Page 48 of Cursed Shadows 2

Neither of them sees us.

They would if they looked.

But only their fones exist.

I see that often in my more recent visits. First time I ever came here, it was different. These fones didn’t exist, or at least they weren’t common enough that I saw a single one of them.

Whatever that thing is, I know it’s a plague on their lands.

But lucky us because that round man has something I want, and I’d like him to stay distracted.

A black sweater of sorts, but with a hood, is tossed over the bag on the ground, at the side of his boot.

“We’re stealing that,” I whisper and watch the hooded sweater like it might grow legs and run. I’m honed in on it.

Daxeel traces my stare.

After a beat, he reaches into his waistband—and threads a small knife between his fingers.

I throw my wild stare at him.

“No,” I hiss and swat at him.

Brow arched, he turns his stare on me. A look that’s half stunned at my telling him what to do, but alsodaringme to try it again.

I don’t forget what he is.

“We’re only stealing,” I say, softer, and rest my hand on his wrist. “Not killing.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes narrow on me. But after a heartbeat, he relents and tucks the knife away.

This next one has my nerves loud enough to quieten my voice, “And your weapons.”

He swerves a look of outrage at me.

It takes all my strength to stay rooted on the spot, to not shrink back under his fierce stare. “Humans don’t go around wearing knives holstered to them. It is against their laws.”

Unmoving, he keeps his stare hooked on mine.

A soft sigh ribbons from me as I reach for him. My palm flatten on his chest, his muscles clamping under my touch, and I hope the gesture is enough to appease him.Soothehim.

“You only have to move them to your chest or hide them in your boots—”

“There are already weapons in my boots.”

The urge to smile snakes over my lips. I fight it off, forcing my mouth into a flattened line. “Then hide them in your pockets or something. They just can’t be in sight.”

For a strangled heartbeat, I watch his chest swell with the long, deep breath he draws in through his nostrils. Drawing on scraps of patience, I don’t doubt. But after a heavy moment, he yields to me. He wrenches out his knives and daggers from the thigh holsters, then rams them into the straps banded around his chest and biceps and forearms.

He doesn’t look thrilled about it with those deep indented shadows lashed over his tight jawline, the hue of his kohled eyes darkening into pools of barely-blue onyx.

Still, I reward him with a kiss to his chin. It’s all I can reach as I lean up on my tiptoes, and he makes no move to bring his face down to mine and meet me.

Keep your grievances, dark male. I know I won that round.

Turning on my heels, my sneakers squeak a horrid sound as I make for the grey path. It’s crafted from a material I don’t know outside of this world, dark and stone-flecked, but mixed with a grey substance that I sense is unnatural, like most things here.

Daxeel is my shadow down the path. He sticks close, at my side but behind me, like to have me just out of arm’s reach means I’ll be snatched up by some beast and eaten whole.

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