Blood and Sorcery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  That, though, said nothing of what Bastian had told them earlier. An eradicator. An anti-mage—more like anti-magic. If his teeny, tiny rune could halt all magic flow and use, even Vale’s runic magic, it was mind-blowing. The world had certainly changed while he was dead, and not for the better.

  With runes like that, hidden so well from sight, the world was one step closer to absolute mage control. And since they were hidden and no one knew of their existence, mages would be helpless against eradicators. If enough people got the runes, it was quite feasible all magic could be wiped out. Bands of mercenaries hellbent on total eradication could slaughter every mage they came upon.

  Tamlen understood where the fear of magic came from, but what he could not understand was why people thought magic made mages different. They weren’t different; they were the same. They were still human, and yet they were hated by others simply because of the power running through their blood? It was an archaic fear, something he never grasped the reason for. If anything, mages should be revered as higher than human, for they could hold power no non-mage could ever dream of. The old gods that were worshipped eons ago were probably nothing more than mages who gained a cult following.

  Perhaps, Tamlen realized, Zyssept was nothing more than an old mage.

  The thought caused him to slow in his pleasuring of Lena. If Zyssept was nothing but a mage who had found some way to gain a long life, he could be killed all the same. Maybe Bastian could use his eradicator rune and they could defeat him, free Lena from the old god’s grasp.

  He inhaled her scent before his tongue circled the small wet mound. Through the window, the world grew darker as dusk coated the land. She smelled of skin and sweat, but what Bastian had said before rang true: she tasted like life and sunshine. Sunshine, maybe, because she was warm. Life, because she was his life. He owed his life to her, and he would give her his second death if he had to.

  As he brought her to the edge, he felt her body shake with an orgasm. She let out a soft moan, her toes curling. He watched her as she came, unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers from her as he lifted his head. Lena was beautiful regardless of what position she was in.

  Tamlen would do anything for her, even conspire to kill an old god.

  Lena’s feet drew her through the farmhouse. Night had fallen, yet with all the candles lit around the counters, tables, and other surfaces, it looked like day. She stood in the living room, where a crude carpet sat before a straw-filled couch. Its design of red stitches on tan fabric called to her memory, a memory she fought to repress.

  She’d played on that carpet before. She’d…

  She shook her head, not wanting to think about her childhood. To do so would only remind her of her parents, those she’d lost. Those she’d killed. The blackfire she’d gained from her deal with Zyssept. Lena wanted to tear her gaze from the carpet, but she found she could not. There was something about it that tugged at her mind, begging to be remembered.

  Lena spun away from the rug, not wanting to face whatever it was this place wanted to show her. She moved to the wooden beam that supported the dividing wall between the living space and the kitchen area, running her fingers along the splintered wood, her nails scraping it just a bit.

  “Forgive me, Blackblood, for my previous actions. It has been so long, I fear I have forgotten what depths a human mind will go through to forget,” a voice that was both like and unlike anything she’d ever heard rang through her head. Whether it was spoken aloud or whispered straight to her mind, Lena couldn’t say.

  The voice seemed to creep up behind her, whispering its words to the back of her neck. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and she felt the need to crawl under a blanket, to block out the eerie voice. The hairs on her arms stood straight, her skin cold and clammy. It was a deep tone, almost a series of whispers put together, but she knew the voice was male.

  Zyssept, in spite of how she wanted to think of the old god, was not an it. Zyssept was a he. And the thought was perhaps the most startling and worst of them all. It made everything more real, his claim on her mean more than it did before.

  Lena spun around, expecting to see a figure of black with eyes so strange she could hardly bear to gaze into them, but she saw nothing. No one was near her. She stood alone in her parents’ farmhouse. Her men—Bastian, Tamlen, and Vale—were nowhere around. What had happened to them? Where had they gone?

  She wanted to call out to them, but she found her voice lacking. She was, she realized, afraid. Afraid of Zyssept, of what he could do to her and force her to do. If he was an old god, if she had given him her blood, even as a child, it meant he could control her to some degree, could control her men. Zyssept could take them back, accept them into the cold arms of death once again.

  That she wouldn’t allow.

  The mere thought gave her the strength to curl her hands into fists and say, “Why don’t you show yourself to me, Zyssept?”

  There was a pause before the voice that was both everywhere and nowhere spoke, “You are not ready to see me yet, Celena.” The way the voice spoke her name, as if she meant something to him; it made her sick, because she knew it was all an act. A lie to get her to lower her guard.

  She would not believe it. Not for one second.

  “Afraid I will deny you?” Lena asked the empty room, feeling her emotions take over. Bull-headed, irate, slightly annoyed. Before recent events, she hadn’t felt emotions like that since…well, ever. She’d mostly spent her life living low, as under the radar as she could inside the College. She didn’t really have other friends beside Ingrid, and she had no family other than Bastian. To feel rash now was probably reckless.

  “You cannot deny me, for your blood is my own, lest you have forgotten,” the voice reminded her. “You cannot deny me, for you already belong to me. A child’s vow is as much a vow as an adult’s. Though you struggle, you have no choice in the matter. You are mine.”

  “A child,” she sputtered, “does not have the mental capacity to realize what they’re doing! Children don’t think ahead to consequences! As a god, you probably have no idea what makes a child different compared to an adult.”

  Lena stepped away from the wall she clung to, moving down the hallway where her parents’ and her old room sat. An uneasy feeling rose in her gut as she stepped foot into her room, staring at the tall mirror in the corner. The mirror Zyssept had come to her in, the one she’d offered her hand to, oblivious to the true meaning of the offer. She hadn’t even remembered making the deal until recently.

  What a joke. What a sick and twisted joke.

  “Let me ask you this, then,” the voice seeped into her ears, a low and stable timbre. “Do you wish to deny me now because you regret your deal? Do you want to break from me because you are afraid of me? Because you would not make the same bargain if I were to offer it to you today?”

  She…didn’t quite know what to say.

  Lena glanced down to her feet and the wooden floor below. A black mist had started to seep up from the cracks in the wood, coating her feet, rising enough to swallow her ankles. It wasn’t a thick mist, and she couldn’t feel it—but she could smell it. Coppery. Like blood.

  “Would you not,” the voice was right behind her ear, “make the same choice?”

  “I know what you are now,” Lena said, staring hard at the small bed she used to lie in as a child. “I would never willingly accept anything you could offer me.” She felt so sure, so confident, but her confidence was shattered when a set of soft lips grazed her ear and a set of strong, tangible hands grasps her arms, stopping her from turning around.

  He was here, with her. Now.

  “My love, you have no idea what you speak of.” Zyssept’s voice was soothing, and in spite of herself, she exhaled a shaky breath, feeling her nerves start to calm. “You may not have realized who you called out for, but you cried for help. Your cries were so strong, I know I was not the only one who heard you. I was merely the first one there, the first to meet you. I saved you.” />
  Lena blinked, feeling her eyes start to water. None of his words made sense. Saved her from what? She didn’t recall crying out for anyone’s help. She had a normal childhood, until the day when she set the fire and couldn’t stop it.

  “I don’t…” She could hardly speak. “I don’t understand.” Well, so much for being irate and angry at the old god. Here she was, already falling apart. Did she truly have what it would take to stand against him? To fight the King and save the mages in the College? Right now, she wasn’t so sure.

  She was pathetic, wasn’t she?

  “Perhaps it is better if you do not,” Zyssept whispered. “Perhaps you are saner without knowing…” He sighed into her neck, causing her to shiver. “I have done everything I can for you, but you deny me. You plan to fight me. I have done nothing to earn your scorn. I have done nothing but give.”

  The way he spoke, as if he cared about her, like he knew her. He didn’t know her. He hadn’t spent any time with her. He was a god, not a man. Why would he care what she thought of him? Why did it sound as if he wanted her to like him?

  “I offer you everything and anything you desire,” Zyssept carried on. “I freely give you all of me. Why will you not do the same for me? I have never hurt you, never wished you harm. I have always protected you.”

  “Why do you care how I feel about you?” Lena asked quietly. “If it is as you say, then I already belong to you, whether I fight you or not. Why does it matter if I hate you?”

  Zyssept’s hands loosened on her arms, falling until his fingers, a peculiar grey, intertwined with hers. “I am a god of death, not a god of hate.” As if it made everything clearer. As if she understood it all now.

  She didn’t.

  “Death comes for everyone. It does not discriminate, does not play favorites. Sooner or later, everyone passes on. Death is just like love, in a way. Don’t you agree?” There was a pause as his voice grew deeper, firmer. “Or do you deny that as well?”

  Lena didn’t know what to say. “I…” She found she could say hardly a word.

  “I want you to come to me,” Zyssept murmured, and she closed her eyes as a wave of something swept over her. Pleasure? Desire? Some kind of longing she couldn’t control? “I want you to desire me as much as I do you. I will give you time, but know I will not stand back forever. Should you need me, I will be there regardless, whether or not you are ready.” His lips pressed against her neck, and she fell back into him, unable to stand any longer.

  Lena’s eyelids flew open as she awoke from her dream. The sensation of Zyssept’s lips on her neck lingered, and she brought a hand to her throat. The skin tingled, tiny shockwaves of pleasure shooting down her body, originating from the area where his lips had touched. She stared at the ceiling above her, trying to make sense of it. She found she couldn’t, so she’d do her best not to think about it.

  Beside her, Bastian slept soundly. On her left, Vale and Tamlen were fast asleep. One of her men snored softly, but she didn’t pause to figure out who. They were all still naked, and she did her best to slink along the bed and slide off, reaching for her robes and such the moment she got to her feet. She slid her boots on next, pausing to glance at the guys.

  Her guys. Her men. Her boyfriends and her lovers.

  Gods. How stupid was she?

  As she tiptoed to the door, she once again looked back at the three sleeping figures on the bed. She was beyond stupid. Intensely stupid. She was going to leave them and march back into danger. The King might have her caught and tortured. The thought was a frightening one, and she refused to allow herself the hope Zyssept would step in and save her.

  She wouldn’t, couldn’t count on an old god of death, regardless of the things he’d told her in her dreams.

  Don’t wake up, Lena willed to her men. Don’t follow me. Stay here, where it’s safe.

  And then she turned around and walked out of the house after grabbing the Noresh text. With her long sleeves, she was able to keep it mostly out of sight as she walked. There was a purpose in each of her steps, a purpose that would not be denied, even though danger surrounded her. She’d gladly march straight into danger if it meant Ingrid and the other mages—people who had nothing to do with Gregain’s blood magic and necromancy use—were safe from the King’s wrath, even if it meant sacrificing herself for them.

  Until that moment, Lena never believed herself a self-sacrificing sort. The heroes in the books she read were always so willing to toss their lives away and die as they stood up for what they believed in. Nice sentiments, certainly, but stupid. She rather liked living. But as far as she was concerned, her time was numbered anyway. If Zyssept didn’t come to her and claim her, someone would get wind of her necromancy use and expose her. She’d hang one way or another.

  Her feet eventually found the dirt road that traveled between cities in Rivaini. Rivaini was an odd kingdom in that its capital city was also named Rivaini, after the kingdom itself. From what she had read of other kingdoms, Rivaini was alone in that respect. The capital city of Rivaini was the largest in the nation, the most populated. And of course it was—because the city was where the King spent his money. He needed good infrastructure to collect his taxes and good walls to protect his castle.

  Signs were posted at every fork in the dirt road, and Lena followed the ones that pointed toward Rivaini. The world was a few hours from dawn, yet she was wide awake as she walked. She was practically the only one on the road; she supposed most folks didn’t travel in the darkness because one never knew what manner of creature could leap out and attack. And that said nothing about robbers and bandits and other highwaymen. Lena was confident she’d be able to take care of herself. She’d cast spells if she had to.

  Truly, it was such a bizarre thought. To think there was a time, not even so long ago, when she refrained from thinking about using magic. She could hardly stand in the same room as a mage who casted. The only thing she’d ever been comfortable with was potions, and even that—well, it mostly involved testing new brews out for Ingrid.

  What a switch it was from today. Lena never would’ve thought about casting a spell, regardless of whether or not she was defending herself. But after everything, after finding out the truth about Gregain—the one man she used to respect above all others, besides Bastian—her views on magic were certainly changing.

  And Tamlen and Vale…they were so confident in their magic use. Fire and electricity. Flames and lightning. Red and a violet-like yellow. They were experts in their magics; one mage and one rune-covered man. Her men. Her warriors. Maybe they were changing her for the better.

  Lena then thought about Bastian. How in all of Rivaini had she even known where the King had the plague victims buried? How did she know where to run? Something had taken over her, guided her in a way, so she ran straight for it, over miles and miles of countryside fields. It was almost instinctual, like a force inside her head knew where to go.

  Could it have been Zyssept?

  No. Zyssept was an old god, and whatever twisted game he tried to play with her, she refused to be a part of it. Lena would not fall for any of his lies.

  Still…it was all so strangely coincidental it couldn’t possibly be happenstance.

  She did feel a bit bad for leaving Bastian with Vale and Tamlen. He didn’t know them too well yet, but she had no choice. She couldn’t be seen with them, for they would then be at risk, too. And of course there was the whole should-be-dead thing when it came to Bastian. While Tamlen and Vale were centuries dead, Bastian wasn’t. His death was still fresh in the scheme of things. His face might be recognized by some city guardsmen, not to mention definitely recognized by the King. So she had to leave him, leave them all. She hoped they’d lay low while she was gone.

  She hoped even more they wouldn’t get mad at her, but she knew it was a futile hope, for as soon as they realized what she’d done, they’d try to follow her. With any luck, her wordless command of not following her took hold, and they wouldn’t be able to. Thou
gh, when it came to her and luck…she didn’t have the best track record.

  They’d get mad at her. They might even hate her for a bit, but she’d rather have them hate her than allow everyone in the College to take the brunt of the King’s anger.

  If the King had buried Bastian alive…all because he didn’t see a further use for the chevalier-turned-spy, Lena knew he’d wipe out the College without question. And if he felt unprotected without mages, he could get other mages from other Colleges transferred. Although he knew, thanks to Bastian, Sumer had eradicators. People who could null magic use. King Philip could surround himself with an army of mages and Sumer could still theoretically make them as useless as any other common citizen.

  How many mages could Bastian silence? Was it an unlimited amount, or was there a limit to his eradicator runes? Surely there had to be. Surely one eradicator could not nullify an entire army’s worth of mages. If that were true, if the eradicators only could stop a few mages each, then any future conflict between Sumer and Rivaini would come down to sheer numbers. Or perhaps assassins. Assassins sent to kill the eradicators. Assassins sent to kill each other’s royalty.

  It didn’t matter to her, not at the moment. Lena had other focuses, other goals on her mind, such as saving Ingrid and the other innocent mages.

  The forests and abandoned fields soon gave way to farms that were in use. Lands cultivated and sowed. Fields of corn and wheat. Meadows of apple trees, gnarled and knotted. Some farmers were already out, taking advantage of the predawn temperature of the air.

  She drew closer to Rivaini, passing mounds of dirt that she knew, maybe with her connection to the dead, buried the corpses Gregain had risen. Old farmers were the likely target. The city’s cemeteries, too. Bastian was fortunate that his unmarked grave was too far away from the city, otherwise he might’ve been among them.

  By the time she saw the high stone walls surrounding the city, her stomach felt like stone. To say she was uncertain about what she was readying herself to do would be a lie, for she knew she had to do it. She was only fearful of the outcome. What if telling the other enchanters, telling the King or anyone who would listen that it was Gregain and Gregain only who used dark magics didn’t make a difference?