by Leah Ross
Stepping toward the bars, she made a show of thinking about what he’d said. “If I become your host, what’s in it for me?”
His eyes widened slightly and he smiled. “Is that… interest I see blooming in those gorgeous blue eyes?” He raised a brow. “I can increase your strength tenfold. I can make you the most powerful mage on this or any other world. You and I would be an unstoppable force together!”
She stepped even closer. “And I could transfer you to me without harming Declan?”
He rolled his eyes. “If that’s important to you, I’m sure you could manage it.”
“Can you show me what you can do with this body now that you control it?” she asked seductively, dragging a fingertip along his jaw.
He captured her hand and kissed her palm. “Now we’re speaking the same language. Honey, I can show you exactly the way this body was meant to pleasure a woman. But why stop there? Take me on, and you can have any man you want. Hell, I can pleasure you every second of every day and you’ll never want a man again.”
“I like the sound of that.” Her lips grazed his.
With a low moan, he grasped the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his. She fought the urge to pull away in disgust. He felt different, tasted different, not at all like Declan. Her mind lingered a moment on the strangeness of it. It was the same mouth, the same tongue, the same body she’d experienced before, but without Declan’s soul, without his tenderness and love, it was nothing but a conglomeration of physical sensations. She felt nothing but revulsion. And she had a job to do.
Continuing the ruse, she stroked her hand over his waistcoat. He groaned. “Will you be letting me out, are you coming in, or shall I just take you between the bars? Because I will, you know.”
“I believe you,” she said with a wicked grin. Reaching for the ties of her bodice, she undid them, allowing him access to her breasts. His eyes and hands were drawn there automatically, and she smiled. Taking advantage of his distraction, she slipped a small binding stone from a concealed pouch at the small of her back and hid it in her palm. Then she stroked his chest again, depositing the stone in his waistcoat pocket.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered in her ear.
She faltered for half a second, the memory of Declan saying those exact words to her as he made love to her traipsing through her mind. She pushed it away. Pressing her hand to his side, over the stone in his pocket, she murmured, “Nuvudro.”
“What?”
She stepped back with a smile as tendrils of magic swirled from the stone, wrapping around him. He stumbled backward, rage flashing in his eyes. He tried to lift his arms, but they were pinned to his sides. “Congratulations, bitch,” he sneered nastily. “You managed to bind me. What were you planning to do next, I wonder? I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
Laria crossed her arms over her chest and smirked at him. “You keep threatening to kill me, but you haven’t yet demonstrated your ability to do so. I think you’re full of shit.”
“All bluster, no balls?” He chuckled. “You mortals are so fucking stupid. I’ve existed longer than you can possibly imagine; I don’t need to wave my hands around to cast a bloody spell.” He glared at her, a bright green glow pulsing from his eyes. “Rdil eln failn!”
“Khordol!” Holding her hands up in front of her, she raised a shield, but it was half a second too late to fully protect her from his spell. The blast sent her skidding backward across the floor. Fortunately, her shield had protected her from the full force of Ashur’s magic, so instead of killing her, the spell rendered her unconscious.
Morgan clamped his mouth closed to stifle his gasp, and took a tentative step toward Laria, wanting to see if she was all right. Then her instructions rang through his brain, and he obediently stayed silent where he was.
With her shield preventing any more spells from reaching her, Ashur could do nothing but wait to see if Laria would wake up. Not wanting to waste energy on unnecessary magic, he waited patiently, contemplating all the ways he would torture her if she did regain consciousness.
Laria lay where she fell, her eyes closed. She’d only passed out for a few seconds, but she needed another minute to plan her next move. She was scared. Scared for Declan, for Jonathan, for the unborn life within her. She had no reason to doubt the information she’d gotten from William, but she’d hoped so fervently that the situation wasn’t as dire as they’d feared. Now she knew it was worse. Ashur’s spell had been blasted at her in the original magical language—Or’Acanthan. Ashur wasn’t just a daeva; the fiend was an evil as old as the magic of their world. It was power-hungry, and now it was furious.
Ashur was stronger than Laria had anticipated, but her shield was strong as well, so she knew he couldn’t get a spell through. If he wasn’t sure if she would wake up, then he wouldn’t waste his magic on protecting himself. Ashur didn’t know Morgan was in the room, so the boy was safe as long as he didn’t reveal himself. I have one shot at this. It has to be now; it has to be everything I have, or it won’t work.
Moving as little as possible, she tested her limbs, fearing that Ashur had managed to bind her. Thank the gods for small miracles. She was able to move. She must have gotten her shield up fast enough to block the binding spell that should have completely petrified her. Here we go. Jonathan, please be ready.
“Wake up, bitch!” Ashur snarled with frustration. “I want to fucking kill you properly!”
Morgan stared at Laria, willing her to stir. Come on, Miss Laria. Wake up, please! I can’t do this without you! Please, wake up!
Concentrating intently upon her shield, but remaining still, she mentally dismissed it so she could channel all of her energy into the banishment spell. Drawing additional strength and power from an amulet hidden at her waist—another of the magical artifacts that Morgan had helped her procure—she abruptly rolled to her side and thrust her hands at the caged man. “OVKOR KONAV!” she shouted, keeping her gaze and the stream of magic trained on the daeva as she stood and advanced toward him.
Morgan breathed a silent sigh of relief and moved closer to the bars of the cell in preparation for trapping the expelled entity.
“No! NO!” Ashur screamed. “You fucking whore! I’LL KILL YOU!”
“You don’t frighten me, and you can’t hurt me.” A smile curled her lips as she saw the inky swirls of the daeva’s true form rising from Declan’s body. She stared the evil down, pressing her hands tight to Declan’s chest. “It must kill you to know that you’ve been beaten by a stupid mortal. Farewell, asshole.”
Suddenly, Declan’s eyes changed from dark loathing to brimming with pain. “Laria, please! I beg ye, stop! I canna take the pain!”
Her eyes filled with tears, and her heart lurched. She nearly lifted her hands when she saw the flicker of evil triumph across his face. She pressed her palms harder against him. “Nice try, but you can’t manipulate me. And you do a terrible impression of Declan.”
He smiled, and this time the warmth reached all the way to his eyes. Laughter mingled with her relieved sigh and tears slid down her cheeks as she realized that Declan had returned to her. No longer under the daeva’s control, the binding spell released and he covered her hands with his. She felt his strength flowing into her as the last tendrils of the dark spirit left his body.
“Jonathan, now!”
“Anklakav!” came the small voice from next to the cell.
A piercing shriek rent the air as the dark mass hovering overhead sucked down into an invisible point—the spirit box held in Morgan’s hands. The screaming suddenly stopped, and Morgan yelled, “Kodilo!” A shuddering blast radiated from the spot where Morgan’s voice had sounded. Then there was nothing but silence.
“Jonathan!” Laria shouted, stepping back from the cell.
Declan squeezed her hands where he still held them against his chest. “Get me out o’ here!”
She reached into her pocket and pressed a key into his hand. “I have to help him!”
Rushing to where she thought Morgan was, she felt around desperately. “Jonathan!”
Declan touched her shoulder. “Lass, allow me. Ovdalo duvdor.”
All residual magic fell away. Morgan lay crumpled on the floor across the room, the box clutched to his chest, red, bloody welts fanning out across every inch of exposed skin.
Laria gasped. “Oh, gods! Jonathan!”
Declan knelt at Morgan’s side, checking for vital signs. Relief flooded him as he found a weak pulse. He looked to Laria. “He’s alive, but barely. Get to Baskin. I’ll bring Jonathan.”
She nodded and turned, then rushed back. She pried the box from Morgan’s hands. “I want this as far away from him, and you, as possible.”
Laria ran from the room, as Declan scooped the boy up from the floor. Hold on, lad. I refuse to let ye die for me.
~*~
“How is he?” Guinn asked, walking into the infirmary.
“Better,” Declan answered, “though he’s no’ yet awakened.”
Guinn went to Morgan’s side and looked the boy over. “At least he no longer looks like some animal clawed at him.”
Declan grunted with pained guilt. “That’s exactly what did happen, Guinn. That evil bastard ripped at every part o’ the lad it could get its filthy claws into as it was sucked into the spirit box. It wanted to take someone down wi’ it, an’ poor Jonathan was the closest target.” He dropped his head into his hands. “The lad lies here because o’ me.”
“This isn’t your fault, Declan.”
“‘Tis all my fault, sir! If I hadna found that cursed coin all those years ago, if I’d been stronger an’ been able to control that beast, this ne’er would have happened.”
Guinn patted Declan’s shoulder. “Well, it’s over now, and I doubt you’ll hear a word of regret from Jonathan, or Laria, or even me. We’re all just glad you’re safe.”
“Laria an’ the bairn are all right?”
Guinn nodded. “Baskin checked on them after tending to Jonathan. She wants to see you.”
“Aye, I’m sure. After the lad wakes. I need to thank them both.” He gazed at the floor. “An’ I need to apologize to ye, Captain. I’m sorry.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I attacked ye, Guinn.”
“You did indeed.” Guinn grimaced. “And I have the bruises to prove it. I’ll be damn certain not to end up on the wrong end of those fists again.”
Declan smirked. “Ye landed plenty o’ fine shots yerself, sir. ‘Twill take Baskin a few more tries to mend this busted rib o’ mine.”
“Yes, well, my hard head could be considered by some to be a lethal weapon. Let’s call it even, shall we?”
Declan smiled. “Aye, sir.”
“I won’t bother asking you to go rest, because I know you won’t leave the boy’s side until you’re sure he’ll recover, so I’ll just remind you to take it easy. You need to recover from this ordeal as well.”
Nodding his assent, Declan answered, “Tell Laria I’ll see her soon.”
Guinn looked back at Morgan. “I never thought I’d be so indebted to a boy so young. Where does one get such courage and integrity so early in life?” Declan shook his head. “I want to know the moment he’s awake,” Guinn said.
Declan agreed, and Guinn offered another supportive pat on the shoulder before leaving his quartermaster to brood in silence.
~*~
Declan knocked on the door to Guinn and Laria’s quarters. Guinn opened it and let him in. “I’m going to check on Mr. Morgan, and then I have a few other things to take care of,” Guinn told Laria. “I’ll be back later. Will you be all right?”
She waved him off. “I’ll be fine, Guinn. Go do what you need to do.”
“You’re not allowed to upset her, Maclairish,” Guinn admonished. “Is that clear?”
“Aye, sir, perfectly.” Guinn closed the door behind him, and Declan turned to Laria, who sat propped up in bed. “How are ye feelin’, lass?”
“Fine, but I can’t say that I’m enjoying my forced bed rest. It’s only been a few days, and I’m already going mad with boredom. Doctor’s orders, though. Baskin was not happy with the vast quantities of energy I expended and the physical toll on my body. At least I won’t have to be stuck in bed forever; the baby is due soon.”
He knelt beside the bed, clasped her hand in his, and bent his head. “Laria, how the hell do I even begin to tell ye how sorry I am?”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “Declan, you don’t have to apologize to me. I knew what I was getting myself into, and I take full responsibility for all of it.”
The raw agony in his eyes as he looked at her made her heart ache. “Ye put yerself an’ the bairn at risk, as did Jonathan. Ye all could have been killed. I’m no’ worth such a sacrifice.”
She held his face between her hands and gazed deep into his eyes. “Yes, Declan, you are.”
“That monster said such vile an’ detestable things. How can ye even stand to look at me now?”
“I know it wasn’t you.”
His eyes continued to beg her forgiveness. “But ‘twas this mouth, these lips, from which those terrible things came.”
She bent her head to his. “Perhaps, but I felt the truth. Nothing about you was the same when Ashur controlled you. There was no soul when I kissed that monster, and it made me physically sick.” She traced her thumbs over his mouth. “This mouth, these lips, are mine.”
“Always,” he whispered.
She kissed him, smiling against his mouth. Yes, it was different. There was no comparison. She felt his warmth, the strength of his heart, his love. This connection between their souls ignited her desire and made her hunger for more. He stroked his tongue along hers, and she sighed contentedly. “Ah, there you are. Welcome back, my love,” she murmured.
“Laria,” he pleaded, “please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, but if hearing the words will soothe your heartache, then yes, Declan, I forgive you. Can you now please forgive yourself?”
He shook his head. “I dinna ken if I e’er can.”
She sat back and frowned at him. “I won’t listen to you condemn yourself for something that wasn’t your fault and was beyond your control. If you insist upon wallowing in your pity, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I want to see the smile that I love so much.”
“I dinna feel like smilin’, lass.”
She smiled at him. “I think I know where to find it. Sit with me.” He sat next to her on the bed, and she took his hand and placed it atop her belly. “Give it a moment,” she said.
A solid thump bounced against his hand, and he jumped, staring at Laria with wide eyes. “Bloody hell!”
She laughed. “Strong, isn’t she?”
He gazed at her in wonder. “Ye ken the bairn is a girl?”
She nodded. “I don’t know how I know; I just do.” She moved his hand a bit lower. “Her head is here. She’s already moved into the birthing position. Baskin showed me. You felt her hand punch you a moment ago.” He stroked her belly softly a few times, and felt an answering push against his hand. Laria giggled. “She likes that.”
“Gods, Laria, that’s incredible!” He grinned at her.
She touched his lips. “I knew I could find your smile.”
“Does she move a lot?” he asked.
“Oh yes, almost constantly. Makes sleeping difficult. We’ll have trouble slowing her down, I think.”
He traced his hand across her belly. “Where are her feet?”
She pulled his hand across to her side. “Lodged in my ribcage, unfortunately. She seems to think my lung is her personal play area.”
He laughed. “Sounds fair uncomfortable.”
“No one ever said motherhood was comfortable, or easy.”
“Thank ye, Laria, for everythin’.”
“I need you around for a good long time,” she said. “Someone has to teach this child the way things really work around here.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll teach her everythin’ I can.”
She stroked his cheek. “You’ll be a wonderful father, Declan.”
He lowered his eyes. “Someday, perhaps.”
Sooner than you think, I suspect. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
Chapter Twenty
Two months later
Morgan was finishing the dishes in the galley when he sensed danger on the breeze wafting through the tiny porthole above the sink. He stopped, his soapy hands dripping onto the floor, as the hair on his neck lifted and a disquieting pressure filled his chest.
“Boy!” Nigel barked, seeing the mess Morgan was creating on the floor. “Quit yer lollygagging and finish those dishes! And then swab the floor!”
Morgan turned to look at him, his eyes wide with fear. “Sir, something’s out there. The air feels... angry.”
“Angry? I’ll tell ye what’s angry! Me! Because yer wasting my time with yer nonsense! Dishes! Floor! Now!”
“Yes, sir.” Morgan hastily finished the dishes, cleaned the sink and the counter, and grabbed the mop. He was halfway across the floor when the boom of cannon fire echoed through the air, followed a few moments later by a spray of water a few yards off the starboard bow. Two more booms spawned closer geysers a minute later.
Nigel gaped at Morgan incredulously. “By the powers, boy! Ye were right!” He yanked the mop out of Morgan’s hands. “Get out there! They’ll be needing every able body they can get!”
Morgan ran through the door and emerged on deck to a frenzy of activity. Sprinting to the bridge and hauling himself partway up a mizzenmast ratline, he yanked his spyglass from his belt and trained it astern on the distant orange flares of the approaching ship’s guns. The Grimoire, forced to defend herself from the rear, was at a distinct disadvantage. The few chase guns stationed astern thundered again and again to fend off the attackers, but they would overheat and be rendered useless in short order.