Shadow dancer, p.1
Shadow Dancer, page 1
Shadow Dancer
Immortals of London, Volume 2
K J Baker
Published by K J Baker, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SHADOW DANCER
First edition. November 26, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 K J Baker.
ISBN: 979-8215086254
Written by K J Baker.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Curse of the Fae
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Further Reading: Shadow of the Fae
Chapter 1
I duck out of the way just in time. A crossbow bolt whizzes through the air and thuds into a post with enough force to crack the wood. I spin, throwing my knife, and I’m satisfied to see his eyes widen in surprise. Desperately he throws up his hands—one still holding the miniature crossbow that has become his hallmark—and my knife smacks into the small weapon and ricochets off with the sound of metal striking metal.
Shit. Why does he have to be so fast?
Snarling, I drop into a fighting crouch and stalk closer. He watches me, deep blue eyes flashing, dark hair falling over his forehead. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, exposing his sharp canines. He doesn’t have time to reload his crossbow so he tosses it away and draws two long knives from the brace belted around his hips.
The wind gusts suddenly, swirling my hair around my head so I push it irritably from my eyes. I could do without the distraction: he’s pushing me to my limit. I’ve fought countless vampires but this one is different. He seems to anticipate my moves before I’ve even thought of them.
I need every ounce of concentration if I’m to best him.
He steps forward, expecting me to back off, to keep the gap between us. One thing I’ve learned in my years as a rogue hunter is never to do what a vampire expects.
So, as he steps forward, I launch myself at him.
Leaping high, I draw my sword and bring it down at a diagonal angle, slicing at his neck. He jams his knives up just in time to block my strike and the weapons collide with a metallic ring that echoes across the rooftop. My blow is strong enough to make him stumble. Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I drop low and land a side-kick into his belly. With a grunt, he staggers back another two paces. I follow immediately, flashing my sword in a series of lightning-quick strikes that he parries with his knives.
I growl in frustration. Why won’t he give in? Doesn’t the bastard know when he’s beaten?
We’re close to the edge of the roof now. Behind him, the rooftops of London stretch away into the hazy distance. It’s a cool, blustery day but every now and then the clouds part to let through a blaze of dazzling sunshine. It lights the rooftops like glass, transforming the city into a shining jewel. London. My home. My patch. The place I’ll keep safe from vampires at all costs.
Starting with this one.
“Give it up,” I growl. “Surrender and I’ll not hurt you.”
His snarl deepens. His fangs gleam. “Never.”
Something impacts with my legs and I’m suddenly on my back, staring up at the sky. I throw myself to the side a second before his knife hammers into the ground where I’d been lying. I scramble to my feet then throw myself into a roll, just as another crossbow bolt whizzes through the air.
When the hell did he reload that thing? My eyes go to the crossbow lying where he threw it, then to the second one in his hand.
Ah. I see. Hell, Marney, expect the unexpected, remember?
Well, I can do the unexpected too.
Sheathing my sword, I turn and run.
In three strides I’m across the roof and onto the fire escape. His footsteps thunder after me. I take a few steps down the metal stairs then, holding hard to one of the rungs, swing out to the side, flipping over so I can land a kick right in his chest as he appears over the edge of the roof. The second crossbow flies from his hand and he staggers backwards. I scramble up and jump onto the roof, pulling a knife from my boot.
He’s on his back, winded. I straddle his chest, pinning him to the ground, and press my knife against his throat. Just the tiniest movement and that blade will cut into his flesh. His eyes stare up at me defiantly. They’re like dark blue fire.
“I think that’s victory to me, don’t you?” I say, my voice low and threatening.
“You think so?” he replies. “I’d say it’s stalemate.”
I look down and realize he’s holding a knife pressed against my chest. One push and that could puncture my heart. He stares up at me, waiting. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his face and the corded muscles of his arm stand out. My eyes follow the contours of that arm, noting how he’s tensed, ready to strike. Noting the three crescent moons tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Noting how his hand is wrapped hard around the hilt of the knife.
Stalemate indeed. I should have remembered how quick the bastard is. Why do I never remember that?
“So what do you say, immortal?” he rasps. “Shall we call this one a draw?”
“Well, I don’t know, vampire,” I reply. “Some might say you cheated.”
“Cheated? How do you figure that one out?”
“Olivia never said you were allowed to bring two crossbows.”
“She never said I couldn’t either, did she?”
Despite myself, I grin. I remove my knife from his throat and tuck it away. With a smile of his own, he sheathes his weapon.
“You realize I was going easy on you, don’t you, Ciaran?”
Ciaran Connor raises an eyebrow at me. “Marney Stone,” he says in that beautiful, lilting Northern Irish accent of his, “has anyone ever told you you’re a sore loser?”
I shrug. “Sure. You do. All the time.”
He snorts a laugh. “I think our training session is done. Are you going to get off me?”
I tilt my head to one side as I regard him. His skin is a golden bronze—unusual for a vampire—his thick hair is a brown so dark as to be almost black and his eyes are the deepest blue I’ve ever seen. The sight of him makes my heart pound.
He may be a vampire, he may be a deadly predator whose fighting skills match my own, he may be a member of the race that is the ancient enemy of mine.
But he’s still the man I love.
It’s like I’ve known Ciaran my whole life even though it’s only been six months. Six months since we fought Hugh Montgomery and his Church of the Prime. Six months since we saved humanity from being enslaved and immortals along with them.
Ciaran grins. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re considering eating me for dinner.”
I smile in return. That’s the most amazing thing about Ciaran. He makes me smile. He makes me feel alive. Me. Marney Stone, heart as cold as ice. Always works alone. Doesn’t let anyone close.
Well that Marney Stone is dead, stabbed through the heart by Ciaran Connor. The new Marney is different. I think I like her.
I place my hands on Ciaran’s shoulders and pin him against the ground. He doesn’t resist as I lean down and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm. His body is hard and sculpted where it presses against mine. Ciaran’s strong arms tighten, crushing me against him as he kisses me back. He scent is all around me—that heavy musk that is so undeniably him—and the sound of his breathing fills my ears. Our kiss deepens. Arousal flares through me and goose bumps ride up my skin.
In one sharp movement, Ciaran flips me over so he’s the one on top. I don’t protest. His kisses travel down my neck, to the space where it meets my shoulder, his lips brushing my skin with the tiniest of feather-touches. I gasp, tangling my fingers in his thick hair and arching my back beneath him.
I’m not sure when we start ripping at each other’s clothes. All I know is that my body is burning and I grab at Ciaran’s shirt, yanking it over his head before moving down to fumble with the clasp on his belt. He helps by kicking off his jeans and then his boxers. His hands rove over my body. He tears off my t-shirt, unzips my pants, tossing them away with a growl. His fingers caress my skin, sending ripples of electricity cascading right through me and making me gasp with pleasure.
We shouldn’t be doing this. We are on the roof of the Council building in the middle of London. If someone were to come up, they would see us. But that only makes it more exciting. I don’t think I could stop myself if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.
Ciaran rolls on top of me and I feel his erection pressing against my stomach. “Marney,” he whispers my name like a promise. “My Marney.”
Then he tilts his hips and drives forward, entering me hard and deep. I cry out, squeezing my eyes tight shut. Ciaran fills me, so big, so hard, so god-damned amazing. Unconsciously, I lift my hips, bringing my body up to meet his as he rocks inside me. At first his movements are small, tiny, sensual. Shivers of sweet sensation vibrate through my abdomen every time he moves.
I run the tips of my fingers down his back, gasping as his action gradually becomes deeper, faster. The contours of his muscles are hard under my fingers and the smell of him fills my nostrils. My nails dig into his back, then his buttocks, and my gasps become louder, shriller.
“Marney,” he growls in time to the rhythm of his thrusts. “Marney. I love you. Oh, how I love you.”
I’m starting to lose myself. Our movements are furious now as we writhe together, bodies intertwined, giving each other exquisite pleasure.
Then I explode.
I shatter into a million pieces and scream Ciaran’s name as orgasm crashes through me. Dimly, I feel Ciaran jerk as he reaches his own climax and then he collapses on top of me, breathing heavily.
I’ve no idea how long we lie there. It could be a few seconds or a few hours. He smiles and I find myself grinning like an idiot in return. I could stay here forever. With him.
Then the communicator strapped to the waistband of my pants suddenly crackles into life. “Marney? Ciaran? Are you there?”
The moment evaporates like mist. With a wry smile, Ciaran sits up and I scramble up after him, yanking the device from my clothing with more than a little annoyance.
“We’re here, Olivia,” I say into the receiver. “What is it?” The Council’s head of Operations sure has excellent timing.
“A report’s come in and I want you to check it out. The Met have been investigating a missing person but they’ve turned it over to us. Seems a vampire might be involved.”
“Why do they think that?”
“The missing person was last seen in Soho. It’s not a usual haunt for her. When the police went looking, they found evidence she may have been lured.”
Lured. A strange word. Abducted would be more accurate but in these cases the women go with their captors voluntarily. A vampire’s glamor has the power to seduce human women, make them do whatever they want. So for me, it’s an abduction by any other name.
“Right. Send through the information.”
We scramble to get dressed then Ciaran seats himself cross-legged by my side and we both stare at the little screen on the communicator. It begins to beep, then a string of data appears. The girl’s name is Maria Martin. Twenty-two years old, medical student, studying at UCL. Reported missing six days ago by her friends when she didn’t come home. Last seen on CCTV sitting with a man in Soho Square. A tall, elegant man with white skin and black hair.
After that, nothing. The girl disappeared.
A shiver goes down my spine. Yep. This has all the hallmarks of a vampire lure. I share a long look with Ciaran. Even though he’s a vampire, he’s as committed to hunting down rogues as I am. There has been a treaty in place for hundreds of years between immortals, humans and vampires. That treaty says the killing of humans by vampires is outlawed. Still, there are those who cannot resist the lure of human blood. It’s mine and Ciaran’s job to hunt those rogues down as quickly as possible.
There is a delicate balance between the three races. A rogue who isn’t stopped could shatter that balance, causing chaos in London. It came close to that with Hugh Montgomery and his Church of the Prime. Since then the Council has redoubled its efforts, and no human has died at the hands of a vampire in the six months since.
I won’t let Maria Martin become the first.
The CCTV footage flashes onto the screen and Ciaran and I lean close to get a better look. I recognize Soho Square. It’s deserted but for a couple sitting on a bench. One is a woman who I assume must be Maria Martin. The other is a man who appears to be in his thirties. The two stand and I can tell from the sinuous way he moves that the man is a vampire.
“Do you recognize him?” I ask Ciaran.
He shakes his head. “No. There’s been an increase in immigrants to London lately though. Some trouble over on the continent between the human authorities and the vampires there. Many are leaving.”
“And coming here? Wonderful. That’s all we need.”
Ciaran smiles. “Now, now, Marney. There’s no need to assume they’ll cause any trouble. They might be good little vampires.”
“What, like you, you mean?”
His grin broadens. “Yes, exactly like me.”
I shake my head and climb to my feet, pulling Ciaran up after me. I clip the communicator back into its holder on my hip, then gather the weapons that are strewn around the rooftop. I press the button on my sword hilt that makes the blade contract and tuck it away.
“Come on then, good little vampire. We’ve got work to do.”
We shimmy down the fire escape and onto the busy London streets. It’s just our luck that it’s rush hour. Dodging our way in and out of the crowds, we make our way to the nearest tube station and take the Central Line.
The carriage is packed and I spend the journey gritting my teeth as a human child screams its lungs out in the seat next to me, despite the mother’s best efforts to calm it. Ciaran, squeezed between a group of German tourists and a woman with a small white dog tucked under her arm, just grins at me like this is the most fun in the world. Damn it. When will the Council devise a better method for us to get around London?
I’m grateful when we reach Tottenham Court Road station and ride the escalators up to ground level. We’re disgorged onto Oxford Street where we pause, looking right and left, taking everything in. If Maria Martin came by tube, this is the station where she would have disembarked.
We join the stream of people walking down Oxford Street, then dive into the oasis of Soho Square. The place is a quiet, tranquil haven amidst the bustle of shoppers. I sink gratefully onto a bench, glad to have some space. I don’t like being among so many people. There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong.
Most of the benches are taken, humans sitting singly or in couples, reading the newspaper, sipping take-away coffees, or just watching the world go by. A group of exchange students are lounging on the grass, talking loudly in Spanish. An elderly couple is perched on a bench throwing seed to a flock of pigeons pecking greedily around their feet.
I glance at the buildings surrounding the square and spot the CCTV camera high up on a wall that monitors the comings and goings within the square. It was that camera that got us the footage of Maria Martin’s abduction. Working out the angle the camera is positioned, I deduce she left the square by the west exit in the far corner. It doesn’t help much. The exit leads directly into the warren of streets that make up Soho.
Maria Martin could be anywhere.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. Taking a deep breath, I push down my frustration. Waiting is not my strong suit. I prefer to fight.
“Relax,” Ciaran mutters beside me. “You seem as wound up as hell. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
I scowl at him even though he’s right. I sit back on the bench, stretching my legs out and lacing my fingers together across my chest. I’m just a Londoner relaxing after a hard day’s work. That’s all. Nothing to see here.
The exchange students climb to their feet and make their noisy way out onto Oxford Street. A woman wearing a sharp business suit walks over to a bench and slumps down, kicking off her high-heels and massaging her soles.
“This is a waste of time,” I growl. “That vampire is unlikely to return here.”
“I’m not so sure,” Ciaran answers. “He doesn’t know we’re onto him. This place is a perfect hunting ground. It’s packed with humans. There are people coming and going constantly so it’s easy for him to move unnoticed and there are so many exits he could escape easily if needed.”
I nod. His reasoning makes sense. I settle down to wait, lounging on the bench as though I don’t have a care in the world. To a casual observer I must look just like any other young human woman. I appear to be in my twenties. My long blonde hair is tied back in a braid that hangs over one shoulder. My shirt, jeans and knee-high boots could belong on anyone my age.
Yes, I appear every inch the relaxed young woman. But appearances can be deceptive. I’m not human: I’m an immortal. And I’m not relaxed. Not at all.
My eyes scan the square constantly, noting every new arrival and each person that leaves. I scrutinize the council worker who’s trimming the hedge opposite, searching for any hint he might be a vampire. I listen to the conversations around me, sifting the babble for any words or phrases that could relate to our case.
Then suddenly, Ciaran straightens. I’m alert in an instant, following the line of his gaze.
