Raif or Anya or both. I didn’t think an encounter with either one of them would leave me feeling like we’d bonded from the experience.

My thoughts drifted unbidden to Tyler. I wondered if he was waiting for me at The Pit. I wondered how long he’d stay before he went looking for me at the studio, and how long after that before he’d start scouring the city. Ty would go looking for me. I wasn’t wrong. Something had developed between us whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not, and he would track me down like a hound on the hunt. I just wished I didn’t have to worry about him losing his fool head in the process.

After what felt like forever, the vehicle came to a stop, and I took in a great gulp of air to steady my quaking limbs. The thought that I might leave this existence and pass permanently into shadow sent a wave of anxiety washing over me. I prayed I would die with a sword in my hand. I hoped I would leave this solid form with dignity and with the respect of my adversaries.

“I wish I could kiss Ty one more time,” I whispered.

The back doors of the van opened, and I was hauled out by several pairs of hands. My head bounced against the pavement, and my hips and legs followed suit as I was dumped on the ground. Someone standing above me snickered, and I connected the sound to Anya. Of course she’d be delighted to see me suffer.

Lifted as if I weighed nothing, they carried me through a door, and the familiar smells of a home drifted up my nostrils. We weren’t in a musty warehouse or unused residence like the town house. This place had a lived-in scent that lingered everywhere.

My head knocked uncomfortably a couple of times as I was towed up a flight of stairs. Again, my captors did not make much of an effort to see to my comfort. I could hardly blame them. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t crazy-pissed because of it.

They threw me down on a soft, cushiony surface. The blindfold was removed, and I felt the air shift as my kidnappers departed under the cover of shadow. It took a while for my eyes to adjust, even though the room was relatively dark.

The surrounding space boasted rich furnishings. Sporting an enormous bed, couches, chairs, a table, and a desk, it was a suite unto itself. Antique dressers and vibrant oil paintings decorated the walls. Doors led from the central room to other unknown places, waiting like dark chasms branching off from the main body of a cave. The smell of Shaede permeated my senses. New, fresh scents, and old as well, wafted around me, but the most prevalent scent in this room belonged to him .

“What shall I do with you, Darian?”

He startled me with his velvety voice; it trailed out to wrap me in its embrace. I hated him for his voice, for the way it made me feel, what it sparked in me. For that reason more than any other, I despised him.

I bucked my chin toward the ceiling. Screw you . I locked my defiant gaze with his when he came around to sit on the edge of a wing chair and face me.

“What are you going to do with me, Xander?” I asked.

He laughed and the sound touched every square inch of my body. Reaching out, his balmy fingertips crossed one of the raised welts on my face that had yet to go away. He turned on every light in the room, and I tucked my head against my shoulder, squinting. Pulling up my long sleeves, he examined the welts with interest, a sound not unlike a growl erupting from his chest. In my incapacitated state, he left me little choice but to accept the appraisal as he continued to search, lifting first my shirt over my belly and then my pant legs, blazing a path across my skin as he surveyed the damage done.

“Lyhtan,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Who?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Not who ,” he said, his voice soft. “What. A Lyhtan did this to you. When did it come?”

“This morning,” I said, loathing myself for letting my guard down. “What is it?”

“The Lyhtans are creatures of the light,” Xander explained, “and vicious, deadly beasts. But whereas you can pass into shadow at night, so can the Lyhtan move unseen in the day. They are confined to their corporeal forms once the sun sets.”

Oh, goody, more surprises . What next—aliens living among us? “They’re like us?” I asked, chagrined that I even had to ask.

“More like us than I’d care to admit. We’re cousins, in the true sense of the word. Both our lines were born to brothers, Artis and Rannan. They defied their father, as the legend goes.” Xander paced the room, and a thoughtful expression graced his face. “Kreighton was a foolish king and let fear ruin his kingdom. The brothers took brides that displeased the king, and their descendants paid the price. Kreighton had favored Artis before his rebellion, and rather than exact the harsh punishment he planned, he graced Artis’s children with Fae beauty so they’d blend with society, and cloaked them in shadow at night. Rannan was not so fortunate. Kreighton cursed his less-favored son’s offspring, banishing them to the light, where they’d be forced to hide their ghastly forms, marking them as outcasts. They’re uncivilized beasts. We’re the lucky ones, I suppose. The Lyhtans”—he looked away wistfully—“are jealous. Vengeful. They despise all Shaedes for our very existence. A Lyhtan needs no excuse to attack a Shaede. They’re dangerous. Especially to us.” His gaze, burning gold flecks in melted caramel, pinned me right where I stood. “Especially to you .”

I stiffened at Xander’s words. What did they want with me? Which raised an even bigger question: Why hadn’t the Lyhtan tried to kill me? Xander had just said they needed little to no excuse to kill a Shaede, and yet it had let me live. My nerves stretched taut and my pulse skipped. The damn thing had been playing with me. It had admitted as much. But why? “I’ve never seen one before,” I whispered. “I had no idea anything like that existed. Didn’t even get a look at the one that attacked me.”

“They’re solitary creatures,” Xander said. “Lyhtans do not live in groups, and though they want for much, they need very little. They hunt like lone wolves, glutting on the weak, and do not seek prey for weeks afterward.” His warm gaze scorched over me again as he continued. “Lyhtan claws and teeth contain deadly venom. We’re allergic to that venom. Those welts on your lovely skin are scratches. Because of the allergy, it will take longer for you to heal. You’re lucky to have come away with only welts. This is . . . disconcerting, Darian. I don’t understand why it didn’t inflict more damage. By all rights, you should be dead. To your attacker’s discredit, it must have barely broken the skin.”