Shadow's Curse Read online

  Shadow’s Curse

  Kyn Kronicles Book 4

  Jami Gray

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Wrapped in Shadows

  Shadow’s Dream

  Glossary

  Cast of Kyn

  Also by Jami Gray

  About the Author

  “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

  ~ Kahlil Gibran, Lebonese Poet

  For all of those who’ve stumbled and lost, only to rise again, more determined and stronger than ever ~ this one is for you.

  As always, to my favorite two misters of mayhem, my boys, and my ever patient Knight ~ love you all.

  Chapter One

  Present Day, Deep in the Taurus Mountains in Turkey

  Darkness spread its opaque cloak over the cobbled paths winding between the stone buildings while silence crouched and waited. In this small corner, goats walked streets too narrow for cars, and the human inhabitants were tucked inside their humble homes. Inside the inky confines of a rustic alley, a figure slipped from the shadows and through the unlocked wooden door of one of the homes.

  “You’re late, Darius.” The sharp greeting came from the man lounging with casual elegance among the jewel-festooned pillows on one of the low-slung couches.

  “And you’re in a pisser of a mood, Zayn.” Unfazed by the rude welcome, Darius snagged an olive from the table. Popping it into his mouth, he grabbed an empty cup and poured a drink.

  Taking a handful of olives and his cup, he walked across the lush, overlapping rugs and sprawled on the other sofa. He studied Zayn as he chewed, taking in the overly long white shirt paired with sand-colored linen pants. Despite his sun-streaked blond hair and the small abode’s rich haven of comfort, Zayn still managed to convey a Middle Eastern flare.

  “Until we find out who is behind Mulcahy’s death, I don’t see that changing.” Zayn lifted his own cup, his sleeve fluttering with the movement. “What did you find out?”

  Darius chased the olives’ lingering salty tartness away with a quick sip and wiped his fingers against the dark denim covering his thigh before answering. “We were right to question the account received from the Northwest Kyn. There is more to the story than they are sharing.” And he intended to uncover just what that “more” entailed.

  Zayn’s lips twisted into a grimace. “No surprise there. No way would Natasha cough up the whole story.”

  No, the little demon queen was too intelligent to show her hand to the Council. It didn’t stop the whispers, though. “There are rumors she could be behind his death.” And if the rumors were true, Darius would ensure she’d be facing someone much more dangerous than the Kyn’s Council.

  “I thought they shared a history.”

  Darius gave his companion a dark frown and shrugged his shoulders. “Shared history doesn’t mean shit when power is on the line. Mulcahy’s death created some damn explosive opportunities. She’s grabbing as many as she can. What does that tell you?”

  “She’s an intelligent woman?”

  Zayn’s quip drew a snort from Darius. “Of that, I have no doubt. She didn’t get to her current position on looks alone.”

  “No, she’s not one to let emotional attachments get in the way of her plans.” His tone as dry as the winds of summer, Zayn advised, “Be careful that she doesn’t return you and your ego in nice, bloody pieces.”

  Leaning back, Darius stretched his arms across the back of the couch, confident in his appeal to the fairer sex. He’d been described as a study of shadows. From his olive-toned skin to his dark, shoulder-length hair and closely trimmed goatee, the description was warranted. The only unsettling bit of color was his eyes—ice-cold blue, ringed in fiery red. A deep chuckle escaped. “Would you miss me?”

  “You?” Zayn shrugged. “Not so much. But there might be few others with a different opinion.” Humor bled away, a startling seriousness taking its place. “This change. It’s been hundreds of years in the making. Unfortunately, Mulcahy’s death has accelerated things. If they aren’t handled correctly, the outcome could be extremely detrimental to our goals.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Hard to forget when the line they walked was razor thin.

  A small nod. “We won’t be welcome.”

  Darius’s smile was anything but friendly. “Their welcome is not my worry. Nor should it be yours.”

  “Don’t underestimate them. Ryan Mulcahy was not the only reason the Northwest Kyn have become who they are.”

  “Yet, he’s the one who held them together.” A fact that someone out there knew all too well, or Mulcahy wouldn’t be dead. Darius’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles showing white through his skin as he fought back the grim wave of fury and grief.

  “Perhaps. But he hasn’t done it alone.” Zayn paused. “Do they know about you?”

  They could apply to so many—the Council, the Northwest Kyn, the one’s behind Mulcahy’s death—but in this instance Darius knew which they was implied. They were the Northwest’s Wraiths, a shadowy group of warriors, standing between the American public and the nightmares haunting the dark. “No. They know only what they need to.” And until he discovered who was playing for whom, it would remain that way.

  Zayn rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “The potential for a shitstorm is tremendous.”

  “There’s no ‘potential’ about it.” Too much was at stake to walk delicately now. “Mulcahy’s death changed the game. Without him, there is no one left to bridge the emerging division of the Council. Sides will be picked. We need to stack the odds in our favor.” Odds that had shifted with one violent act.

  Zayn raised his cup in silent agreement. For a few minutes, quiet reigned. He broke it with, “Did DiMarcco give you your orders?” When Darius remained mute, Zayn gave a small smile of acknowledgement. “Our esteemed leader won’t admit to worry. Instead, he and the rest of the Council will couch it in false concern and empty platitudes. Yet they are watching and waiting. Will Mulcahy’s Kyn will rise or fall?” He slowly rolled the cup cradled in his hands. “Of course, it would not surprise me if some are trying to assist their desired outcome.”

  Council maneuverings were a given, especially as current events threatened to tear the last threads from the fragile veil hiding the Kyn from mortal view. Some on the Council weren’t opposed to the impending revelation, so long as their agenda succeeded. “Dissension is an insidious ploy. It can turn on a whim. Many are unprepared for what they wrought.” A lesson Darius had watched more than one learn the hard way. “I don’t think the outcome will be what anyone expects.”

  “Still, tread carefully. The path isn’t as clear as it once was, and I would not put it past the high-and-mighty Council to offer you up should a scapegoat be needed.”

  “Or you,” Darius drawled.

  Zayn sighed then raised his cup in a s
ilent toast. “I’m going to miss the bastard. He was bloody brilliant. His people should prove interesting.”

  “If nothing else, they will make our visit all the more entertaining.” A predatory grin broke across Darius’s face, while anticipation hummed under his words.

  Chapter Two

  Outside Portland, Oregon

  The haunting notes of a melody designed to cut through heart and bone faded away, leaving echoes to intertwine with the cool breeze. Sunlight wove through clouds holding the promise of rain. Here, in this old, half-forgotten forest, safe from mortal eyes, a throng of inhumanly beautiful creatures gathered to pay their respects to one of their own, Ryan Mulcahy. The head of the Northwest Fey House would be sorely missed, his absence leaving behind slow-healing wounds. But that was not all it had left behind.

  Natasha Bertoi stood apart from the gathered mourners, remembering, watching, taking in the obligatory masks of somber grief. Some hid ugly truths and bitter needs, yet genuine sorrow still existed. The evidence was etched in the unnaturally still countenances of those who felt his loss most keenly.

  All four Kyn houses—Fey, Magi, Lycan, and Amanusa—were represented, a testament to the man who looked beyond bloodlines and old prejudices. It was what made Ryan, perhaps not so much loved, as respected.

  As with any leader, much more lay hidden from common knowledge. Politics, machinations, old feuds, and new alliances—they all played a part in a leader’s decision. And those decisions often served a bigger purpose.

  But death disrupted even the best-laid plans.

  The aching hollowness in her chest burrowed into her bones. Long suppressed memories rose, blotting out the present. The sun-dappled forest faded, replaced by stone walls. Ghostly wails of agony drowned out the melodious murmurs of somber peace and solace. Around her, melancholy faces shifted to haunted masks of death. The ache morphed to an agony not lessened by time…

  Natasha stood over what once was her closest confidant and friend, the only individual she trusted without question—her sister. She felt…empty, her emotions carved out with a brutal hand. Blood chilled against her skin. Faint screams and dull explosions provided background music—the hellish notes never more appropriate. Around her, the small stone room held the corpses of those she once considered hers to protect. Instead, their choices forced her to exact a fatal punishment.

  “Natasha, we need to leave,” a smooth, baritone warned.

  She knelt, careful to keep clear of the spreading blood, and wiped the rust-colored stains from her thin, deadly blade against the gore stained material pooled at her feet. Only when the blade was clean did she rise. Her gaze was riveted on a face as familiar as her own, death’s stillness leaving a deceptively peaceful mask behind. Each detail seared into her brain, a brutal reminder of how treacherous family could be. For hundreds of years, she and her sister had played among the Kyn and their secrets, using them to further their own agendas and protect their people. Yet, she had missed the biggest secret of all—Irina’s never-ending thirst for more.

  Damn you, Irina.

  Natasha’s attention switched to the male crumpled next to her sister, the one who egged her sibling’s twisted need higher and deeper. Fury and betrayal curled around the numb edges of Natasha’s heart and mind. Her arm and blade whipped down and out. There would be no miraculous return from death’s cold embrace for this Kyn male.

  His lying, conniving head flew from his body.

  Sickening emptiness crawled through her.

  Fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around her wrist. Their grip forced her to turn and meet deep, brown eyes, narrowed and cold. “They’re coming.”

  Under her skin, riding a wave of rage and destructive hunger, the demonic nature, which made her one of the most feared of the Amanusa, stirred. “Let them,” she hissed.

  Everything she worked for, schemed for, was for naught. Now, innocents would pay and there wasn’t a damn thing she could to do stop it. All because she had trusted the wrong person.

  “You don’t get to play the martyr now, Bertoi,” the man beside her snapped, his elegant face cold, unbending. “There’s no time to wallow in your mess. If you want to fix it, we must leave. Now.”

  “There is no fixing this, Ryan.” How far did her sister’s lies and betrayals run? Had her insatiable need for chaos destroyed everything? “I can’t out run the Council’s dogs. She made sure of it.”

  Ryan Mulcahy, the deadly Fey warrior who captured Natasha’s curiosity since he first walked through her mother’s halls, wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her to his chest. Their blades met with a kiss of metal, covering her unexpected gasp. He held her gaze, his face etched in unfamiliar, merciless lines. “With her death, their hunt is finished. The Council will see only a lovers’ fatal quarrel. Unless they find you here.”

  “We are—were—sisters. It is enough to condemn me in some Council eyes.”

  He gave her a small shake. “They have no proof. Witnesses will testify you set sail an hour ago on my ship. All Councilman DiMarcco will see is that the most obvious threat to his seat has been eliminated.”

  She shook her head, her mind whirling as bits and pieces twisted and turned, creating a more devious picture than even she had dared to imagine. “They will hunt me.”

  A flicker of dark knowledge in his gaze made her stomach clench as his arm around her waist tightened. “You are not their target.”

  The surety of his answer sent shock rocketing through her, turning her into a statue.

  In that moment, her vague suspicions crystalized into brutal certainty, and one last illusion shattered. This time the break barely caused a flinch.

  She studied him, the hard angles of ruthlessness revealing his true nature, quashing whatever misguided hope lingered. Fool, such a stupid, little fool. With her world in pieces and nothing left but her pride, she lifted her chin and forced her lips into a mocking smile. “Darling, you’ve been keeping secrets. How…interesting.”

  Emotions too fast to read flashed across his arrogant face. His dark gaze, the one she once found so fascinating, turned into burnt umber. Lips she spent many a night exploring, curved into a cruel smile he never aimed at her before. “Did you think I’d share everything with you, little one?”

  He dipped his head down, his mouth ravaging hers. Although her body perked up, her shattered heart remained untouched. When he lifted his head, a swift, sorrowful shadow flitted then disappeared under a hard, determined light. “Whether you choose to believe me or not, you are safe. This—” He waved his sword over the carnage behind him without looking away from her. “—is on Irina. If you fail to move forward, she’ll have won in truth. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want no longer matters.” Bitter and mocking, the words fell between them.

  He frowned. “You would abandon those who are counting on you now?” He shook his head. “I didn’t think you were that breakable, love.”

  His insinuation snapped her spine straight. “Because of her and the snake she allowed into her bed, suspicion will fall on me, regardless of the illusions you spread.”

  “Let them wonder,” he said. “Let the speculation run rife. It can only help in the end. You will need the whispers to strengthen your position.”

  There was a remorseless sort of truth in his words. In a world populated with predators, it was better to be feared than loved. Mercy was a weakness. Starting now, it was a concept she must embrace to garner the future she wanted.

  She flattened her empty palm against his heart, feeling the steady beat—one last time—taking comfort from his strength. Then she let it fall and stepped back, forcing him to release her.

  Free from his hold, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tucked the broken emotions inside her into a dark corner. “Betray me, Mulcahy, and what happened tonight will be a pretty dream.”

  Never again would someone catch her unawares. Time to fully embrace her nature and ensure her own future.

  He
sketched her a brief bow. “I would expect nothing less, Natasha.” He held out his hand, torchlight glancing off his silver ring, the ring she should have realized would have warned her of who she really dealt with. “Shall we? We have a boat to catch.”

  In the air, light shimmered and bent, revealing their escape route, a nebulous door into the walkways between the mortal and Kyn worlds, the Shadowed Paths.

  Ignoring his offered hand, she swept past him, fighting the urge to look back. There was nothing left for her here, nothing but blood-soaked lies and heart-rending betrayals. A sweet song of death and chaos sang, the melody a welcome one to her demonic nature.

  Ryan followed, closing the doorway between worlds just as the sounds of Irina’s reinforcements broke through the wooden door.

  Natasha slipped away, leaving more than her sister behind.

  Quiet murmurs rose and fell from the gathered mourners, bringing Natasha back to the present, where she stood over Ryan’s resting place. Unlike mortal funerals, there was no casket sitting beside a gaping, earthen maw, waiting to be filled. The heavy stench of roses didn’t suffocate all who attended. No wailing or gnashing of teeth broke the quiet. Instead, his ashes were given back to the earth in a simple, ancient ceremony, one that survived longer than mortal memory—its simplicity reminding her of other times, other places.