Allison Pang - A Brush of Darkness

I hesitated, watching Brystions dark eyes
flare gold with passion.

For a moment, I was pinned beneath them, drowning in the sudden promise of things best left to the protective shadow of night. It left me raw and aching; my hips trembled with the urge to submit to him. I blinked, and realized he had moved closer.

Crap.

I stood my ground. Maybe if I didnt move, hed back down and Id pass whatever preternatural bullshit test he was running.

Or maybe I was in big trouble.

His cheeks curved up in amusement as he reached out to run a lightly callused thumb over my lower lip. Pretty Dreamer, he crooned, leaning close so that his exquisite pout lay within inches of my lips.

Yup. Big trouble.

I swallowed hard. My brain worked overtime to come up with something... anything... to say, but all I could manage was a strangled groan, helpless against the rolling wave of pleasure that pulsed low in my belly.

The room began to spin, and I staggered backwards. My foot slipped on a loose pile of paper, my hands gripping the edge of the counter to keep from falling. The dark stranger captured my wrist, fingers digging hard enough to make the bones ache, trying to steady me, his face ashen.

Hold on, Abby.

I had only a moment to wonder how he knew my name before my vision faded into blackness....

A Brush of Darkness is also available as an eBook

Pocket Books A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by Allison Pang

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

First Pocket Books paperback edition February 2011

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Designed by Esther Paradelo Cover illustration by Nathalia Suellen. Design by Lisa Litwack.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-4391-9832-2
ISBN 978-1-4391-9841-4 (ebook)

To Dan, Connor, and Lucyyou are my Heart.
And to my mother, whatever CrossRoads she may wander.

F or all that writing is a seeming solitary occupation, the act of getting a book published is a team effort, and to that effect Ive got quite a few people to thank. Its almost a given that Im going to forget someone, but I shall do my best.

To my editor, Danielle Poiesz, for taking something good and insisting I make it great, and for having the confidence in me to do it right. And for the chocolate, the power of which can never really be underestimated.

To my agent, Colleen Lindsay, for making me remove all the bacon. Well, some of the bacon, anyway, since the power of bacon cant really be underestimated, either.

To Jeffe Kennedy, for being my midnight sounding board, supreme idea-bouncer, and all-around Good Person.

To Liz Pelletier, for being my drive-by girl, my pitch queen, and also for making sure I didnt expose myself to comma shame.

To Staci Myers, for talking me down off the cliff more times than I care to count, and above all, for believing in me.

To my beta readersDawn McClure, Kirsten Higman, and Jane Houleyour honest feedback was beyond invaluable and much appreciated, and your continuing support and good wishes mean so very much to me.

To Darchala Chaoswind, for making such pretty pictures.

And to K. A. Krantz, Danica Avet, La-Tessa Montgomery, and Simon Lartersfor making me laugh and reminding me of what the important things are.

Between twilight and dawn

Btwixt heaven and hell

Travel the CrossRoads

Whence the OtherFolk dwell...

C at piss and cabbages.

It was the only way to describe it, really. Even on a good day, the bookstore smelled like a mix of dust and dirty feet. The AC had coughed its last an hour ago, leaving me the proud employee of an ad hoc sauna. A drip above the lintel had forced me to keep the door closed to avoid a miniature lake from forming on the warping hardwood floor. The remainder of the morning was doomed to be a soggy, stinky mess.

The weathered sign hanging from the shutter outside read PROSPECTUS INTELLIGENTSIA TABERNUS. I called it the Pit for short. Probably unkind, but God knows the place reeked like one this morning. Still, the stale odor didnt seem to stop my steady stream of customers from leaving wet trails and dripping umbrellas in their wakes, though I suspected their visits were more of an effort to get out of the rain than driven by any great desire to find a coverless copy of a Dean Koontz novel.

The rain let up just before lunch and with it went the last of my customers, an old man waddling into the wet with a paper sack full of ancient sailing books.

Bliss.

Time for some retro Tom Jones. I loaded up my latest playlist on the silver iPod mounted on the counter and wriggled my way to the front window, tinny speakers blaring. Flipping over the CLOSED FOR LUNCH sign, I mock strutted my way to the minifridge in the storage room for a couple of Cokes and a sandwich, my hips swaying counterpoint. I was half a can and three verses into Shes a Lady before the main door creaked open again.

The bells chimed in their plaintive way, somehow cutting through the rumbling growl of the music. A man drifted across the threshold. The grace of his movements caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise. He seemed a shadow, sucking up all the light from the room. The exquisite darkness of his ebony eyes swept over me, primitive and uncompromising. And overdone as all hell. Still. The silken fall of his hair just brushed the top of his shoulders and Ive always been a sucker for good grooming and potential wangst.

What the hell. Id bite.

Whats new, pussycat? I purred.

I need to talk to Moira. The timbre of his words pushed past me, heated and hollow.

Im afraid Moira isnt here.

His eyes narrowed, the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly. The alarms in the back of my head suddenly went off. Im not shy, but the thrum of desire that started beating through my veins as he approached the counter wasnt normal or natural. If this guy was human Id swear off bacon for a month.

I turned down the music in a futile attempt to distract myself from the elegant curve of his cheekbones and the smooth paleness of his skin. He glided toward me, each rolling step filled with a lazy arrogance. A faint shimmer of silver dusted his hair, fading in the damp light that trickled through the front bay window. I blinked.