Touched with Sight (Shadow Thane) Read online

  It might be worth looking into.

  A sudden burst of loud snoring gave him an unpleasant start. Scowling, he peered into the doorway from where the sound was coming from—her parents, as it turned out. The boy's room was next, redolent of unwashed clothing and sweat, and something else, which made Finn wonder, with disgust, whether the child had taken to marking his territory. Disgusting creatures.

  The last bedroom, then, must be hers.

  Soundlessly, he opened the door and entered her room. It was sparsely decorated, with bare white walls and furniture that appeared to have been handpicked by her parents—it matched the haphazard décor downstairs, as if everything had been lifted from a consignment store.

  Clothing was scattered around the room. The desk was piled high with jewelry, clothes, and papers. And large, precariously stacked towers of books. She did have a number of books, which surprised him. She had led him to believe that she was a simpleton, and a fool.

  There was only one book in particular that interested him, though.

  His eyes narrowed. Where had she hidden it? Gods, her room was a mess. That was only to be expected. She wouldn't want to risk leaving the book out in plain sight. Perhaps this was all a clever ruse to thwart him. In which case, he could very well be here all night.

  And then he caught a glimpse of that familiar aura. The glimmering black particles were shifting listlessly around her book-bag. She hadn't hidden it at all. Just crammed it into her school bag, where any Slayer could—and would—have found it.

  Foolish savage. He wanted to strangle her.

  She made a low sound that caused the hairs on his arms to stand on end. He reached for the hilt of his sword, and then relaxed when he realized that she was still asleep.

  The sheets were tangled around her legs, and rustled as she shifted to her side. She was wearing boxer shorts and a threadbare tank top. One of the straps had slid down her shoulder in a way that seemed deliberately coy. The sleeveless garment drew attention to the muscles in her arms, and the fullness of her breasts, where they squashed against the mattress. Her legs were also quite defined, and what he could see of her midriff looked flat and toned.

  No wonder she had escaped him in the woods.

  Even with the silver, she had bested him—and faster than he'd believed humanly possible.

  But the little bitch isn't human.

  His eyes had adjusted to the point where he could make out every curve and contour of her body through the cotton—the ridges of her abdomen, the swell of her hips, the indents her erect nipples made in the fabric—and he was finding it hard to look away from the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. There was something perversely satisfying about this. Watching her sleep.

  She was tense, as if she could sense his presence even while unconscious and it left her with the distinct impulse to run. But she couldn't run from him now. Not with the barrier of consciousness standing solidly between them. Shape-shifters didn't like being made to feel vulnerable—and few things left one more prone than slumber.

  Her mouth drew back into a grimace, lips parted to reveal teeth only a little sharper than the human norm. A silent hiss. Finn stepped closer, not heeding the implicit warning. When he was close enough to touch, he ran his thumb down her throat and felt her pulse kiss his skin. Her skin was damp with sweat and a few strands of her hair stuck to his hand.

  He wondered who the witch in her family line was, whether it was someone he knew.

  That's why her eyes sear and burn, he thought. She has witch eyes.

  His hand encircled her throat.

  Black beast.

  Reviled creature. Creature of legend.

  I could kill her.

  For that, he would receive a commendation. Especially if he brought the body back for study. But the thought of her, lifeless, as some laboratory specimen, made him indignant. His eyes fell to her lips. The silver handcuffs weighed heavily at his side.

  I could take her.

  The thought came to him, unbidden, and with such intense abruptness that it felt for a moment as if it could not possibly be his own. Finn found himself standing over her, as if he had been propelled, standing close enough now that he could almost taste her lips on his tongue. He might have done it, too, if he hadn't heard a soft hiss, and remembered the dream—the dream in which he had fucked the girl, and she had turned into that creature—and her body had morphed into a swarm of writhing shadows that permeated his body as if he were something they could devour. Finn reclaimed his sanity in that instant, but his fingers were still wrapped around her throat.

  And her eyes—they snapped open upon that impulsive bit of contact. He heard her intake of breath as she was jolted awake, instantly. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, incredulous, horrified. Not just that, he thought. There was something else there, which he couldn't put a name to, but that resonated with something dark and twisted that lay buried deep inside him.

  “You—” she said, or he thought he heard her say.

  It was hard to tell, because an instant later he was gasping from the pain lancing his spine as he collided with something cruelly hard. It was the wall; she had kicked him all the way across the room. A second throbbing, between his legs, made him retch. “Fuck,” he said hoarsely.

  Over the throbbing in his cock, he was dimly aware of her saying, “What the fuck are you doing here, witch?”

  He cut his eyes towards her. She was on the bed, crouching, with her hands curled over in a way that reminded him a bit of a hulking ape. She hadn't Changed over, though—not yet. Because she's afraid? Perhaps the looming threat of the Council's intervention kept her in check.

  Quietly, Finn performed the curing spell that would ease the splinters of pain in his groin. She had grazed him there so quickly, he hadn't even noticed at first, although the end result was plenty disarming. Water magic was healing, and the spell did the trick quickly, to the point that he was almost as good as new. He let his aura flare in warning as he straightened.

  “I think you know why.”

  He brandished the book at her, and was gratified to see her flinch.

  She was out of bed in an instant, her feet gliding soundlessly across the floor as she hit the wooden boards in a silent spring. Her movements were too choreographed to be human, more like a series of rapidly shuffled stills than actual movement. In seconds she was scarcely two feet away.

  “You were watching me sleep.”

  “Considering where best to plant my knife,” he said, pleased when she recoiled again.

  “I know what you were considering,” she snarled, and Finn found himself on the defensive once more, wondering how much of his indecision she had been conscious enough to process.

  “Typical shifter,” he said, “turning everything into filth and depravity.”

  “You're the one in my bedroom,” she growled, with emphasis on the possessive pronoun.

  She had a point. Finn looked at the book, and decided to change the subject. “How fortunate then that I was the first. You made it so easy. What could you be thinking, leaving this out where anyone could simply walk in…and take it?”

  “Give it back.”

  “You're in no position to make demands of me.”

  “Some might call it self-defense.” The deep, guttural voice belied her small frame.

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  She took a step towards him, swaying a little as if drunk. Her eyes, however, remained unclouded, and were as sharp and intent as the first rays of dawn breaking upon a polished blade.

  “And if it is?”

  His cock began to throb again, but not in pain this time. She might be base—but she was also attractive, and so untouchable.

  He let the book fall to the floor with a low, hollow thud that made her jump.

  This is a nightmare.

  The thought calmed her nerves at first, which were thoroughly rattled from seeing her pursuer leaning against her wardrobe. In her bedroom. Looking as if he b
elonged there. Predator railed against that. The witch had no right to be here. None.

  She wanted to believe that this was a nightmare, but to let herself be lulled by that belief would be fatal. Because after nights of hunting with the fire and ice in her dreams, he had returned in the flesh. And this time, the bastard isn't going to give me the chance to perish twice.

  And then he had dropped the book.

  Leaving his hands free.

  It was a threat even a human could understand.

  The witch moved quickly for his kind but Catherine was faster. She slammed her foot into his side. The flash of pain that lit up his face made her bare her teeth with savage pleasure.

  “Like that, witch?”

  The flare of his aura was the only warning she got. Suddenly, she was thrashing, and clawing, all to no avail. Ozone burned the air and seared her nostrils. The witch had surrounded himself with an invisible, impenetrable bubble wrought of magic and air and she was—shit, she was stuck.

  “Fuck.” She yanked her arms. Stuck fast. They wouldn't budge.

  The witch reached out easily, tugging her towards him. Catherine recoiled instinctively, digging her heels into the carpet. Her muscles strained and she felt her body weight shift, but it was as if she had done nothing at all.

  He pulled her inside with him, and the magic tickled her skin unpleasantly, raising the small hairs as if she'd stepped into a field of static electricity. Here, in this small enclosed space, his aura was overpowering. She could scarcely breathe, the stench of ozone was suffocating.

  “Let go of me,” she said.

  He pressed a cool finger against her lips.

  “Enough. You wouldn't want to wake your brother, would you?”

  Catherine froze. In spite of herself, she hazarded a glance at the door.

  “He's only thirteen, you son of a bitch.”

  His fingers were toying with the straps of her tank top.

  “Then I suggest you shut your mouth and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  She gave him a flat, unimpressed look.

  “That means 'hands,'” he added. “If you attempt to Change or run away, I will deal with you very harshly. After I deal with your family first.”

  “Fine,” she said coldly. “Whatever you want.”

  She figured whatever he was planning for her, it couldn't possibly be worse than torture. He thought he was intimidating—but he had nothing on the males of her kind, especially the wolves. His hands slid down her arms to latch firmly around her wrists, which he held at her side.

  “Anything?”

  Let go of me, she urged him silently. Just for one second. Let down your guard. I'll tear you apart.

  She could have broken free from him, easily, but there didn't seem to be much point.

  Not yet.

  She could bide her time with the best of them.

  Keeping her face empty, blank, she returned his gaze levelly.

  “What if I want you?” the witch persisted.

  This illicit confession should have startled her, but it didn't. She would have to be blind to miss the way he looked at her. The way he had touched her as she slept. She'd heard of witches who were sexually attracted to shape-shifters. They tended to be part of groups that eroticized pain and death.

  Catherine set her jaw, refusing to betray her thoughts. If this witch really was a Council member, as he claimed, that spelled out scandal, and it wouldn't do to let him know that she'd come to the same conclusion as he had, lest he take comprehension for agreement.

  “Me,” she said flatly.

  “Don't misunderstand,” he said coolly. “I feel no affection for your kind.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “You just want to fuck me.”

  She expected him to flinch. But beneath the facade of prissy official was a core of solid steel. The witch continued to meet her eyes until she was almost tempted to look away. She didn't, though. “That's why you're here?” When no answer was forthcoming, she prompted, “Witch?”

  “No. I require you for other things. Infiltration. This artifact.”

  “So you thought you could shit and eat at the same time. How disgustingly convenient.”

  She had never bought into the purity myth, of the idea that a woman was only as valuable as her innocence was intact. She might have even considered accepting the offer if she was sure it would really prove an end to her problems. But it wouldn't. Catherine was sure it wouldn't.

  If she did sleep with him, one of two things would happen. He would realize it was a mistake, and allow her to disappear in order to keep his secret. Or, he would act as if he owned her, and make her life a different sort of hell. Neither of which she wanted.

  And then there was the fact that he had fucking sneaked into her bedroom in the middle of the night to watch her sleep—and then threatened her little brother.

  Her expression must not have been flattering. His eyes narrowed.

  “That isn't an answer,” he said, in a tone that made her certain her decision was the right one.

  “Fuck off,” she said, and while her tone was pleasant, she spoke it through clenched teeth.

  The witch's lip curled a little. As if he found her basely amusing. But she remembered his eyes in the gully and thought he might be trying to keep his temper in check instead.

  “You have no respect.”

  “Only when it's deserved.”

  “It is an honor to be chosen as an instrument of the Council.”

  “You mean a pawn in whatever scheme you and your people are brewing?”

  Another layer of coldness entered his eyes. “You think you can do better? You're a shape-shifter. An animal. A savage. Nothing. You will be fortunate if you live to see your thirtieth birthday. I suggest you ground your aspirations, lest you end up dead in a gutter somewhere.”

  He wasn't angry that she was refusing to help him in his capacity as a member of the Council, no. He was angry that she wouldn't sleep with him. If the situation hadn't been so pathetic, she might have laughed in his face—but he would almost certainly kill her then. Catherine crossed her arms and squared her shoulders. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  “Are you holding a torch for your mate?” he continued, ruthlessly. “By now, the worms have started feasting on his flesh. Of course, your kind prides itself on strength, and he couldn’t have been so powerful if he allowed himself to be captured so easily—”

  “Nobody said he was dead.” She struck him. She'd been aiming for his eye, but he turned his head at the last instant. Livid marks appeared in his pale skin: three parallel lines filled with blood. She'd just barely grazed him with her pinky, and that had left a mark like a tear beneath his left eye.

  For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the witch touched two fingers gingerly to his cheek to study the blood beading at the tips.

  “Well,” he said quietly. “Now it seems I have to teach you a lesson.”

  She retreated backwards a few steps, horrified by what she'd done and sick with anger and guilt. She nearly upset her music stand, which she struggled to right before it could fall to the floor with a clatter. She was putting space between them so she could attack and parry as necessary. Her roving gaze meant she was searching for something as a weapon and was not indicative of subservience, as he seemed to think.

  “Get out,” she said again, without fire.

  “I could arrest you. But it's been a long night—and I'm bored.”

  “Read a book.”

  His laugh was chilling. “I don't think so.”

  The hiss of scraping metal filled the air. Against her will, her eyes gravitated towards him and she inhaled sharply. He had drawn a longsword, three and a half feet of wicked, gleaming steel. She stared unabashedly, wondering where he'd been keeping it—until she saw the decorated scabbard hanging at his hip from the metal chatelaine. How hadn't she noticed it before?

  “Do you know why the sword is considered such a formidable weapon?”

&nbs
p; “Because it's sharp?”

  Catherine wasn't being entirely sarcastic. She remembered full well how dangerous that little knife of his had been. If this blade was also plated with silver, she was a goner.

  “Because it contains three of the four elements,” he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, “A sword is a combination of fire and earth, forged together by heat and pressure to create metal, which is then quenched by water. As a result, the sword absorbs properties from each of the elements.” A dark, dangerous emotion shot through his eyes. “Rather like…me.”

  “Somebody threw you into a furnace and then stuck you into a barrel of water?”

  “Oh, we are witty, aren't we? Unfortunately for you, a sharp tongue is no match for a sharp sword.” He tossed the blade upwards, twisting his wrist a bit so that the sword spun in midair, before catching it expertly by the hilt in the opposite hand. “I suggest you rethink your weapon.”

  It took her a moment to get the volume she wanted; her voice cracked with the effort of keeping it both soft and steady. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “My kind has a special way of settling grievances. You and I are going to duel. You without your powers and me,” he continued imperiously, “without mine. Whoever draws blood three times is the victor, who will then have the ability to stake blood claim over the other.”

  “Blood magic is forbidden.”

  “Then it should be right up your alley.”

  “Fuck you. What kind of grievance could you possibly have against me?”

  She wasn't expecting an answer. Not a real one anyway. But he surprised her.

  “You compromised my mission, tarnishing my honor as a member of the Council. But more than that,” he took a step closer, “You wasted my time by making me chase you.”

  “I didn't ask to be chased.”

  “I was under the impression that passed for courtship among your kind.”

  No, she thought. “There's a difference between courtship and ownership. Between rough sex and rape. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? That's the thing about people like you. People with your…sickness. You know nothing of my kind, and yet you use it to make these bullshit apologist speeches, when really, the true savage—is you.”