Night Shadows Read online

  Gaderian sat forward, a trace of a smile on his face. "What do you see? Am I going to find a million gold pieces hidden somewhere in Avador?"

  "I … I …" Fianna swallowed, seeking the right words. Her heart raced, faster, faster. "I see blood … blood flowing, rivers of blood." She glanced up at him, saw a guilty look cross his face. "I've never had such a reading before." She shook her head. "What does it mean? Have you had a deep wound in the recent past?"

  "No," he snapped. He changed his position, both feet on the floor.

  Puzzlement ate at her confidence and she frowned. "I surely don't understand what I'm seeing."

  "Well, I don't, either." His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing, but she sensed he was lying, intuited he was holding something back. He shoved his chair back and stood. "I knew you were a charlatan," he said with a look of disgust.

  "Sir, no!" What if he complained to Cedric? She'd lose her job. "I assure you I am quite skilled in scrying. This … this image is something I can't explain."

  "Nor can I. Good evening, madam." He spun around and strode from the room, leaving her hurt and bewildered. A vague suspicion teased her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. No, he could not be a vampire. She recalled the notice on the community tack board, the sign that offered a reward for information leading to the capture of a vampire. Gaderian Wade. Was he one of the undead? No, not a handsome man such as he. The very thought brought a smile to her face.

  Increasingly puzzled, she sat in brooding silence, then glanced at the hourglass again to see that her day was over. Tired and discouraged for the first time since she'd begun work here, she gathered up the coin box and scrying mirror, then left the room. She crossed the hallway and trudged down a couple doors to her own room. The box in her hands, she sank onto her pallet, her mind reviewing all she'd seen in her mirror and Gaderian's every word and expression. After a long time, she rose and shoved the mirror and box under her pallet, intending to give Cedric his share tomorrow.

  Too agitated to sleep, she decided to go for a walk to clear her mind, to seek serenity elsewhere. First changing into a clean dress of dark blue cotton, she left the room, locking the door behind her and pocketing the key. She would head for the meadow that bordered the Nantosuelta River, there to sit and meditate for a while, to renew her confidence. She could not let the recent experience with Gaderian Wade discourage her, for it would only impede her scrying ability in the future.

  Out in the main smoky dining room, her eyes watered as she wove her way among the many tables, returning the greetings from all the men and a few women. The men's flirtations lifted her spirits and helped her forget, if only in a small way, tonight's upsetting experience. Many of them made suggestive comments, words she'd learned to ignore in the short time she'd begun to work here. But for the most part, the men were polite and respectful, this being a decent establishment. At the entrance, she pushed the heavy door open, then stepped out into the fresh night air, taking deep, calming breaths. She looked upwards, never tired of seeing the glittering stars and half moon that decorated the night sky. The planets Partholon and Nemed shone as bright as stars. Here and there, vagrants and tavern customers wandered the streets, and she questioned her decision to walk the streets alone. This was a big city, full of strangers, not her hometown of Ros Creda. She stood in silent quandary for a few moments as she looked up and down the street.

  "Madam."

  She jerked and glanced around. He emerged from the canopy of a spreading oak tree and approached her, his steps fast but deliberate. Gaderian Wade, again! Every sense reacted, an inexplicable joy, mingling with fear of the unknown. He stood before her, a slight smile on his face, as tall and imposing as ever. As handsome as ever.

  "It's not safe for a woman to walk these streets at night by herself."

  She still smarted from his earlier insults. "So I suppose I'm safe with you?" And was she? Her knees shook, whether from fear or an emotion she dared not identify, she wasn't sure. She let her hands hang loosely at her side, determined to present a facade of calmness, to never let him see the tantalizing effect he had on her, one that tempted her to go wherever he might lead her, to do whatever he wanted, no matter how outrageous. She breathed in his scent, that enchanting trace of cloves, and couldn't keep her eyes from staring into his. As if breaking free of a spell, she pulled her gaze from him but still felt his mesmerizing effect on her. She mentally scolded herself for her juvenile foolishness.

  After what seemed an eternity, he made a slight bow. "Madam, I assure you that you are safe with me." He paused. "It occurred to me that I was a little too brusque with you a while ago. I should not have questioned your fortune telling skill. But we will not deal with that

  now … perhaps some other time."

  Her intuition told her he was hiding something, but what? She feared to even consider the suspicion that lurked at the back of her mind, the possibility that he might be one of the undead. Everyone knew vampires were old and decrepit, with sharp fangs and bony hands. They reeked of rotting animals and death.

  His voice jolted her from her thoughts. "When I asked the tavern keeper about your hours, he told me you would soon be finished with your readings." He smiled, a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes. "And so I've been waiting here for you, hoping you might want to escape the confines of the tavern." He gestured toward the street. "Shall we walk together for a while? That was your intention, wasn't it–to go for a walk?" he asked with a questioning look.

  "I thought I'd head for the meadow by the river." Still unsure if she could trust him, she decided to take a chance. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he could have ravished her when they shared the cave.

  "Never by yourself, but with me, you're safe." He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and she felt the strength in his arm, the pull and play of his muscles. A rush of warmth enveloped her body, a feeling she'd never experienced before.

  They walked in silence for a while, her bare feet padding on the cobblestones, the stones cooler now. A light breeze caressed her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders. After leaving Tavern Street, they turned west and headed for Aventina Way, one of the main avenues where the library, Talmora's Temple, and hospital dominated the area, a street that led to the meadow and the river.

  He glanced down at her feet. "Madam, I–"

  "Fianna, remember?"

  "Yes, of course." He glanced down at her feet. "Are you sure you want to walk without shoes? I wouldn't want you to hurt your feet. These streets may have broken glass on them."

  "I'll be careful. I'm used to going barefoot. Did it all the time at home. Anyway, I should have a pair of shoes within a couple days. When I left home, I wore a pair of shoes but they …" She wondered how much she should tell him about her misadventure along the way.

  He slid her a glance. "Yes?"

  Her earlier trouble came back to torment her, as if it had happened only yesterday. "Some tramp stole my shoes and my dress! My jewels were sewn in the hem!" Aware of her rising voice, she lowered it. "And gold coins! After that, I had no money, nothing." On the verge of tears, she stopped talking and stared in the window of a sword shop.

  "But you don't want to tell me why you left home." He said it as a statement, not a question, but something deep inside her made her want to confide in him, to believe in him. "And where is your home?"

  She took a deep breath and spoke with resolution. "I'm from Ros Creda. My stepfather wanted me to marry a man I didn't love, didn't even respect." She told him the whole story then, about her stepfather locking her in her room, her escape down the ivy-covered wall, her misbegotten trek to the capital. "I must confess I lied to the tavern keeper, made up a name," she concluded her tale. "You already know my real name. I fear my father or Angus will come after me, or send someone after me. Either way, I'll have to keep my identity a secret." She prayed he would, too. "In the tavern, I am known as Angharad Cullain, so you must use that name when addressing me there." What if she had to move a
gain, go to another city or village? The fear remained a continual torment.

  Throughout her tale, he'd said not a word, but now looked her way again. "Then perhaps it wasn't wise to seek employment as a scryer. Bound to attract attention."

  "That wasn't my original intention." As others strolled past them, she held up a hand to indicate she'd explain momentarily. They passed the library and the hospital, the temple across the avenue, the streets quiet now, their footsteps the only ones in this part of Moytura. They reached the meadow, the grass dry beneath her bare feet. She sank down under a magnificent oak and arranged her long skirt around her ankles. He dropped down next to her, spreading one leg out, the other brought up close to his chest.

  "I didn't seek employment as a scryer," she explained. "I wanted to find a position as a seamstress. But I saw no advertisements for such a job at the community tack board." She agonized anew if she should be telling him so much, but there was something about him that inspired confidence, a quality that made her want to reveal all her secrets. It was gratifying to have someone to talk to, a man who appeared to have no ulterior motive in listening to her tale. She studied his face for a moment, a face of sharp angles and lines, and a shapely, sensual mouth. She recalled his kiss in the cave, and her body heated as a longing spread through her to have him kiss her again, hold her tight against his chest.

  His fingers were long and tapered, his eyes quite the darkest she'd ever seen. His obsidian eyes stared into hers, as if searching, probing, and a warm lassitude claimed her, prompting a desire to lean against him, feel his arms around her. She wanted to dismiss the inclination, too well aware she hardly knew this man, her earlier doubts about him returning. Could she trust him? What if, by some act of fate, he met Angus? Surely her would-be fiancé would offer a reward for her.

  Fianna turned away from him and stared across the meadow, toward the rippling, glistening waters of the Nantosuelta in the distance. Insects buzzed around them, and she brushed them away. Here and there tiny fairies slumbered in tree branches, their silvery wings spread out at their sides.

  Much as she wanted to, she couldn't forget her dilemma. How much longer did she have here in Moytura before Angus caught up with her ... if he caught up with her? She prayed to the Goddess Talmora that her luck would hold, that she could continue living and working here in the capital, a futile wish, she feared, as soon as it entered her brain. No doubt she'd have to leave the capital soon and search for employment in another city, but she didn't want to leave, now that she'd found employment on such favorable terms.

  And now that you've found Gaderian, her heart whispered. She dispelled the thought as soon as it entered her head, for the last thing she needed now was an entanglement; she'd learned long ago not to lean on others.

  His deep voice enticed her back to the present. "Gladly would I grant you sanctuary at my house. No obligations on your part," he said with a slight smile. "The renovations are nearing completion, and I expect to move in soon."

  "I thank you, sir–"

  "Gaderian."

  "Thank you for the offer, Gaderian, but I want to get by on my own." She knew better than to depend on others, for too many times other people had disappointed her. "The innkeeper has been more than generous. I'll be fine," she said, aware she was trying to assure herself as much as convincing him.

  He nodded. "Very well, but please remember the offer stands."

  And what if she did move in with him? Her every sense told her he'd be a difficult man to refuse, a temptation she couldn't handle. Best to stay away from him. If only she could.

  Chapter Five

  After Gaderian returned Fianna to the Snow Leopard, he continued along the near-empty streets, unable to evict her from his mind, all those endearing qualities he could never forget. He smiled, reflecting his good fortune that he had found a quick feed before Fianna had emerged from the tavern, else he wouldn't have had the opportunity to escort her to the Nantosuelta River. In a moment of all-encompassing pleasure, he recalled everything about her: the provocative lilac scent that clung to her hair and clothes, her every gesture, her expressive face and smile, but especially her low, sultry voice that aroused him like a lover's kiss. Despite every internal warning that told him he must avoid the lure of a mortal woman, he wanted to see her again and again. No use denying–even to himself–he wanted to make love to her, to feel her heart beat next to his, to hear her love sighs in his ears, feel her fingers on his skin. But more than that, he was attracted to her spunk, her bright personality in the face of all the obstacles that challenged her, to her ability to rise above these hindrances and make the most of her situation.

  But what if she guessed what he was? When she had scried for him, she'd spoken of rivers of blood and asked him if he'd had a recent wound. He should have lied to her, told her, that yes, he had received a severe wound that had caused much bleeding. Her very essence, her loveliness had interfered with his thinking, causing him to miss the chance to mislead her.

  As he headed for the main city stable at the southern entrance to the city, he tried to think of other matters, to drive Fianna from his thoughts. The bandregas remained an ever-present and deadly danger, a threat he must defeat. But how? Possibly he would talk to Queen Keriam, he considered on a wild flight of imagination. Could he convince the queen that it was the bandregas and not the vampires who posed a danger to the country? For sure, Orrick, the current leader of the undead, was feckless, unable to mount a challenge to these fiends. The dilemma cried out for leadership, but Orrick had done nothing about the threat, as if he didn't care. And maybe he doesn't, Gaderian agonized.

  For once in his life, Gaderian yearned for fortitude, to prove himself a leader. In his mortal years, centuries ago, he had considered himself a failure, one who could never attain his goals. As if it were yesterday, he recalled how he'd longed to practice medicine, to heal others. He swallowed, the pain still fresh in his mind and heart. His father had refused him permission to study medicine, telling him he needed help in his apothecary shop.

  "You are my only son," his father had said, "and for years, I have waited for you to grow to manhood, to help me here in the shop and carry on after I leave for the Otherworld. Best that you don't attempt to rise above your station, for I fear you will suffer nothing but disappointment if you do. My father was an apothecary and his father before him. You will gain enough useful medicinal information working with me." His father nodded. "And at sixteen, 'tis time you assisted me in my work. Forget about studying medicine."

  Returned to the present, Gaderian absently glanced in the window of a jewelry shop as his mind switched back to Fianna, she of the lustrous auburn hair and green eyes. He spied an emerald pendant in the window, an adornment that would surely enhance Fianna's beauty. If only she cared for him, too, he would buy the gem for her. Foolish thought. As if he would wed a mortal! Or she would marry a vampire!

  What if her father came after her, or if the man she was to marry pursued her to Moytura? What would happen to her then? No need to ask. She'd be dragged back to Ros Creda, forced to marry a man she didn't love, nay, didn't even respect. Gritting his teeth, he determined he would not permit that to happen. Even had he cared nothing for her–and he did, no use denying his attraction–he would hate to see an innocent lady dragged back home and forced to marry a man she loathed.

  He stopped walking, his mind in turmoil. He would not permit any harm to come to her. In the short time since he'd met her in the cave, she had worked her way into his heart. He must protect her, even if nothing ever came of his fascination for her. And nothing would come of this sweet temptation, for he and Fianna could never have a future together.

  * * *

  "Madam."

  Outside the Snow Leopard, Fianna glanced around, her heart jumping, but she quickly realized the voice didn't belong to Gaderian, although the greeting was the same. Fierce disappointment tightened her throat, and she chided herself for the foolish attraction she felt for the man she'd first
met inside the cave, a man of whom she knew so little.

  A blonde man approached from the dark shadows, one she recognized as a frequent patron of the Snow Leopard. She had just finished for the night and was looking forward to sitting on a nearby bench. Alone.

  He inclined his head. "Permit me to introduce myself," he said. "My name is Stilo, and no doubt you've seen me in the tavern." He paused. "May I walk with you? Did you have a particular destination in mind?" He spoke with a deep, gravelly voice. Slightly taller than she, he had a brawny build, his linen tunic stretched across his broad chest.

  Desperate thoughts raced through her head. By now, she knew she could trust Gaderian, but she knew nothing of this man, one she recognized only by his appearance at the tavern.

  "Sir–"