Chapter Ten

 

Malachi watched Lani walk away as though she didn’t have a care in the world, as though it hadn’t bothered her to kill as many as she had. Maybe it didn’t bother her, maybe she was as cold as she seemed. It bothered him though. Losing his men for no apparent reason hurt him more than he would ever admit. They had been simple people who only wanted to aid the Halfling cause in some way. They’d followed him and he was responsible for their deaths.

Sighing deeply, he rubbed the back of his neck. There were no easy solutions to the ‘cause’. Without the full support of The Veil, Halflings would always be treated differently because they didn’t fit in with their parental groups. Unless their parents made an effort to support them, there was nothing for them to look forward to except joining the Guardian Guild. Unfortunately, there weren’t always enough jobs to go around.

Malachi bowed his head, feeling defeat weigh heavily on his shoulders. Something on the ground near his feet had him frowning. Crouching down, he saw it was some kind of fluid. He touched his middle finger to it. Blood. Still slightly warm. His head rose like a predator on the hunt. Lani.

Roaring as primitive instincts pushed his rational mind to the side, Malachi stormed into the mansion. He ignored the servants milling about in the foyer, taking the stairs two at a time. Blood trickled up the stairs. She’d been wounded fighting for him! His heart pounded with possessive outrage.

Her door was locked but that meant nothing to him in his state. With one powerful kick to the latch beneath the doorknob, the door sprang open, bouncing off the wall behind it. Lani was curled up on the floor. She hadn’t made it to the bed before collapsing.

Malachi rushed into the room, falling to his knees beside her. A small puddle of blood had pooled on the floor beneath her. He cursed the black she constantly wore. If he’d have seen the blood, he wouldn’t have allowed her out of his sight for one second.

He wanted to move her, but feared causing her pain.

“Hatot!” he roared through the open door. “Get me the damn first aid kit again!”

The servant’s faint answer came back. Satisfied that something was going according to plan, he gently eased Lani to her back. Her face was pale, the silver faded to a chalky grey beneath the streaks of blood.

“Sonofabitch,” he whispered as he pushed her hair out of her face. She seemed too fragile to bear this kind of wound.

Taking care to lift her carefully, he slid one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. A piercing shriek met his attempts to lift her.

“Lani, what is it? Where else are you hurt?” he asked urgently.

Her eyes were half-open and dull with pain. “No lift. Leave me,” she rasped her beautiful lips dry.

“Bullshit.” He tugged her clothes off. He would find out where else she was injured.

“No,” she insisted, batting at his hands.

“I need to see where else you’re injured, sweet. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

Ignoring her further attempts to push his hands away, he tried to pull her shirt up, but the blood had soaked it making it hard to maneuver without hurting her more. Seeing one of her knives tucked into a hip holster, he unsheathed it and cut the cloth off her torso. Blood had stained her skin, dripping like obscene graffiti over the mounds of flesh rising from her bra. Pushing away the surge of desire he felt at seeing her bared, he pulled the shredded t-shirt from her.

Breath hissed out of his mouth when he saw the slice on the top of her shoulder. It began at her collarbone and slashed downward towards her elbow. Stitches, he thought with a churning stomach. She’d need stitches.

Malachi shook his head. He needed to assess the other injuries. Crawling to her other side, he gently pushed her away from him to see her back.

“Fuck!”

She had two brands on her back. Someone had marked a ∆ into her flesh on either side of her shoulder blades. He cursed again, coaxing her over onto her stomach. Bile rose in his throat. He remembered seeing brands like this on some of the older Halflings who’d come from Greece. It was the mark of a slave and someone had put them into this brave fairy’s flesh as though she were cattle.

“Master,” Hatot said hesitantly from the doorway, his huge eyes taking in the female and the brands. “Should I call a healer?”

“Yes, call Piper and find out which healer she used for her father. I want them here now.”

“Yes, master,” Hatot said softly, placing the first aid kit next to Lani’s body. With another surprised look at the bared flesh of her back, he turned and ran out of the room.

The brands were obscene on the surface of her back, but as he studied her more closely, he saw faint scars feathering down her silvery skin. She’d been tortured repeatedly. The scars appeared to be from a whip, though he didn’t know of any that would permanently scar a fairy. Like most Veilerians, fairies healed supernaturally fast and usually without scarring.

Digging in the first aid kit, he found some surgical gauze. Knowing he could do nothing for the brands, he pressed the gauze against the slash on her shoulder. While he waited for the blood flow to slow, he stared at the profile turned towards him.

Lani had to be an amazingly strong woman to have endured the pain of branding and then fought like a devil with no thought for her wounds. Brushing his knuckle against her velvety cheek, he wondered how she’d come to be so self-sacrificing. She hadn’t made a single sound of distress downstairs, hadn’t hinted about her wounds.

Malachi wasn’t sure how long he stayed with her, staring at her, and cleaning the wound on her arm. He didn’t even care how long he’d watched over her. For such a delicate woman, she managed to pack a wallop on his emotions. It was scary and exhilarating all at once.

“You called for a healer?” a female voice said from the doorway.

Snarling instinctively, Malachi hunched over Lani. Reason trickled into his brain. He’d told Hatot to call a witch. Right. The plump little female in his doorway looked vaguely familiar and he searched his brain for her name. She’d helped Piper’s father recover from a poisoning two years ago. Dinah!

“Dinah, you have my gratitude for showing up so soon,” he said solicitously. “I need you to heal her.”

Dinah tiptoed into the room, coming to hover over him and Lani, making little ‘tsk’ noises in her throat.

“Put her on the bed please,” she commanded with a wave of her hand.

Malachi gingerly lifted Lani, her tiny body draped face down over his arms. He did his best to ignore the soft breasts under his hand and placed her on the bed.

“Now, leave so I can take care of her.” Dinah rolled up the sleeves of her body-hugging dress, bustling around the room. “Hatot told me someone named Tia has been asking for you.”

“Damn,” Malachi muttered. He wanted to stay with Lani. He softly brushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek, the silky strands catching on his fingers.

“Go on, she’ll be fine.”

With a heavy sigh, Malachi did as he was told. As he closed the door, he promised himself he’d check on Lani just as soon as things settled down. He’d also find out how she’d gotten the brands when she hadn’t left the house since the night before. If he had a traitor in his midst, their ass was fried.

*****

Shade groaned. Pain roiled deep in her body causing her to ache.

“Don’t move just yet, miss. You’ve been out for three hours, a few more minutes won’t make any difference,” a soft voice said from somewhere overhead.

Trying to analyze her position, Shade realized she was face down on a bed. She didn’t remember getting there. The last thing she recalled was staggering up the steps, into her room, and then utter blackness.

The helplessness of her position didn’t escape her. She wanted to move away from the calming coolness at her back, but it felt so good. She didn’t feel hands on her, just a gentle wind that penetrated the branded flesh. It spiraled deep into the wounds, easing the nerves screaming for relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the angel healing her. Tears leaked from her eyes. They trickled down her cheeks. Little trails of salty fluid she hadn’t shed for anything but torture. Now, she cried from relief.

She floated in a fog of peace. It was calming, soothing. Shade wanted to stay there forever. The fight she’d taken part in seemed like a distant memory. Luther’s mini-torture a vague impression. She was surrounded by the spicy, citrus scent of her target.

Here, in this fog, she dared to call him by name. Malachi. Warmth embraced her. The kiss she’d shared with him lit a small fire in her chest. Why had she done that? Why had she accepted his kiss? She finally admitted it to herself; she’d wanted to know what a kiss tasted like. More importantly, she’d wanted to know what his kiss tasted like.

Shade sighed, feeling a point of fire on her hand. It wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation. The heat traveled up her arm to join the first fire in her chest. She instinctively knew Malachi was with her. There was some relief in finally calling him by name, at least in her mind.

Her brain, overactive since her body was motionless, spewed forth memories. Memories of what had happened the last time she’d trusted someone, the last time she cared for someone.

She moaned as images bombarded her mind, dispelling the peace. Flashes of Luther when she first joined his ranks filled her head. Charming, he’d set his sights on her, singling her out for attention.

Walking back from a rough training session, Shade ran into Luther, trying not to stare at his handsome face. He was always watching her, but she didn’t know why.

“Noelani,” he said, smiling broadly. “Take tea with me. There are some things I’d like to speak with you about.”

She bit her lip. He was attractive, one of the best instructors and even if this wasn’t the life she’d wanted for herself, she was determined to make the best of it. If Luther was going out of his way to give her some extra pointers, who was she to turn him away?

“That sounds nice,” she whispered shyly.

The tea had been good, the conversation informative, and thrilling. Luther explained to her how he wanted to take over her training personally.

“You’re going to be one of the best,” he’d said, his eyes twinkling. “You can probably get there all on your own, but I can make it happen a lot sooner.”

“Really?” she’d squeaked, her heart pounding. It was considered one of the highest honors to have an instructor take a personal interest in a student. That he thought she could become one of the best was a balm to her sore feelings. “I’d like that.”

It began slowly. They met after Noelani spent all day training with the other recruits. Her body bruised and sore, she’d meet with Luther to learn the tricks of the trade. He never asked for anything in return, but he watched her expectantly. She knew he was waiting for her to fail or cry off, which she would never do. She was going to be the best and her parents would mourn the day they sold their daughter to the Assassins.

Then it happened. Noelani had trained with Luther for two months when the first beating occurred.

She’d failed to block a high kick. Something she’d done very rarely, but it made Luther fly into a rage. One second she’d been on her feet and in the next, she woke up in the infirmary. The witches told her she had a ruptured spleen, eight cracked ribs, and a concussion. Luther apologized profusely. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Noelani had accepted his apology and waved off the incident as an accident.

The next time, they’d been having dinner together. It had become a habit for them to eat after a training session and Noelani held those private meals close to her heart. Even though he was training her and fraternizing wasn’t allowed, Luther had won her over. She was head over heels in love with him. She’d planned to tell him that night. Instead, they argued about her continued lessons with the rest of the recruits.

Luther wanted her to be placed solely in his hands, but Noelani believed there was still a lot to be learned from the other instructors. She never saw his fist, but she woke up in iron shackles. She’d screamed in agony for hours as the iron burned the flesh of her neck and wrists. When Luther released her, he’d had tears in his eyes. It was all part of her training, he swore, brushing her tears from her face.

Her heart bruised just as badly as her body was burned, Noelani had accepted his apology, wanting nothing more than to have Luther’s love. She’d stupidly believed he would never hurt her again.

“No,” she whimpered. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember that night. The night she’d gone from being Noelani Fayard to becoming Shade. Her brain continued to flip through the images.

“The Overlord has agreed to release you into my custody, Noelani,” Luther informed her, his face bright with pleasure.

She beamed with pleasure. Finally, Luther would take her to his home forever. She could stay at his keep and guide the servants, taking her place as mistress of his home. She sighed happily.

Things began well. She was pleased to be the woman caring for his home. She didn’t even mind the verbal lashings he gave her when something wasn’t to his standards. It was her fault for not making sure his home was perfect. She worked harder at giving him exactly what he needed. He wanted to move their relationship to the next level, wanted to bed her and though she allowed him liberties with her body, she’d never let him breach her maidenhead.

Then he stopped being patient. All it had taken was one small smile from a servant, and Noelani’s world blew up in her face.

 “You whore! You think I don’t know what the servants want to do to you?” he shouted, grabbing her arms to jerk her forward. “They want to fuck you, but you’re mine. You’ll always belong to me and I’m going to show you why.”

She’d fought, but her strength had never been enough to save her from Luther’s cruel grips. He’d dragged her to his ‘special’ chamber. It was the same room he’d held her chained up and the return to that darkness caused panic to fill her. She fought harder. He just tightened his arms around her, his heart pounding a rapid tattoo against her shoulder. The gleam of madness and a strange affection filled his eyes.

She was in chains, the iron burning her again as he stripped the clothes from her body. Noelani squirmed and kicked at him, fear choking her. The lust in his eyes as he gazed upon her naked body told her exactly what he was going to do. She fought on instinct alone and she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

He fell on her, fists as large as her face pounding at her body. Blood flowed, bones cracked, and blackness sucked at her. Luther wouldn’t let her go under though. He revived her, leaving her crumpled on the ground while he undressed. His covetous eyes roamed over her colorful bruises and bloodied body. His face softened even while his body hardened before her puffy eyes.

“No,” she gurgled, blood trickling out of her mouth. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. The void called to her again, but Luther must’ve seen it because he broke two of her fingers to call her back.

“You’re going to stay right here with me, my love,” he whispered as he arranged her body in a position he found pleasing.

She shook her head, her useless limbs splayed out like a sacrifice. Her hoarse voice screamed for mercy, called out for help from someone, anyone. But no one showed.

With one brutal thrust, Luther took something from her. With every cruel pump into her body, he killed something inside her. He raped and beat her for seventy-two hours, leaving not a single spot on her body without a bruise; he brutalized her virgin body with no regard for her pain or humiliation. That was when he’d cast the spell that bound her to him for eternity. The anticipation on his face as he’d filled the vial with her blood was forever etched in her memory.

Noelani died that first night. Over the next fifty-three years in Luther’s personal service, Shade emerged. She never forgot the price of vulnerability, never allowed anyone close. She was cold and logical. The Shade was Luther’s creation and he was scared of it even while he reveled in it. The beatings, the rapes, the tortures by his hand had forged an ice-cold instrument of death.

She could never forget that.

The peace gone, Shade lay still as death, letting the coldness replace the warmth of Malachi’s presence. She’d never let another close to her. She couldn’t afford to.