by Joy Nash
Ultimately he would fail Maddie, too. It couldn’t be otherwise; to set her free would mean risking the survival of his clan. Maddie might claim to support his cause, might even believe that she loved him. As he had loved Cybele, which ultimately had meant nothing. It was almost inevitable that an awakening dormant would form such a bond with his or her anchor.
No, what Cade had experienced with Cybele had not been the true love of bonded mates. Similarly, whatever Maddie felt for Cade was wrapped in lust and desperation, not freedom. How could he trust the constancy of any vow Maddie made during transition? She had no idea of the power that awaited her on the other side of her crisis. Once she claimed her magic and that of her ancestors, she would know who she was: Azazel’s descendant. Dusek’s kin. A natural enemy of Clan Samyaza. His enemy. Even if he saved her life—and he would fight to do that with every breath in his body—she’d emerge from the crisis enslaved. She would truly despise him then.
He shoved that thought into a dark corner of his mind and opened the door leading out of the cottage, then paced once around the building within the sphere of protection. Returning to the door, he entered and spoke the spell’s final word. The windows went black. Only the five candles illuminated the gloom.
It made no difference to Cade. What he was about to do was best done in darkness.
The blue center of the flame danced. Instinct screamed for Lilith to avert her gaze. She did not. The light hurt; it seemed to bore a hole through each eye. Even from an arm’s length she could feel the heat.
She knew the magic would not hurt her. How could it? The power was part of her.
“The flame is neither form nor thought,” Azazel said. “It is beyond those earthly attributes. It is a thing of the sky, born of the lightning that strikes with the storm. It is the power of Heaven. But only those with the magic of Heaven in their being may know its secrets.”
The magic of Heaven lived in Lilith’s being. Sometimes it battered against her ribs trying to break free. The sheer power of it frightened her. But with her father at her side—guiding, coaxing—the menace faded into nothingness.
“Open your hands, Daughter.”
She obeyed, and Azazel transferred the ball of fire into her possession. She felt its heat but no pain. The flames danced in her palm, shot spikes of light along her fingers. Power seeped through her skin to meld with her own magic. Her body grew heavy, as if her feet had sent roots into the soil. Something subtle stirred in her dark, private woman’s place.
“It is so beautiful,” she whispered.
“Beautiful,” her father said, “and deadly. When called by one too weak to wield it, the magic will take its own course. Or it will be snatched by a more powerful adept. You must be master of the power you wield, Lilith. Always.”
She spilled flame from one hand to the other and back again. “With your help, Father, I will learn.”
His lips curved, and her heart sang at the sight. She had pleased him. It was all she lived for.
“You learn quickly, Lilith. I am pleased.” His dark eyes raked over her. “Very pleased indeed.”
At Azazel’s direction, she placed the flame in the forge. There was no fuel for the fire to consume, but that did not matter. Its fuel was Lilith’s magic. The fire remained steady.
The clay crucible lay open. In the base was the powder her father had called the prime substance. It was so dark it looked like a hole in the universe.
Lilith took the knife and held the tip to her right palm. Thin red lines crisscrossed the flesh there, badges of her courage, of her devotion. This time she hardly felt the bite of the blade as it opened a new gash.
Blood dripped into the bowl to mingle with the black powder. She capped the crucible swiftly and sealed it with wax, then set the orb on the blue fire. The flames burned in her heart as well as among the stones.
She knelt before the forge, watching, waiting, until Azazel nodded. Without hesitation she reached into the fire with her bare hands. Her flesh did not burn.
Azazel leaned close, his breath quickening. His crimson aura pulsed. “Open it, Lilith.”
His hand came down on her head as she worked the blade. The clay parted at the joining. She lifted the upper half and laid it aside.
A gasp parted her lips. The prime substance was gone. In its place lay a crimson jewel, round and glittering, as large across as the first joint of her thumb. It had been born of her magic, and of her blood.
“It . . . it is beautiful.”
Satisfaction laced her father’s voice. “As are you, Lilith. You have done well. Indeed, you have exceeded my wildest expectations.”
She glowed under the praise. The red stone glowed as well.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Azazel lifted the gem from its nest and placed it in her cupped hands. “What does it feel like?”
She closed her eyes, as he had taught her, and listened with an angel’s understanding.
“Life,” she said. “Life eternal.”
“And so it will be,” Azazel said.
Fire.
Fire in her hands. Fire on her skin. Under her skin. Burning her from the inside out. Licking the tips of her breasts, the swell of her belly, the entrance to her womb. Maddie’s body was the crucible. Her nature was sealed inside. Magic was the fire, the transforming force.
She was hot. So hot. She couldn’t bear it. She tore at her T-shirt. It was dirty, soaked with sweat. Plastered to her skin. She had to get rid of it.
The fabric ripped and fell away. Cool air struck her bare chest. It wasn’t enough. The fire inside her ribs was too strong. It burned. It tortured.
The inferno between her legs was worse. It pulsed with ferocious rhythm. Her inner muscles contracted on nothing. She pressed her hand between her legs and moaned. She was so empty. She was on fire. For him.
For whom? She opened her eyes and looked wildly about. She couldn’t remember.
Where was she? Jackknifing into a sitting position, she whipped her head around, taking in whitewashed walls and spare, heavy furniture. What was this place? This room? She didn’t know it, didn’t remember it. How had she gotten here?
Four walls, floor, ceiling: they all twisted and roiled. The bed and her stomach lurched. She grabbed at the white sheets. Light raced over the plaster walls, leaving trails of sparks. The stars zinged in her direction. She ducked.
Mocking laughter erupted from a gaping, ravenous maw. The horrific creature from the dingy Israeli hotel crouched at the foot of her bed. Its dripping tongue lapped at her toes. She scrambled backward and collided with the bars of an iron headboard; her fingers clung to the cold, curling metal.
The monster slithered across the mattress. It was coming to take her! Consume her. Destroy her. Suck her into madness. She couldn’t surrender to it. Wouldn’t. She flung herself from the bed.
Her knees hit the stone floor. Pain exploded and she cried out. But, Stay calm, a voice whispered. Pain is an illusion. You will defeat it when the magic comes. And then you will use your power to escape the son of Samyaza.
The words ricocheted inside her skull. Was it truth? Was Cade the monster?
No. Cade appeared in an open doorway. The instant she caught sight of him, the monster howled. Did it fear him? As she focused on him, the creature receded to the corner of the room.
Cade wanted her to come to him; she felt the command in her head. The urge to obey was overwhelming and she didn’t even consider resisting. Nor did she want to.
I love him. The truth exploded with blinding clarity. She loved this man, this Nephilim demon who had shown her nothing but tenderness and understanding.
She scrambled off the bed and flung herself across the room. But the doorway, and Cade with it, kept moving. First to the left, then to the right. She couldn’t reach him.
The monster mocked her failure, chortling with gleeful laughter. The voice whispered into her ear, Fool! You do not love him. You cannot. He means you harm. You must flee.
; But Cade’s voice was also present in her mind: Maddie. Caraid.Come to me.
Need throbbed between her legs and deeper. Inside her. She wanted Cade. She would do anything to reach him, and in the end it was his command—and her acceptance of his right to make it—that prevailed.
She lurched into his outstretched arms. The monster and its laughter drained away; even the whispering voice fell silent. She nearly sobbed with relief. Sliding down his body, she knelt at his feet. Her frantic fingers tore at the button on his jeans.
As she ripped open his zipper, he sprang hard and ready into her hands. She loved the feel of him. So firm, so smooth. She inhaled deeply; the heady scent of him spun her senses. She stroked him, pulling hot velvet skin over an iron-hard shaft. He let out a sound midway between a groan and a growl.
Fisting his hands in her hair, trapping her, he held her motionless, her lips just inches from the broad, smooth head of his shaft. The restraint was safety. Bliss. She craved his power, trusted in it. With Cade in control, the madness could not touch her. He was her anchor; only he could stop her fall into a yawning pit of insanity.
She opened her mouth and licked her lips. “Please.”
A shudder passed through him. On a rough exhalation he hauled her to her feet. When he spoke, his voice was harsh while his words unexpectedly tender.
“Soon, caraid. Soon. I know what you need. I promise you, you’ll have it soon.”
“No,” she begged. “Now.”
He lifted her into his arms and strode back to the bed. The sensation of weightlessness was disorienting. She felt a surge of something that could only be magic that was inside her, under her skin, inside her ribs, buried in her deepest being. Beating its wings, demanding freedom. It would be free. She could feel it awakening. Expanding.
Too strong. Too fast. Too big. Her frail human body could never contain it!
Tingling needles pierced her skin everywhere, or so it felt. She stared at her arm crooked around Cade’s neck. It glowed in dark rainbow colors. Her skin was translucent and sparkling.
“No!” Denial. Terror that struck her like a slap to the face. The love she’d felt just moments before ripped to shreds. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. It wasn’t real. She couldn’t be transforming into . . . what Cade was. She was human. Not a monster. Not Nephilim.
“No!” Trust forgotten, love forgotten, she tried to twist from Cade’s arms. Tried to fling herself over the edge of the bed to the floor. His arms tightened around her as her struggles turned frenzied. This was his fault. He’d forced this on her. He’d seduced her, kidnapped her, drugged her, made her want him. He wanted to imprison a demon’s nature in her human body. She couldn’t let him do it.
Now you see the truth. Now you know what is at stake. Your freedom. Your life. Stop him. Get away. You have the power.
The rasping voice was back, whispering inside her skull. Get away. You have the power.
Did she? And if that was true, how could she use it? She was on the bed, all but helpless, Cade’s weight pressing her down. And it felt good, so good, despite her fear, despite her panic, despite the warnings of the voice in her head. Waves of ravenous lust lifted her hips. She needed him. Needed him to fill her craving. She didn’t want to escape him.
War raged on in her mind, her doubts battling her need. Whispers inside her head urged her to fight. Finally, the voice succeeded in drowning out Cade’s gentle voice. Panic exploded.
“No!”
With a sudden burst of strength, she clawed at Cade’s face, his arms, his chest. He responded with curses. She landed a blow to his ear and almost escaped. One leg was over the edge of the mattress; her foot touched the ground. Then his hand clamped on her upper arm and yanked her back.
Something cool encircled her wrist and tightened. With a cry she tried to break free, but the cord held, its knot sealing into a seamless cuff around her wrist. She stared, uncomprehending. This was no normal rope. Not something to be cut, or torn, or unknotted.
The cuff glowed with magic. She followed its trailing end to Cade’s arm, where it disappeared into the pattern of his tattoo. The cord was his tattoo. But . . . he’d thrown a tattoo net at Raphael. It had disappeared with the angel under the sea. When and how had it returned? How could it be that he was unraveling the same tattoo, transforming ink into fetters?
His expression was grim. He tore the rope, leaving a length trailing from Maddie’s arm. He yanked its free end toward a corner of the bed’s iron headboard. He meant to tie her to it.
“No!” she screamed. “No!”
She couldn’t let this happen. Bound, she’d never escape.
She threw herself at him, hissing and clawing. The rope wove tightly about the bed’s decorative iron scrollwork, immobilizing her left arm. She punched out with her right fist, only to have that arm caught and secured by a second length of magical cord. She was now bound, naked from the waist up, arms spread.
The restraint increased her frenzy. Kicking, churning, cursing, she threw all her rising madness into the fight. The monster, emboldened, reappeared and approached from the shadows. Its terrible gaping jaw was laughing.
Cade stood out of reach at the foot of the bed. His expression was blank, his massive body immobile but powerful. He watched her struggle until her strength gave out and she collapsed onto the mattress, panting; only then did he move, grasping one ankle and securing it to the footboard. The second ankle was swiftly handled the same, almost before her mind had time to register what he’d done. She lay open and bound before him.
“No,” she gasped. “Please. I don’t want this. Untie me.”
He didn’t answer. His left hand came up to touch the tat on his right breast. The image of a jeweled dagger separated from his skin and became solid in his hand. She was trussed like an animal. The magical shackles couldn’t be broken.
He turned the blade toward her, and she sucked in a breath. All this just to kill her? Was she to be trussed and offered as some kind of sacrifice?
He mounted the bed, leaning over her. She felt him in her mind then. His presence pushed away the dark, gaping mouth of insanity. Even the whispering voice fell silent. Only the tide of her rising desire remained. And she knew the truth: she was his. He was her master, utterly and completely. It was useless to resist.
As his knife neared, she did nothing to stop it. But the blade did not touch her skin. It sliced instead through her shorts and underwear. Cade yanked the last shreds of fabric away, and she had no defense left. His gaze raked down her body.
It was as if he trailed a finger over her, awakening lust in every cell. When his scrutiny lingered on her breasts, her nipples peaked. When he gazed between her legs, a flood of slick lust poured from her body. His skin glowed, matching the colors chasing over her. His chest rose and fell heavily, but his eyes gave away nothing.
He left the bed and shoved his pants, already open at the waist, over his hips and to the floor. He stood before her, naked, aroused and magnificent. His eyes glowed red, his opalescent skin gleamed with dark menace. His shaft, rising from that nest of dark, curling hair, jutted toward her.
Her demon nature responded.
Chapter Sixteen
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Why she bothered to ask, Cybele didn’t know. She always knew when Artur was near. The sensation was like effervescent glitter rushing through her veins—or tiny, painful shards of glass. With Artur, she never knew which extreme to expect.
This morning, when she woke, there was . . . nothing. Maybe this was what Oblivion felt like.
The scent of strong coffee had drawn her from bed to the kitchen. Brax, seated at the table, glanced at her over the screen of his laptop. Hearing Cybele’s inquiry, he leaned back in his chair and reached for his mug.
“He left a few hours ago.”
“Where?” she asked. “Prague.”
“Damn.” The warmth drained from her face and ice-cold fingers clawed at her throat. Knees abruptly weak, she sat
down hard in the empty chair across from Brax. “He’s gone to confront Dusek.”
Brax shook his head, but his eyes were troubled. “No. He wouldn’t. Not even Artur is that reckless.”
Cybele offered a withering glance. “You can’t believe that.”
“He’s gathering information. That’s all. Blast it, that better be all he’s doing. He’ll be back soon enough. After Gareth . . .” He trailed off into silence.
Cybele looked at her hands. After Gareth’s transition, he’d begun to say. “Artur expects me to grant Gareth’s petition,” she said.
Brax stood and filled another mug from the coffeepot on the stove. “Artur knows what’s best for the clan.”
“What about what’s best for me? What about what’s best for Artur?”
He handed her the mug. Reflexively, she took a sip.
“Artur doesn’t care what’s best for himself,” Brax said. “He does what’s necessary. For all of us.”
The coffee was very hot and very bitter. “If I anchor Gareth, it will be the end of Artur and me.” Not that there’s much left.
“If you don’t, it could be the end of the clan,” Brax said. “We need every adept we can muster. Artur knows that. You know it.”
“He left the choice to me. He didn’t order me to do this. He could have, but he didn’t.” She swallowed. Her throat burned, but she didn’t think the coffee had anything to do with it. “That has to mean something. Maybe . . . maybe it’s a test. Maybe he wants me to refuse. So we can start over.”
“Cybele . . .” A grimace crossed Brax’s handsome face. “I know you want to believe Artur will forget what happened between you and Cade, but—”