Shadow Borne (Shadows #3) Read online

  Chapter Four

  Abomination

  The cabin was pitch dark, one of the downfalls of not having electricity. You couldn't exactly leave an oil lamp burning to greet you when you came home at night. Usually, it didn't bother me. I've never been afraid of the dark. But tonight the shadows seemed to press in from all sides, even here in the protected zone where I stood.

  It was like unseen eyes tracked me in the dark. I felt hunted and harassed. Damn Mike to the farthest reaches of hell. The churned-up, mixed-up feelings I struggled with tonight were all his fault. Now it was making me paranoid, too, since there sure wasn't anything out and about. Still, I hesitated in front of the low, rough wood country-style fence that marked Grandview's border, taking slow, calming breaths in an effort to settle myself.

  It wasn't even all that dark, at least not in my immediate vicinity. Thousands of tiny golden droplets clung to and surrounded each rounded plank of the low fence. They were lit up like spun gold and glimmered brightly in the dark. Claire's kids thought it looked a lot like pixie dust. The memory of little Ashley and Sienna asking Tara if she and Tinkerbell-their nickname for Juliette-had scattered it all along the fence lines was enough to wring a smile from me, tense as I was at the moment.

  My fingers trailed through the sparkles that danced and swayed lazily on and around the wood. It wasn't getting any lighter outside and I badly needed some sleep, at least a few hours' worth.

  If I didn't get any rest, I wouldn't be much good to anyone and it was this thought that spurred me to action. Swinging one leg up and over the top rail, easy enough since it was only hip high, I vaulted over the fence and into the unprotected side of woods. The fact that in my mind it had become the unprotected side of the forest spoke volumes. Not "home," not even "the border" but simply "unprotected" was the first word that came to mind tonight when I thought of my home.

  I frowned up at the simple white clapboard ranch-style cabin in front of me. Never before had I felt unsafe here. I'd lived here without incidence for over eight months and it was close enough to the border that I honestly never gave much thought to safety.

  Besides, as homes went, it was a pretty bare-bones space. I was the proud owner of a half-decent bedroom set, a small table and chairs that Aranu had carved for me when I'd moved in, one ugly couch, and two wingback chairs. Other than the clothes in the single tiny closet and dresser, there were maybe a handful of personal possessions scattered around the place, some dog-eared paperbacks, and enough food to fend off starvation for a day or two.

  I've never had to worry about thieves ransacking the place, that's for sure. Like its out of the way location, the cabin's lack of amenities wasn't normally an issue, either. There was a stream about a quarter mile to the east, and I wasn't home all that often, anyway. When I wasn't working patrol or training with the soldiers, I was with Claire and the girls.

  Right now, though, it seemed like all bets were off. I was nervous. A quick look around showed what I'd already known before hopping the fence-there was no one around. No menacing forces lurked about and if the shadows seemed a little thicker, a little heavier tonight, well it was probably just the clouds overhead that kept racing across the moon to blot out the light. Shivering a little as I walked up the little stone path and let myself into the house, I admitted that maybe it was time to have electricity run to the cabin.

  It wasn't a bad idea, really, especially now that, thanks to Mike's return, I'd be spending a little less time up at the big house and more time at home. The lock clicked into place behind me and I headed to the counter of the cabin's tiny kitchen and made quick work of lighting a few candles on a tray before I unlaced my boots, kicked them off, and nudged them under the table before wandering down the hall to the single bedroom. Yes, I decided, standing in the large box-like room, I would go into town first thing and hire an electrician to update the cabin. In fact, it would be my first stop.

  And maybe it wasn't fair to blame Mike for that one. I sighed, sinking onto the double bed that lay against the far wall, beneath the larger of the room's two modest-sized windows. Updating the cabin was something I'd been planning on getting around to for a while and it might as well be now. Maybe I'd even head to the fabric store before heading to Claire's.

  Lying back against my single folded-in-half pillow, I turned my head a little and let my eyes wander and do a slow study of the bedroom, trying to view the space objectively. It wasn't a bad room. It was quite large, especially considering the rest of the house could only be described as cozy.

  The dark knotty pine double bed, dresser, and matching nightstand were beautifully crafted and I'd purchased the gray sheets, silver-and-gray comforter, and silver pillow case new six months ago, along with the dark brown-and-silver rug that occupied most of the floor. It was plush and hadn't cost all that much but kept me from eating and drinking in the bedroom, something I used to do frequently.

  The rug was not only large but it had a thick non-skid backing and I was terrified of spilling things on the fabric. No doubt it would be an absolute bitch to wash and dry. But it was perfect for the wood floor it graced and it kept me from freezing my feet during the cooler season. The cold weather was right around the corner, I reflected idly, rolling half over and tugging at the comforter until I'd freed enough to wrap around myself.

  The temperature was dropping rapidly in the overnight hours now and what had been tolerable earlier in the evening when Claire and I had been swimming in the lake now bordered on uncomfortable. It wouldn't get much worse than this, though, and that was something. I wasn't all that fond of cold temperatures. None of the nymphs were, with the exception of Juliette. But then, Juliette basically liked everything. She was pretty much the opposite of me, although we had grown up together and were the same age. Juliette could almost always find an upside to anything. And I?well I wasn't ever like that, not really, not even before my life was turned upside down, shaken, and stirred.

  Other than when dumb bitch Aries reared her na?ve head, I hardly ever recalled what I'd been like before the abduction and later the war. Softer, definitely, and trusting. Cripes had I been a trusting soul. I shrugged and snuggled deeper into my cocoon of covers. Life had a funny way of twisting and turning, weaving paths you'd never in a million years envisioned yourself treading. Sometimes the changes were slower, less noticeable, like a rock being gently worn away by the stream. Other times, like the past couple of years around here, it felt more like an ambush. So many changes? I had been taken and the war had begun, was still going on. I even had a full repertoire of curse words now, thanks to Claire.

  Claire. I owed her big time. For my freedom and for friendship, my new vocabulary and?lacy underwear. Lots and lots of lacy underwear. I grimaced. Well, I probably wouldn't thank her for that particular gift anytime soon. The bras were mostly okay, but I still couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do with some of the panties, although Claire insisted they were supposed to go up there.

  Yeah. Right. I snickered. Not happening. But I knew I wouldn't throw them away; to do so would hurt Claire's feelings and she had the habit of rifling through my drawers and closet whenever she came over. My fingers tightened around the top sheet and comforter and I rolled onto my stomach, still wrapped up, to stare out the window with my chin propped against my folded hands.

  Every now and again the moon would peek through the thick layers of gloom and the clouds would become wispy enough to let a little bit of light through. Lying in the cool, quiet dark took me back to happier times. Not so much the cold, but the silent, moonlit night?oh yeah. I curled my hands under my chin and let my head rest so that I was staring idly at the striped pattern painted on the sheets by the light filtering in through the slatted blinds on the window. I began to drift into a peaceful solitude as I recalled my years as a young girl, deep in the forest with my mother and a plethora of cousins and aunts and uncles.

  Life had been so sweet and sheltered, there under the protective dome. My mother and I had lived wit
h her oldest sister, my aunt Ingenia, in a little house that wasn't so very different from this one. I used to lie in my room just like this and watch the moonlight throw patterns onto my bed through the flowered curtains Mama had made for me when I'd turned thirteen.

  Thinking of my mother was usually enough to drag me into the light when I was feeling unsettled, even though Ilsa had been gone from this world long before I'd become a grown woman. She died quietly in her sleep two weeks before my sixteenth birthday.

  Aunt Ingenia and I hadn't even known that she was sick, or rather, if she had been sick. For years it had bothered me to not know exactly why my mother had passed away. And as if I hadn't been heart broken enough, over that next year I'd also become paranoid. If someone like Mama, whom everyone agreed had seemed as hearty and whole as the next woman, could be taken like that, in the blink of an eye with no warning, who was to say I wouldn't be next? Or Aunt Ingenia? Maybe even Juliette or Tara or any of the others?

  Some days I'd even wished it had been me instead, because it didn't seem fair that Mama should lose first her husband, then her home and finally her life. In my sixteen-year-old mind she'd never had a chance to fully recover from the blows life dealt her, never got the chance to live out her happily ever after and if anyone had been deserving of a happy ending, it was my mother.

  Never mind that I couldn't recall her ever seeming unhappy in the years leading up to her death. That understanding would come years later, when I learned that fairy tales were complete bullshit and that there are worse ways to go than in your own bed, warm and safe and blissfully asleep.

  The clouds finally lifted. The stripes of light had stopped dancing across the edge of my sheets, and my muscles relaxed another delicious degree. Sleep was near and oh how I welcomed the peace. The week had been a long and tedious one, par for the course whenever a new rescue mission was getting underway, but right now I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and drift into a peaceful slumber.

  And really I couldn't think of a single reason why that shouldn't happen, why I shouldn't take a page from Claire's handbook and let my guard down, truly enjoy falling asleep instead of forcing myself to do it just because it was necessary.

  My gaze drifted lazily over the soft silvery glow of moonlight that spilled onto the sheet next to my head. I yawned, blinking when my eyes began to water. Then the light flickered, shifted, and was gone. Wide-eyed, I snapped to attention, instantly alert even though I hadn't yet moved a muscle. Moving only my eyes, I slowly, carefully forced them to go half-mast and peeked through my lashes at the window over the head of the bed. The dark shape was still there. Tall enough and close enough to fill the space outside the window and blot out the light. There was someone out there and he was looking in at me right now. It was hard but I forced myself to remain silent and still, not to move even the slightest little bit because at such close range, the man would surely notice any movement.

  My heart was doing a two-step and for a quick, irrational moment I worried the bastard pervert outside would hear, would somehow know I was lying here in the dark, scared stiff. But of course that was ridiculous; it was fear talking. There was no way the window peeper would know a damn thing unless I gave away my own hand and moved. The key to any situation was to immediately stack the deck in your favor by keeping a cool head and a clinical outlook. Strategy. Planning. Action.

  He wouldn't bother with the smaller window on the opposite wall; it didn't have a good enough view of the bed, really would only show him the door and part of the dresser and besides, the wide wooden slat blinds were closed. The only way for him to keep tabs on me was through the window he was at right now.

  The obvious downside being it was so close to the bed that, had the window been open, he would have practically been breathing down my neck. I grimaced and for the first time in my life felt immensely grateful that I was too paranoid to sleep with the windows open. Someone like Juliette would have been toast right now.

  Knowing what I had to do and actually putting the plan to the deed were two totally different things and not as easy as it sounded. Despite having spent the last eighteen months being conditioned to fight, and even though nymphs were a little more coordinated than regular people, a little faster, sharper?the familiar flash of hot then cold washed over me in a dizzying wave. It was the logical, completely physical part of my body acknowledging that death could literally be right around the corner. Normal people just didn't live their lives worrying about such things, I lamented, schooling quivering muscles to hold it, hold it, just another moment longer.

  Why did it seem like every time I began to let down my guard, someone tried to kidnap me or kill me? Soon, soon? The words whispered like a mantra through my mind, soothing and bolstering all at once. Breath. In, out. In, out, nice and slow, nice and steady. Soon he would make his move. The gauntlet would be thrown. Then I would make mine. There. Every sense focused into high alert when the shadow lifted and the moonlight was once more splashed across the bed.

  It didn't feel silvery and pretty anymore. It was too bright and I was raw and naked, exposed in its glare. Naked. One corner of my mouth twisted at the thought. That certainly would have made this night worse, if I'd had to waste time getting dressed on top of the precious seconds retrieving my weapon and lacing my boots would eat.

  I didn't jump out of bed and leap across the room; stringent training had made it so that sort of instinctual, natural behavior didn't even tempt me anymore. In the long run, shit like that wasn't faster because too often it gave you away. Death probably would have claimed me before my boots were laced if I'd made all kinds of noise crashing through the house. Plus, whoever was out there could always double back and peer into the window. It was entirely possible he was backing off to try and trick me into showing my hand first, if he wanted to make sure I was really asleep.

  So, after doing a silent countdown from twenty, I rolled swiftly off the bed, bracing myself with my forearms to muffle the slight sound. He wasn't at the window. Yet.

  I didn't really expect him to come back to my bedroom window; it would have been terrible strategy. There was no way to get through it without waking me, had I been asleep, anyway.

  No, he was probably halfway around the house by now. My midnight peeper would come in quietly through the back door, or the kitchen window, maybe. Just in case, though, I took a few seconds to shape the comforter into a lump that vaguely resembled a person. It wouldn't stand up to close inspection, but if he didn't study it too thoroughly? It was better than nothing, anyway. I shrugged and turned my attention back to slipping from the room in a low crawl. Once I cleared the door, I moved into a crouch and inched up the wall next to the open bathroom door.

  There wasn't a window in that room, so I stood there with my back to the darkened room, listening. No sound whispered through the small house, not even a telltale rustle of clothing. He hadn't come in yet, then. I bent at the waist and moved silently but swiftly through the cabin. Where in the hell had I left my boots?

  I inhaled sharply, drew a blank, and bit back one of Claire's more colorful curses, until I spotted them lying haphazardly underneath the table. It took only half a minute or so of tugging and twisting to get them on and laced, another few seconds to strap on my dagger.

  The man still hadn't tried to come in and I was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd gone when the shadows gathered at the kitchen window, creating an unnatural blackness that seemed to fill the space. This was it, then.

  A thin, high-pitched but barely audible screeching noise filled the silence of the kitchen. It was coming from the window. What the hell? Curious now, I slunk to the other side of the room and grabbed my bow and the quiver of arrows which lay half on its side next to the sad-looking coat rack that I couldn't remember ever having used.

  The nails on a chalkboard sound intensified until I winced. Then a large circle of glass slipped free of the window and fell with a soft thud to the carpeted kitchen floor.

  I watched a thin, past
y white arm hook through the window where the glass had been, groping along the frame until it reached the latch at the top. I stood there in the middle of the room, staring in a kind of sick, fascinated horror as that sinister, chalk-white arm flipped the latch in one fluid motion, withdrew, and began to soundlessly raise the window. Coatyl.

  A million thoughts screamed through my brain, but only one mattered-what now? The answer was obvious enough. Slipping a lethal, sharp-tipped arrow onto the bow, I gripped the end and the thick, pliable string between my fingers and slid the fingers of my other hand up to rest just beneath the arrow shaft near the tip. A few nimble steps to the side and I'd danced into the shadows between the table and the front door.

  I kept my gaze pinned to the window and waited. The damn thing was coming in. I took a deep breath and slowly counted back from ten. The coatyl navigated the open window with a graceful speed that was at direct odds with its butt ugly appearance. Nine, eight, seven, six.

  No, I frowned, bow cocked and ready as the creature straightened and raised itself to its full height, the coatyl went way beyond butt ugly. I occupied the darkest part of the room, not moving, hardly breathing. Five, four. Move away from the window. Three, two. It moved. The arrow sliced across the room, its aim true.

  The deadly animal was pinned by the arrow that protruded from its chest and secured it to the wall beside the kitchen window. The coatyl looked similar enough in form to a person, but the fact that they walked upright on two legs, were in possession of two arms, a head, and a torso was where the similarity ended.

  The torso I'd pierced was thin, bony, and elongated. These animals were designed for speed not brawn. They were pretty much helpless against any sort of weapon that could pierce the skin. Despite this well-known fact, the coatyl were one of the most feared creatures in Terlain. Adults spoke of them in hushed tones and children hid safe and warm beneath their blankets and whispered spooky tales to one another of the fanged, pale beasts that hunted human blood.

  Hell, I snorted as I watched the five-inch razor sharp nails, claws really, twitch and writhe and scratch deep grooves into my kitchen wall. Thin rivulets of liquid dripped down the faded wallpaper. Too close, I realized abruptly and backed up a step. The liquid that dripped from its talon-like fingernails was a neuro-toxin that would at the very least make me sick and at worst, lay me out flat if I got close enough for the thing to scratch me.

  The creature was naked, although it had no discernible "private" parts. It was so pale it almost seemed to generate its own light, hanging there as it was. Above the creature's harsh breathing and the pounding of my own heart, I suddenly heard a plop, plop, plop sound from the window next to where I stood with the coatyl. Shit. It was raining.

  Well, why not? I glowered. "Because I was just saying to myself, you know what would make this night complete? A storm," I muttered in disgust an instant before I had a terrible thought that had nothing to do with rain showers.

  The coatyl were pack hunters. "Did you bring friends?" I murmured, more to myself than the coatyl. He couldn't understand me and anyway they weren't capable of speech. My eyes cut to the open window. Were there more of them out there?

  "Wouldn't you like to know?"

  I gasped at the dark, gritty whisper that came at me, sinister and ugly, in the small kitchen. I almost spun around to face the unseen assailant who had somehow managed to get the drop on me, before reality kicked in and it hit me that the coatyl had raised its pale head. Deep-set eyes were glaring malevolently at me from a bloodless, sunken face. Long strings of hair framed a narrow, bony face. And those teeth? Don't show fear.

  But, oh how difficult that was-the coatyl had just spoken to me. It wasn't possible.

  "What did you say?" I demanded in a harsh whisper.

  "I said maybe I'm," the thing coughed, "alone. And maybe I'm not."

  It smiled at me, then, smug even though he was pinned to a wall and at death's door. Why wasn't he dead yet? I wondered idly. He-the thing sounded like a "he" anyway, was talking. My numb senses processed the implausibility of that with grim finality. He was talking. Part of me wanted to recoil from the intensity of the coatyl's death stare and say no way because it wasn't possible. The coatyl did not talk. They were mindless, violent animals that hunted in packs. They were not intelligent. But?

  Acceptance crashed over me in a sickening torrent. This one was. I could see the awareness flickering in his eyes, just beyond the malice that plainly said the thing would rip me in two if he weren't stuck to my kitchen wall. Yes, he was very conscious of what was going on.

  "Why?" I breathed. "How? How are you talking? Coatyl don't talk. They-you've never talked." I was babbling but there didn't seem to be any help for it.

  I eyed the disgusting, slightly opaque creature before me with a sense of foreboding. This was so not good.

  "We never used to talk," the thing wheezed, "and now we do." He ended on an eerie chuckle that made ice trail down my spine. I fought the sudden urge to spin around. There wasn't anyone behind me. It was only nerves that had me so keyed up.

  "Why did you come here?" I forced the words past a throat that felt too tight, too hot, but I really did need to question the thing. So I shored my defenses and tried to look intimidating enough to make him answer my questions.

  One hand went to the knife at my thigh, briefly fingering the handle, but as it turned out, the coatyl needed no encouragement. He gulped mouthfuls of air and seemed to steady himself before saying, "I have a message for you."

  I raised one eyebrow. "I'm listening."

  "Not?mine. I'm the messenger. So are you. Messengers. You're all going to die."

  I suppressed a shudder and glared at him instead. "If I'm the messenger, then who's the message for?"

  He glared back, black eyes bulging and burning bright in his white face. For a minute I thought he wasn't going to say anything more but then he bared his fang-like teeth and grinned.

  "He's coming for her. Tell her?she's next."

  "Who?" I practically shouted when he fell into another brooding silence.

  His eyes snapped back to mine. "Claire Roberts."

  I recoiled from both the rage in his tone and the shock of hearing Claire's name spill from his mouth. "Who sent you?" I demanded. "Was it Kahn? Talk," I commanded breathlessly.

  "Maybe I shouldn't tell you." His eyes bore into mine, full of hate and helpless rage. He truly was helpless, of course, even if his demonic countenance was almost enough to make me forget that fact. His voice had become thin and reedy in the last couple of minutes. He was dying, and so was my chance of getting any useful information. His breathing became labored and at the tail end of each rapid, weak puff, the telltale death rattle could be heard. I had to do something to keep him talking, and I had to act quickly.

  I whipped the knife from its holder and held it under his chin, pressing upward with just enough force to pierce the thick skin there.

  His eyes bugged for a moment before he laughed. "I'm dying anyway," he mockingly pointed out.

  "True." I shrugged. "But I can make it very, very painful."

  "They were right about you, the others? You're not easy to kill."

  "If you had planned on killing me tonight," I asked slowly, confused now, "how did you expect me to pass the message along to Claire?"

  "Written on the wall," the Coatyl whispered with a cold smile. "In your blood."

  Nice. Well, I'd asked. "Who sent you?" This time I used the blade to punctuate my words.

  Why he answered, I really couldn't say, because in the next second his eyes closed and he was gone. Maybe he figured there was nothing left to lose, or maybe he wanted to spite me. For whatever reason, on his last breath flickered a single name.

  "Lahuel."

  If ice had trickled down my spine a few minutes before, the mention of the Lahuel was enough to create a virtual avalanche. So the Shadow Man was looking for Claire. And apparently me. It shouldn't have been a particularly surprising development. After th
e raid we had led on Kahn's army-and the Lahuel served Kahn, after all-we had been expecting some sort of retaliation.

  The fighting was far from over and we all knew that. I just hadn't quite been expecting?this. The Lahuel was rarely seen and I couldn't recall anyone ever having received a "message" from him-it-and I was one hundred percent certain that if by some slim chance someone had ever been on the receiving end of a message from the Lahuel, it damn sure hadn't been delivered by a coatyl.

  I hung my head for a moment, fighting my way back from the edge of hysteria. Oh sweet mother, the coatyl could talk and think and probably strategize, too, if the rest of the damn things were as shrewdly intelligent as this one had been. My blood ran cold. If that was truly the case, then we were all screwed.

  I wiped the droplets of blood across my pants before I realized what I was doing and grimaced at the dark smear the coatyl blood left on the fabric. I sheathed the knife and made a mental note to grab another pair of pants before I left. Because no way in hell was I sleeping in the cabin tonight. I exhaled and, hands on my hips, regarded the dead coatyl now hanging from the wall like a bleached, limp rag.

  I reached forward and grasped the shaft of the arrow with both hands, braced one foot on the wall next to the creature, twisted a little this way and that to create some give, and applied steady backward pressure until I'd pulled enough to free the arrow from his body. It was coated in the same black sludge that dripped all over the carpet, that was smeared across my pants.

  I wiped the arrow clean with an oilcloth from the kitchen and returned it to its rightful place in the quiver before turning my attention to the body on the floor below the window. Leaving him here wasn't an option. I was beginning to make rapid mental connections now. Mark and the others would want to study the thing, especially the head and brain, I realized, my stomach clenching, because things didn't just change like that.

  Even small changes to a species took hundreds of years to become really noticeable. Something like-I glanced down at the lifeless coatyl-this, was not possible on its own, let alone in a matter of, what, three months?

  No, the coatyl had been altered somehow. I took a deep breath and marched across the kitchen to grab a trash bag and a thick burlap sack from my small pantry. I could hope this was the only one that had been messed with. It was a cold and fleeting comfort. If this one had been changed, altered somehow, then it stood to reason others would follow.

  The coatyl wasn't heavy but it was awkward and sticky and I kept half expecting it to rise from the dead or something, for its eyes to pop open and zero in on me. It didn't, although after everything that had transpired this evening, I seriously doubted it would surprise me if the thing magically woke up and danced a jig in the middle of the living room.

  So even though I felt a little silly for doing it, I darted back into the small utility pantry off the tiny kitchen and grabbed a hard coil of twine and a pair of wire cutters, knelt beside the coatyl, and secured both his arms and legs before placing him into the bag. It took quite a bit of maneuvering and by the time I'd tied the string on the burlap I was grateful I'd skipped dinner that evening.

  If there had been anything in my stomach, I just might have lost it all over the kitchen floor. I was a mess. The entire front of my clothes was black and goopy, and worse, my clothing was thin, so it was also sticking to my skin.

  I thought I glimpsed a slight movement out the window then and went for my knife, just in case. Maybe taking the time to change in the house wasn't the best idea, under the circumstances. Maybe I'd be better off grabbing an extra outfit, the jug of river water I kept in the bathroom, and a rag. I could hop the fence and clean up outside once I was safe and sound on the protected side of the fence.

  I'd retrieved the clothes, water and a blanket, and was in the process of hefting the burlap sack over one shoulder when the faint rustling sound came from the door. Dropping the sack and the jug, I immediately went into a defensive crouch as, with a pop and a click, the knob turned and the door was flung open. No, no not another one. A tall, dark shape filled the doorway and with deadly aim and a flick of the wrist, I let the knife fly.