Shadowfever (Fever #5)

by Karen Marie Moning

“I want the woman I think you are. But the longer you dissemble, the more I think I made a mistake. Saw things in you that weren’t there.” I fisted my hands and bit down a protest. He made me feel so conflicted. I wanted to shout, You didn’t make a mistake. I am her! I wanted to cut my losses and run before the devil owned more of my soul. “There was purity in that basement. That’s the way I live. There was a time I thought you did, too.” I did, I wanted to say. I do. “Some things are sacred. Until you act like they’re not. Then you lose them.” The door swung silently shut.

I should have made love to this man. I was always afraid to be tender. I’m bemused by my own idiocy. He flinches. “Don’t you think for a fucking minute you can put all that in your eyes, then die. That’s bullshit. I’m not doing this again.”

“The Fae have an elixir that prolongs life.” They gave it to me. He nods. Is that what happened to you? “I said prolongs. Not turns you into a nine-foot-tall horned insane monster.” He watches my neck. “You’re healing. Your wounds are closing. I know a man that was given this elixir. Four thousand years ago. He smells different, too. As long as the Rhymer is never stabbed by the spear or sword, he lives, un-aging. He can only be killed in the ways a Fae can be killed.” I stare up at him. I’m immortal? I can move my arms again. I touch my neck. I feel thick ridges as the skin fuses back together. It’s like when I ate Unseelie. I’m healing beneath my hands. I feel things crunching, moving in my neck, growing new and strong. “Think of it as long-lived and hard to kill.”

He places the last pillow on the pile, and looks at me. He jerks his head toward the pile of pillows. “I watched you die. I need to fuck you, Mac.” The words slam into me like bullets, taking my knees out. I lean back against a piece of furniture—an armoire, I think. I really don’t care. It holds me up. It wasn’t a request. It was acknowledgment of a requirement to make it from this moment to the next, like I need a transfusion, my blood has been poisoned. “Do you want me to?” There is no purr, or coyness, or seduction in his voice. There is a question that needs an answer. Bare bones. That’s what he’s after. That’s what he offers. “Yes.”

“I’m not the hero, Mac. Never have been. Never will be. Let us be perfectly clear: I’m not the antihero, either, so quit waiting to discover my hidden potential. There’s nothing to redeem me.” I want him anyway. It’s what he wanted to know. I exhale impatiently and shove hair from my face. “Are you going to talk me to death or fuck me, Jericho Barrons?” “Say it again. The last part.” I do. “They’ll try to kill you.” “Good thing I’m hard to kill.” Only one thing concerned me. “Will you?” “Never. I’m the one who will always watch over you. Always be there to fuck you back to your senses when you need it, the one who will never let you die.” I pull my shirt over my head and kick off my shoes. “What more could a woman ask?” I skinny out of my jeans but get a foot tangled up trying to get out of my underwear. I stumble. He’s on me before I hit the floor.

Relief floods me when his body slams into mine. Barrons moves like a sudden dark wind. He’s not only on me but pushing in me before we hit the floor. Oh, God, yes, finally! My head slams back into wood but I barely feel it. My neck and back arch, my legs spread. My ankles are on his shoulders and I suffer no conflicts. There is only need and the answer to it all shoving inside me—sleek, hard, animal dressed up in the skin of a man.

One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can’t breathe around it and you realize you don’t need air. Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset, to touch the one you love, to try again.

“Harder. Deeper. Come on, Barrons. More.” I feel violent. I am unbreakable. I am elastic around him. Insatiable. His hand is on the side of my neck, around my throat, half cupping my face. His eyes bore into mine. He watches every nuance, every detail of every expression, as if his existence depends on it. He fucks with the single-minded devotion of a dying man hunting God. As he fills me, I wonder if—in the same way that sex makes its own unique perfume—we don’t really “make” love. As in create, manufacture, evoke an independent element in the air around us, and if enough of us did it really well, for real, not just for the hell of it, we could change the world. Because when he’s in me, I feel the space around us changing, charging, and it seems to set off some kind of feedback loop, where the more he touches me, the more I need him to. Having sex with Barrons sates my need. Then feeds it. Sates, then feeds. It’s a never-ending cycle. I get out of bed with him, frantic to be back in it again. And I— “—hated you for it,” he says gently. That was my line. “I never get enough, Mac. Drives me bug-fuck. I should kill you for what you make me feel.”

“Were you Pri-ya the entire time?” I gasp and try to duck my head so he can’t see my eyes. My eyes betray me sometimes, no matter how hard I try, especially when my feelings are intense. He grabs my head and holds it with two fistfuls of my hair, forcing me to look at him. “I knew it—you weren’t!” His mouth is on mine, he has me against the wall. I can’t breathe and I don’t care. He is exultant. “How long?” he demands.

“What happens when you die?” I counter. “I come back.” “Duh, obviously. How? Where? Do you eventually just stand up from your ashes again or something?” I hear a rattle and suddenly he’s on the floor, head back, muscles rippling, fighting to remain a man. He’s losing the battle. He has talons. Black fangs slide from his mouth, gouging into his skin. I can tell he doesn’t want to turn, but something I asked him has made him frenzied. I can’t stand watching him struggle. I wonder if anyone has ever tried to help Barrons. I answer, talk to him to keep him grounded in the here and now. “I knew what was happening from the moment you asked me what I wore to the prom.” I drop to my knees beside him, take his head in my arms and cradle him at my breast. His face is half beast, half man. “I began to surface. It was like I was there but trying not to be there. I’m here, Jericho. Stay with me.”

There was naked hunger in his eyes. “How long was he a child tonight? How long did you see him before he attacked you?” “A few minutes.” “I haven’t seen him like that in centuries.”

I can’t think of any scenario that explains how I came to be what I am. But the truth of my memory is indisputable. I did stand in that laboratory, nearly a million years ago. I did create the Hallows and I did love the concubine and I did give birth to the Unseelie. That was all me. Maybe that’s why Barrons and I can’t resist each other. We both have our monsters.

“You really think evil is a choice?” I ask. “Everything is. Each moment. Each day.” “I didn’t sleep with Darroc. But I would have.” “Irrelevant.” He moves inside me. “I’m here now.” “I was going to seduce the shortcut out of him so I could get the Book. Then I was going to unmake this world and replace it with another, so I could have you back.” He freezes. I can’t see his face. He’s behind me. It’s part of why I can say it. I don’t think I could say it to his face and see myself reflected in his eyes. I wasn’t going to unmake the world for my sister. I’d loved her all my life. I’d known him for only a few short months.

“You’re Mac,” he says. “And I’m Jericho. And nothing else matters. Never will. You exist in a place that is beyond all rules for me. Do you understand that?” I do. Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.

FINALLY!!!!

“I don’t like this one bit.” Neither did I, but I didn’t see any alternative. “You helped make this plan.” “That was hours ago. Now we’re about to walk out into the streets and you’re going to pick the bloody thing up, believing in some prophecy scribbled by a mad washerwoman who used to work at the abbey, with no concrete idea what to do, trusting that the amulet will help you deceive it into submission. It’s the ultimate in seductive evil, and you expect to wing it. The plan stinks. That’s all there is to it. I don’t trust Rowena. I don’t trust—” “Anyone,” I finished. “You don’t trust anyone. Except yourself, and that’s not trust, that’s ego.” “Not ego. Awareness of my abilities. And the limitless nature of them.” “You got killed on a cliff by Ryodan and me. Classic case of a time when a little trust might have gone a long way.” His eyes were black and bottomless. I was just about to look away when something moved in them. I trust you.

I felt like he’d handed me the keys to the kingdom. That sealed it: I could do anything. “Prove it. You’ve been training me since the moment I got here to make me strong enough, smart enough, tough enough to do whatever has to be done. I’ve been through hell and back and survived. Look at me. What is it you say? See me. You made me a fighter. Now let me fight.” “I fight the battles.” “You are fighting this battle. We’re going after it together.” “Watching. Who’s driving this motorcycle and who’s in the bloody sidecar? I don’t ride in the sidecar. I wouldn’t even own a pussy bike with a sidecar.” He looked aggrieved to the bottom of his soul. “More than watching. Keeping me tethered, like you did when I was Pri-ya and couldn’t find my way back. I never would have made it without you, Jericho. I was lost, but I could feel you there, grounding me, holding my kite string.” He’d stalked into hell for me, sat down on my sprung sofa in my insane place, and kept me from being stuck there forever. He’d dragged me out by sheer force of will. He always would. “I need you,” I said simply. A haze of crimson stained his eyes. He pulled a sweater over his head, muscles flexing, tattoos rippling. “It’s not too late,” he said roughly. “We can let the world go to hell. There are other worlds. Plenty of them. We can even take your parents. Whoever you want.” I searched his eyes. He meant it. He’d leave with me, go through the Silvers, and live somewhere else. “I like this world.” “Some price...

“Jericho, I feel like my whole life has been pushing me toward this moment.” “That’s it. Fate’s a fickle whore. We’re not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.” I laughed. “Come on, Barrons. When have you ever run from a fight?” “Never. And others paid for it. I won’t have the same happen to you.” “I don’t believe this,” I said with mock horror. “Jericho Barrons is vacillating. Will wonders never cease?” The rattle moved in his chest. “I’m not vacillating. I’m … ah, fuck.” Barrons doesn’t lie to himself. He was vacillating and he knew it.

“The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble.” “Ditto.” “I wanted to drag you between the shelves, fuck you senseless, and send you home.” “If you’d done that, I never would have left.” “You’re still here anyway.” “You don’t have to sound so sour about it.” “You’re upsetting my entire existence.” “Fine, I’ll leave.” “Try and I’ll chain you up.” He glowered at me. “That’s vacillating.” He sighed. After a moment, he held out his hand. I slipped mine into his.

I shoved my fists in my pockets and turned away. “Don’t turn your back on me,” she cried. “I’m your mother!” “Rainey Lane is my mother.” “Unkind and unfair,” Pieter said. “You aren’t even giving her a chance.” “Why do you care?” I said irritably. “Because I’m her husband, MacKayla. And your father.”

“We cannot restore the walls without the Song,” V’lane was saying. “Who says we need the walls back up?” Barrons demanded. “You’re roaches, we’re Raid. We’ll get rid of you eventually.” “We. Are. Not. Insects,” Velvet said tightly.

“I was talking about the Unseelie. I figured you prancing fairy bastards would get off our world voluntarily after helping eradicate your skulking half.” “I do not prance.” Dree’lia was insulted. “You would do well to recall the delights found in our arms.” I glanced at Barrons disbelievingly. “You had sex with her?” He rolled his eyes. “It was a long time ago and only because she pretended to know something about the Book.” “Lies, ancient one. You panted around behind me—” “Barrons has never panted around behind anyone,” I said. His dark gaze shimmered with amusement. Unexpected, but thanks for the defense. Well, you haven’t. Not even me. Debatable. Ryodan would disagree with you. Sleep with another fairy and I’ll turn into V’lane’s personal Pri-ya. His eyes were murderous, but he kept his tone light. Jealous much? What’s mine is mine. He went very still. Is that how you think of me? Time seemed to stand still while we looked at each other. The arguing receded. The cavern emptied and it was just him and me. The moment stretched between us, pregnant with possibility. I hate moments like this. They always demand you lay something on the line. He wanted an answer. And he wasn’t moving until he got one. I could see it in his eyes. I was terrified. What if I said yes and he came back with a mocking retort? What if I got dewy and emotional and he left me hanging all exposed? Worse yet, what was going to happen when he found out I hadn’t gotten the spell to free his son? Would h...

“Get away from the Book, V’lane,” Barrons growled. “If anyone’s going to be looking at it, it’ll be Mac.” “Mac’s not touching it,” Rainey said instantly. “That terrible thing should be destroyed.” “Can’t be, Mom. It doesn’t work that way.” While everyone was fighting and Barrons and I were absorbed in a wordless conversation, V’lane had taken the bundled queen/concubine from my daddy and was now standing near the slab, looking down at the Sinsar Dubh. “Don’t open it,” Kat warned him. “We need to talk. Make plans.” “She’s right,” Dageus said. “ ’Tis no’ a thing to be undertaken lightly, V’lane.” “There are precautions that must be observed,” Drustan added. “There has been enough talk,” V’lane said. “My duties to my race are clear. They always have been.” Barrons didn’t waste any breath. He moved like the beast, too fast to see. One moment he was a few feet from me, the next he was— —slamming up against a wall and bouncing off it, snarling. Clear crystal walls erupted around V’lane. Lined with blue-black bars, they extended all the way up to the ceiling. He didn’t even turn. It was as if he’d tuned us out. He placed the unconscious body of the queen on the ground next to the slab ...

Unruffled by the assault on the walls he’d erected, he stood, head thrown back, eyes closed. His hands weren’t spread on each side of the Book as I’d thought. They were on it, a palm pressed to each page. How was he touching an Unseelie Hallow? The pages were entrancingly beautiful, each made of hammered gold, embellished with gems, covered with a strikingly bold, dynamic script that rushed across the pages like ceaseless waves. The First Language was as fluid as the original queen had been static. V’lane wasn’t reading the Sinsar Dubh. The spells scribed upon the gold pages were vanishing from the Book, passing up his arms, into his body, leaving the pages empty. He was draining it. Absorbing it. Becoming it. “Barrons,” I shouted to be heard over the roars and grunts as bodies imploded with an unyielding barrier, “we’ve got a serious problem!” “Same page, Mac. Same bloody word.”

When I was fifteen, Dad taught me how to drive. Mom was terrified to let me behind the wheel. I hadn’t been that bad. I remember swerving wide around a bend, narrowly missing a mailbox, and asking Daddy, But how do you stay on the road? What keeps people from just running off it? It’s not like we’re on rails. He’d laughed. Ruts in the road, baby. They aren’t really there, but if you keep doing it over and over, eventually you begin to feel them, and a sort of autopilot kicks in. Life is like that. Ruts in the road. My rut was that V’lane was one of the good guys. But be careful, Jack had added, because autopilot can be dangerous. Drunk driver might come at you head on. The most important thing to know about ruts is how and when to get out of them. I was immobilized by indecision. Was V’lane really one of the bad guys? Was he really trying to usurp all Fae power and rule? Was I supposed to intervene? What could I do? As my mom and I watched, Kat, Jo, and the other sidhe-seers joined the assault on the walls. I was about to step in myself when my mom said, “Who’s that handsome young man? He wasn’t here be—” She froze, mid-word. So did everyone in the cavern. The Keltar stopped chanting. Barrons and my daddy were frozen mid-lunge. Even V’lane was affected, but not completely. The spells moving up his arms slowed from a fast-moving river to a stream. I looked where my mother had been pointing and lost my breath. He was by the door. No, he was behind me. No, he was right in fro...

“I suppose you have a perfectly good reason for destroying my sign?” Jericho appeared beside me. “I had to paint the bloody thing myself,” he said pissily. “There’s not a sign-maker left in the city. I have better things to do than paint.” I gaped. Jericho Barrons was standing beside me. Inside my head. I shook it, half expecting him to be knocked off his feet and go rattling around. He remained standing, urbane and implacable as ever. “This isn’t possible,” I told him. “You can’t be here. This is my head.” “You push into mine. I merely projected an image with the push this time, to give you something to look at.” He gave me a faint smile. “Wasn’t easy getting in. You give a whole new meaning to ‘rock-head.’ ” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He invaded my thoughts and gave me guff even here. “I found you standing in the street, staring at the sign over the bookstore. Tried talking to you but you didn’t respond. Thought I’d better take a look around. What are you doing, Mac?” he said softly—Barrons at his most alert and dangerous. My laughter died and tears sprang to my eyes. He was in my head. I saw little point in hiding anything. He could take a good look around and see the truth for himself. “I didn’t get the spell.” My voice broke. I’d failed him. I hated myself for that. He’d never failed me. “I know.” My gaze flicked to his face, bewildered. “You … know?” “I knew it was a lie the moment you said it.” I searched his eyes. “But you looked happy! You smiled. I saw things...

“Let’s get out of here, Mac. There’s nothing for you down here.” “The spell! It’s here. I can get it. Use it. Lay him to rest!” “But you wouldn’t be you anymore. You can’t take a single spell from that thing. It’s all or nothing. We’ll find another way.”

Jericho Barrons buried his son in a cemetery on the outskirts of Dublin, after five days of keeping vigil beside his lifeless body, waiting for it to disappear and be reborn wherever it was they were reborn. His son never disappeared and was never reborn. He was dead. Truly dead. I kept a vigil of my own at the door to his study, watching him stare at the beautiful boy through the long days and nights.