Shadows Before the Sun

the desolation, the sadness.

Inside, it was hollow and gutted, except for a few broken bits of pottery. Scenes painted onto the walls were faded or chipped away. It was easy to imagine a family living there, the place filled with voices, the running feet of children, of gatherings. A home this large should be filled with family.

But now it was empty, the shutters on the windows gone or hanging askew, left open to the elements, the wind and leaves, the insects and birds . . .

The clip of boots sounded on the stones behind me and then stopped.

I stilled, a zing of alarm sliding up my spine.

Several seconds passed. I didn’t move. The visitor didn’t move.

Then, slowly I turned to see a man leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding me with an even but curious expression. Could’ve been a siren or an Adonai. He certainly had the looks—tall, golden brown hair, muscular build—but I wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until he spoke.

One thing, however, I could tell. He was one powerful sonofabitch.

“When visitors come to Fiallan,” he said in a deep baritone, “this usually isn’t on the sightseeing list.”

I didn’t feel threatened . . . just wary and on guard. He, on the other hand, projected a calm indifference, and his aura was astounding—a rainbow of colors snapping like an energy field around him. Hadn’t seen that before.

“It wasn’t locked,” I responded.

He didn’t move, didn’t answer, just kept staring at me with one corner of his mouth turned up in a faintly mocking smile.

“What is this place?” I asked, trying to get a better feel for him. “Seems a shame to leave it abandoned. The view is incredible.” I glanced at the wide terrace. Columns framed out either side. It was completely open, no doors, no curtains . . . but it was similar to the room Pelos had given us in the palace. I could hear the sea from where I stood. It was easy to imagine it as it might have been, framing the view like a massive picture window, maybe soft sheer curtains blowing in a breeze, a fire burning in the basins beyond each corner of the pool, now dried up and crusted with algae.

The stranger pushed off the wall and strode to the opposite side of the opening where he stared out at the sea, giving me a better view of him. Nice profile. Straight nose, stubborn chin, hair that had a bit of wave to it, the length brushing the collar of the thin leather jacket he wore over a white dress shirt. The shirt was open at the neck and he wore faded jeans.

Well, one thing was sure; he’d been around humans for a while.

He drew back the sides of his jacket and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “This was the house of Elekti-Kairos. A place of grave dishonor. Of horrors better left in the shadows.” He turned to look at me, his eyes a startling golden brown. “Left like this as a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

“What brings you here, to this place in particular?”

I had no good answer for that. “Curiosity, I guess. You?”

His lips curved up again into that same mocking smile. “Following you.”

Inside my senses were screaming red alert! but at the same time, I knew there was no imminent danger, no menace or malice coming from him.

“Confusing, isn’t it?” His grin grew wider. “On a primal level, your body is telling you I’m a threat. I’m predator, you’re prey. Yet, your signals are crossing.” He shrugged in a casual yet arrogant manner. “Confuses the enemy. Lets me strike at will. Useful, no?”

Point taken, I wanted to say, but instead moved on. “So what happened to the people who lived here?” I stepped off the main floor to the terrace stones and then sat down, angling myself to see the stranger as he stood at the far column. I wanted the chance to get a deeper read on him, to figure out if he was friend or foe, and show him that I wasn’t interested in a battle of wills or powers.

“Bad things. Very bad things.” He leaned against the column behind him, hands still shoved in his pockets. Very relaxed, it appeared. “Tell me, Charlie Madigan, if you find Niérian is dead, will you leave or stay to right the wrong that was done here, in his home?”

His words were like a stun gun to my brain. Thank God I was sitting down because I might have fallen. My mind scrambled to get past the shock and process what he’d said.

Oh God. I was in Hank’s home. He had changed his name when he came to our world, to start fresh, make a new life for himself . . . Christ. I was in his fucking house. The house of Elekti-Kairos. A place of dishonor.

This guy knew my name and why I was here, which meant I couldn’t let him leave. Guess I was getting that fight I was itching for, after all. I stood slowly, shaking on the inside but calm on the outside. My hand moved back the cloak and rested on the grip of the Hefty. “Who are you?”

He eyed me for a long, calculating moment. “You’re definitely making a name for yourself in . . . certain circles.”

“What else is new?” I said dryly. “You have about three seconds to answer my question before being in a world of hurt.”

A light of humor appeared in his eyes, making the gold seem brighter, as though it was lit from within. “Threats already?” He pushed off the column, removing his hands from his pockets, and moved toward me with an easy, deadly stride. In an instant, his expression went from humorous to predatory. “I can be friend or foe.” The smooth warning gave me chills. “The choice is yours.”

“Not interested in either, thanks.”

“Oh come, now. You’re too involved now not to choose sides. And if you don’t . . . well, wild cards always get hunted and killed.”

Now I was getting mad. I moved toward him, not stopping until we met in the middle of the room. “Are you threatening me?”

“Seems fair.”

I pulled my Hefty and aimed it at his heart. “I’m going to ask you one more time, who are you, and how do you know about me?”

He regarded my weapon as though I was pointing a pencil at him, and sighed as if in pain, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “My name is Leander. I err on the side of good. Usually. As long as I get to kill things. I’m here to”—he glanced down the length of my body and up again, his eyes meeting mine with an arrogant light—“feel you out and see if you’re worthy of my offer. And I must say, I prefer your natural hair color better. You had a beautiful shade, like polished mahogany.”

“How do you know Hank?”

“First I must complete your interview.”

“Well, let me help you speed things up.”

I pulled the trigger, done with whatever weird-ass game he was playing. The tag would stun him for only a moment, but it’d be long enough for me to subdue him—hopefully.

The tag embedded in his chest, shuddering through him. His eyes fluttered closed and his arms spread wide as though he liked what the sound wave did to him. Psycho. His arms went down, his eyes opened, and he grinned. “They said you were a hothead. My favorite kind.”

I didn’t ask who “they” were, nor did I want to know his “favorite kind” of what.

He snapped his fingers. A sheer dome surrounded us, its edges sparking until it was completely enclosed, and then shimmered like thin glass with millions of tiny air bubbles. I could see through it, but was pretty sure I couldn’t go through it.

Cool air hit my skin, followed by warmth. Odd. I glanced down and saw that my cloak and weapons were missing.

Okay, now I was pissed.

The fucker did not just put me in a black leather bodysuit. Except, he did. And the fact that he was standing there grinning like a damned fool was more than I could take. “You are so going down.”

“Be glad I didn’t opt for more skin.”

I shook my head, thoroughly disgusted and feeling the hot sweep of power tingle through my veins. We