Page 1 of Shield of Fire

Chapter

One

Death slipped through the night, as ethereal as a ghost but as powerful as the storms rumbling overhead.

And it was coming for us.

I opened my eyes. Deep shadows wrapped the loft, making it difficult to see anything that lay more than a few yards away. Not that I really needed to see—aside from the fact I’d been here often enough now to be familiar with the layout, I was an Aodhán pixie. Wood song, whether it came from trees or floorboards, could guide me through darkness in ways eyesight never could.

But the soft song that spun through the loft remained unchanged, and that meant there was no one else in Cynwrig’s apartment, either up here or downstairs, attempting to find the concealed entry point into this area.

But the sense of danger continued to build, and unease stirred. Whatever—whoever—it was, it stood apart from the storm and the icy blast that formed within it. Stood opposite it.

I frowned, not understanding the insight. Which, to be honest, wasn't really surprising. Second sight might be a family gift, but it was a talent I’d come into only recently.

I hesitated, then carefully pulled away from Cynwrig. He stirred but didn’t wake, which wasn’t really surprising. For all their legendary stamina, not even a dark elf could go days on end without sleep. Between mopping up the aftermath of betrayal by some of his kin, helping his twin sister run the Myrkálfar empire for his ailing father—who happened to be their king, although that was a term they could no longer officially use—and his bevy of women, the man had had little time to rest.

Of course, if he’d been awake, he’d strenuously object to my use of the term “bevy.” According to him, that implied he was seeing ten or more women, and apparently, even he couldn’t cope with that many demands on his time. He had, however, admitted to seeing six others.

Unfortunately, one of those six included the lovely Orlah. She was the tall, dark-skinned elf with long, curly black hair and to-die-for figure who’d briefly interrupted our dinner at an upmarket and very expensive restaurant recently and had made it patently clear she had her sights set on marriage. With him.

And while I was painfully aware our relationship was destined to be short term rather than long—highborn elves, whether light or dark, didn’t marry outside their race—I simply wasn’t ready for it to end.

But I had no intention of wasting the next ten years in a relationship destined to go nowhere, either, which was precisely what I’d done in a previous relationship with an elf.

This time, I was also seeing someone else. Another pixie, in fact.

He might not set my heart and soul alight, but the relationship was still very new, and he was at least a “safe” option.

“Safe” being relative only when compared to a dark elf.

I slid from the warmth of the bed and the man and padded naked and barefoot toward the sliding glass doors directly opposite. The loft was surprisingly large; the pitched roof had been raised, and the dormer windows that lined the Watergate Street side of the building gave the area a bright and airy feeling in the daytime. It was divided into two distinct areas by low storage cabinets: a bathroom and office lay in the front half, and an enormous bed and small living area in the other. This was his den—his home away from home. Few of his bevy made it up here, apparently, which I guess made me special.

It was just such a shame I would never be special enough...

I shoved the thought away and stopped in front of the sliding doors. The night was dark, and the moon hidden behind a storm about to unleash her fury. The balcony, like the loft, lay wrapped in shadows, but streetlights glimmered on the streets below, forlorn stars whose light was about to be muted by the icy rain sweeping toward us.

It was the sort of night in which the Annwfyn loved to hunt.

Whether they could now that Rogan, who’d been my brother’s boss at the National Fae Museum, had successfully stolen Agrona’s Claws—three ancient artifacts that had the power to destroy a world—from us and taken them into Annwfyn, remained to be seen. His goal had been to forever end their threat in revenge for them erasing his entire family, and he’d given his life to achieve that aim.

And while there’d been no reported attacks in the five days since that cataclysmic event, no one was sure how long the peace would last.

Not even the goddess responsible for the Claws’ existence.

Energy surged across the night yet again, but this time, it was filled with an unworldly—perhaps even ungodly—heat.

I opened the sliding door and stepped out. The wind hit me immediately, running chill fingers through my short red hair and sending goose bumps skittering across my skin.

I was tempted to go back inside and grab a coat, but the rising sense of urgency had me padding across the patio instead. The yellow glow of the streetlights below puddled across the wet tarmac, highlighting the emptiness while casting the areas beyond into deeper shadows. The old city wall dominated the other side of the street, and beyond it lay one of the world’s oldest racecourses.

Whatever I sensed wasn’t hiding within the track’s confines, however. It was on the street below somewhere, hiding in plain sight, and that usually meant a shadow shield was being used. If it was, they’d be standing well away from the lights, which could shred a shield instantly. Unless, of course, they had one able to operate in both dark and light situations. They were generally very, very expensive, though, and technically illegal, although that had never stopped anyone from using them before now.

I narrowed my gaze and studied the street, but couldn’t see the airy shimmer that sometimes indicated a shield. He—or she—was there; I could feel it, but I was simply too far away to spot him.

A thick coat holding a musky, earthy, and very manly scent dropped lightly around my shoulders, then arms slid around my waist and pulled me back against a body that was warm and muscular. Lips brushed my neck, a featherlight caress that sent desire leaping through me. I leaned into Cynwrig’s warmth and said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It wasn’t you so much as the cold air whipping in from the open door.”

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