A Gathering of Shadows (Shades of Magic, #2)

“Reflex,” she said with a smirk, returning the weapon to its sheath.

Neither one of them moved. Their faces were so close, nose to nose, lip to lip, and lash to lash, and all she could see were his eyes, storm blue, and the faint laugh lines that creased their corners, the way Kell’s creased the space between. Opposites. Alucard’s thumb brushed her cheek, and then he kissed her again, and this time there was no attack in the gesture, no surprise, only slow precision. His mouth grazed hers, and as she leaned forward into it, he drew playfully back. Measure for measure, like a dance. He wanted her to want him, wanted to prove himself right—the logical part of her knew all that, but the logical part was getting lost beneath her pounding heart. Bodies were traitorous things, she realized, as Alucard’s lips grazed her jaw, and began to trail down her throat, causing her to shiver.

He must have felt the tremor, because he smiled against her skin, that perfect, serpent-charming smile. Her back arched. His hand was at the base of her spine, pulling her against him as he teased his way along her collarbone. Heat blossomed across her body where his hands found her skin. Lila knotted her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth back to hers. They were a tangle of limbs and want, and she didn’t think it was better than freedom or money or magic, but it was certainly close.

Alucard was the first to come up for air.

“Lila,” he whispered against her, breath jagged.

“Yes,” she said, the word half answer and half question.

Alucard’s half-lidded eyes were dancing. “What are you running from?”

The words were like cold water, jarring her out of the moment. She shoved him away. His chair caught him behind the knees and he tumbled gracefully into it with something half laugh, half sigh.

“You are a bastard,” she snapped, blushing fiercely.

He tilted his head lazily. “Without question.”

“All that, whatever that was”—she waved her hand—“just so I’d tell you the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m more than capable of multitasking.”

Lila took up her wine glass and threw it at him. Both wine and cup hurtled through the air, but before they reached his head they just … stopped. The glass hung in the air between them, beads of purple wine floating, as if weightless.

“That,” he said, reaching out to pluck the goblet from the air, “is a very expensive vintage.”

The fingers of his other hand made a swirling motion, and the wine became a ribbon, spilling back into his glass. He smiled. And so did Lila, just before she snatched the bottle from the table and hurled it into the fire. This time Alucard wasn’t fast enough, and the hearth crackled and flared as it devoured the wine.

Alucard let out an exasperated sound, but Lila was already storming out, and the captain had enough sense not to follow.





II


RED LONDON


The bells were ringing, and Rhy was late.

He could hear the distant sounds of music and laughter, the clatter of carriages and dancing. People were waiting for him. They’d had a fight, he and his father, about how he didn’t take things seriously. How he never took things seriously. How could he be king when he couldn’t even be bothered to arrive on time?

The bells stopped ringing and Rhy cursed, trying to fasten his tunic. He kept fumbling with the top button.

“Where is he?” he could hear his father grumbling.

The button slipped again, and Rhy groaned and crossed to his mirror, but when he stepped in front of it, he froze.

The world got quiet in his ears.

He stared into the glass, but Kell stared back.

His brother’s eyes were wide with alarm. Rhy’s room was reflected behind him, but Kell acted as though he were trapped in a box, his chest rising and falling with panic.

Rhy reached out, but a horrible chill went through him when he touched the glass. He wrenched back.

“Kell,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

Kell’s lips moved, and Rhy thought for an instant that the impossible reflection was just repeating his own words, but the shapes Kell’s mouth made were different.

Kell pressed his hands against the mirror, and raised his voice, and a single muffled word came through.

“Rhy …”

“Where are you?” demanded Rhy, as the room behind Kell began to darken and swirl with shadows, the chamber dissolving into black. “What’s going on?”

And then, on the other side of the glass, Kell clutched his chest and screamed.

A horrible, gut-wrenching sound that tore through the room and raised every hair on Rhy’s body.

He shouted Kell’s name and beat his fists against the mirror, trying to break the spell, or the glass, trying to reach his brother, but the surface didn’t even crack. Rhy didn’t know what was wrong. He couldn’t feel Kell’s pain. He couldn’t feel anything.

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