Good. He tied her up in knots; it should be mutual. His otherworldly stature and confident mien made him stand out among the other pub patrons. Golden hair glinted in the firelight, too angelic for what he was capable of.
It was such a contrast to the dark shadows that always hovered at his feet. They were the shadows of evil deeds, visible only to a soulceress. Normally, she’d only see them on rogues or other evil beings, where they clung like a black mist. But on Warren, they hovered around his ankles, like they couldn’t stick to him.
Why would he have them? Was it because she couldn’t see his soul? She’d heard of some Mytheans who used magic to hide theirs. Be
cause a Mythean’s power originated from his soul, it was closely guarded, even hidden at times.
The whys of his shadows intrigued her. They didn’t mesh with the decent guy she knew him to be. He might be a jerk to her, but overall he was good. Too good to have the shadows.
She sank into the chair across from him, holding his green gaze and propping her feet on the chair closest to him. He was so big she could almost feel the heat of him. At nearly six and a half feet, his head would probably brush the low ceiling of the pub, hitting the decorative copper mugs that hung from it.
“So, boss, what brings you here?” she asked, her eyes racing over his face, taking in the features that had haunted her dreams. A strong jaw, full lips, and a loaded gaze. It was a face that had seen a lot of bad. The shadows that hovered around his feet were sometimes reflected in his eyes. She didn’t know what he’d done to get those shadows, but she wanted to.
“No’ your boss, Esha.”
Right. Thanks for the reminder. She was only a consultant, not a full member of his team. She was powerful enough that no one wanted her working against them—hence the invitation to join the university staff and eventually his department, the Praesidium—but her method of collecting the magical energy that fed her power made everyone loath to include her as an actual team member. Not that she cared, of course.
“Semantics.” She sipped her beer and looked at him over the rim of her glass. His expression was unreadable, nearly unwelcoming. But she hadn’t made a mistake in coming over here; she didn’t make mistakes.
“What’s with all the Mytheans in a mortal pub?” she asked. He ranked higher than she did, so maybe he’d know.
He shrugged. “What’s your reason?”
“Here? I come here all the time.” She gestured to the crowd behind her. “Easy pickings.”
A disgusted sigh escaped his strong throat. “To replenish your power from unwitting victims?”
She ignored the disgust. She had to, to survive. “Please. Mortals don’t have enough to speak of.”
It was one of the reasons she usually slept with them instead of the immortal Mytheans. Her unconscious power collection didn’t cause mortals the shivery sense of powerlessness that Mytheans felt in her presence. What felt like a hit of glorious energy to her felt like a siphoning of strength for any immortal with whom she came into contact.
Except for Warren.
“So, why is it that I never feel your power? You don’t have enough to speak of?” she asked.
Everyone hated her for something she couldn’t control, but he was the only one who didn’t like her out of spite, because he wasn’t even affected by her.
He shrugged again, but she saw a flicker in his eyes.
“You know why I can’t feel the power of your soul, but you won’t tell me. Cat got your tongue?” She snickered and looked at the shadow that was the Chairman, lounging on a chair next to her.
“There’s no’ a fae’s chance in hell I’m going to tell you.”
She frowned as she searched his eyes for any hint, but saw nothing. “Does it have anything to do with the fact that you have shadows that don’t stick to you?”
His eyes iced over, but still, she swore they beckoned. She was clearly mad, but she couldn’t help herself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She shivered. She was pushing him, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was a mystery that she’d wanted to solve since she’d met him. “You know, you’re pretty much the only one at the university who has shadows. You’re different.”
Their place of employment was committed to maintaining balance between the heavens and the hells and to protecting earth. Someone evil wouldn’t give a damn about keeping the power balance. So if Warren wasn’t evil, why did he have shadows?
CHAPTER THREE
“You know nothing of my soul.” Warren’s fists clenched.
But she did, he realized. Not the details, but the cocky soulceress sitting across from him saw enough to know that he’d done such monstrous things that if he still had his soul, it would be as black and empty as space. All the attempts at atonement in the world weren’t going to wash him clean.
“I think that no matter what you said before, you want me,” she said. “You’ve been watching me since I walked in here.”