by Bec McMaster
"Tremayne made a deal with you," she said.
The demon smiled. "I made a deal with Tremayne."
"Then what can I do for you? You want a body?"
Lascher's lip curled. "I want the body that was promised to me. Rathbourne. I want the woman gone—his woman. It stands between us. Kill her, and I shall still have a link to Lucien. If you bring the three Relics Infernal together, then the spell that should have been completed with the Blade shall overwhelm him."
Her mind worked quickly. "What about Sebastian? You could take him as a vessel. He's strong, stronger than Rathbourne, even."
The demon considered it. Its expression shuttered. "No. No, there is... someone who stands between us. I would not rise against her, not yet, and I have no link to your son. He has never summoned me. Give me Lucien. Once I have a vessel, I shall have the power to do my will. I want you to assemble the Relics Infernal and call me into being. Then we shall destroy the Prime. Together."
Yes, a part of her whispered. If she gathered the relics, then she could do as this creature wanted... and then use the power of the relics to wield him. "How do we destroy him? Drake is powerful..." Especially if he could challenge a demon like this by himself.
"I would have you wield a weapon against him that is of his own making."
Morgana frowned.
The demon leaned closer, its breath scalding her ear. "Sebastian is the key. Wield him. Break him. Use him. And destroy the father."
In the end, there was no choice. "You have a deal," Morgana whispered. "But how do I control Sebastian?" The ring had burned through her finger, taking the flesh with it and leaving the stump cauterized.
The demon smiled. "Oh, I have an idea about that."
* * *
THIS DREAM WAS NEW.
Cleo sat at a small table in a room with no walls, a room of infinite dimensions. The black and white checkerboard of floor tiles seemed to stretch into the distance where mist obscured it, and the ceiling was made of the evening sky with the rosy taint of sunset darkening to midnight from one end to the other. Stars and constellations gleamed, and yet, seemed somewhat watchful.
She looked down. She could see her hands, which meant no blindfold, and she knew, in a deep part of herself that she was both awake and yet not awake.
"Your move," said a hollow voice across from her, and she realized there was a cloaked figure sitting there, draped in midnight silk. It could have been man or woman, she wasn't certain. At this moment, it seemed difficult to even guess if it was human.
"My move?" There was a chessboard between them with intricately carved figures. If she looked closely, she could see the faces on the white figures were people who she knew from previous visions: Miss Martin, Lucien, the Prime, and two others she didn't know—a young man as bishop and an older lady as one of the knights. The White Queen had a blindfold on, and she was guarded by Sebastian, whose face was rendered above the White King.
Clearly the board was meant to represent the battle between the Prime and his enemies, but she hadn't expected to be the one making the moves.
"Of course you make the moves," the entity opposite her intoned. "You're the one who can see the future."
"But these aren't pawns. This isn't a game."
"It's always a game. What you mean is that each move has a consequence you don't want to pay. Now make your move."
Her hands began sweating in her gloves. The Black Queen wore Morgana's face, and the Black King was her father. Both of the Black Knights had circled the White King and were threatening one of her pawns. She couldn't see who it represented, but she knew she had to save it.
Reaching out, she hovered over Sebastian. A little tingle of wrongness echoed over her skin. It was instinctive to reach for him, but she trusted her senses. Slowly raking her hand over her pieces, she felt a little quiver against her prescience, a tingle that echoed over her skin.
Cleo swallowed hard and moved her bishop.
"Interesting move." The entity wore a smile. He—and it was definitely a he now—crooked a finger, and his black bishop slid toward hers, stopping directly in front of it.
The black bishop was a woman, one glancing over her shoulder, even as she hid something within her waistcoat. She wore men's attire with tightly fitted breeches, but her figure was most certainly feminine, and her hair was knotted into a crown of plaits. The only abnormalities were the shackles at her wrists.
"Who is she?" Cleo asked.
"You shall discover her identity soon enough." The entity bowed his head to her. "Until we meet again, Cassandra."
The world spun, the room vanishing around her, and then—
With a gasp, Cleo sat bolt upright in her bed. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and the familiar rustle of the linen bindings over her eyes reminded her of where she was—safely nestled in a bed at the inn that Sebastian had removed her to before he'd retired to his own adjoining room. He was hurt, his senses obliterated by the backlash of power, his hands torn and ruined, and his wound newly healed, but he wouldn't allow her to see to him, the fool. Whatever she'd done to him at the house had disturbed him.
With a sigh, Cleo lay back down, drawing her covers up around her chin. What on earth had that dream meant? It belonged not to the realm of precognition or foretelling, but had felt as if it had truly been real.
Something moved, a slow creak, as a floorboard shifted beneath a stealthy foot.
Cleo froze.
"Hello? Is anybody there?"
Skirts swished, and then a hand clapped over her mouth as she tried to scream. "Surprise," Morgana whispered in her ear. "I think you should come with me and be quiet about it. I wouldn't want to have to cut my own son down when he sleeps so heavily in the next room, his mind and body battered by exhaustion." The hand pressed firmly over her mouth as Morgana leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Don't make a sound, or I'll kill him, I swear. Do you understand?"
The hand over her mouth lightened until only a silencing finger pressed against her lips. Cleo thought about her options, her heart hammering in her chest. Sebastian was injured. She'd almost had to carry him up the stairs herself, his power bleeding all over her and every step earning a wince from him. He was in no state of mind to deal with an intruder, even one without power.
And she had the suspicion she was not going to be harmed. Morgana wanted something from her.
Cleo nodded.
"Good," her kidnapper gloated. "Now come with me."
"White Queen in check," whispered the entity, in her mind.
* * *
WANT to find out what is going to happen to Drake and his other two sons? The story continues later this year with Bloodbound... Read on for an excerpt...
BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE DARK ARTS WORLD...
I f you enjoyed Shadowbound, then get ready for Bloodbound! Book two in the Dark Arts series, it will be available in late 2016, so make sure you sign up for my newsletter to receive news and excerpts about this release!
CAN'T WAIT for more Dark Arts action and romance? Check out my London Steampunk series. I recommend starting with Kiss Of Steel. Not only is it the first book, but it also features a cocky, bad boy anti-hero who captured my heart from the very first moment he came onscreen. There's humor, heroes to die for, dangerous plots, sexy corsets, kick-bustle heroines, duels, steamy kisses (not-just-kisses), and vampires. They may not be your regular sexy vampires either.
THANK YOU FOR READING SHADOWBOUND! I hope you enjoyed it. Please consider leaving a review online, to help others find my books.
NOT READY TO LEAVE THE London of the Dark Arts? Read on for a preview of what's next for Adrian Bishop...
COMING SOON
BLOODBOUND
Miss Verity Hastings has a little trick: she can find anything, no matter where it's hidden. It's a skill that's kept her safe and fed all the way from the orphanages and workhouses of her youth, and makes her valuable to the sorcerous Hex gang she runs with. But when she steals a mysterious relic for a masked m
an, she knows the con is on her this time. In order to protect herself, she can turn to only one man: Bishop, the sorcerer she stole the relic from.
It should have been an easy task...
Sicarii assassin Adrian Bishop is rarely surprised anymore, but when a rather enticing little handful turns up on his doorstep claiming to be his mysterious thief, he doesn't know what to think. He needs the relic back, no matter the cost, and he's not above using Verity to find it. But as Verity begins to sneak under his guard, for the first time in years there's a ray of light in his dark world. He will do anything to protect her–anything–but can Verity ever love him once she learns the truth of his dark talents? And will he be able to protect her from the trap he sent her into himself?
BLOODHOUND SNEAK PEEK
L ondon, 1880
ADRIAN BISHOP WOKE QUIETLY, his eyelids fluttering wide, and his skin tingling as if every sense of his was suddenly on fire. He held his breath, listening intently to the cold, dark silence of his house. Nothing moved. Not a whisper, not a creak, not even a mouse.
Except...
Someone stepped through one of the invisible wards he'd set throughout the mansion. It clung like spider silk to their body, giving him an instant beacon of awareness: the intruder was in the second guest bedroom, with its simple furnishings, and the revolving fireplace that hid a staircase that led to a hidden room. Whoever it was, they moved with deliberate purpose, as if they knew exactly where they were going, and most likely what they were looking for.
It was almost impressive, the stealth with which they moved.
Sicarii, then? Like himself?
Highly trained, the Sicarii were the lethal edge of the sorcerous Order of the Dawn Star, and only one man–the ruling Prime–knew all of their identities. Most Sicarii did not even know of each other's existence, as they used masks to meet. Their purpose was absolute–protect the Order, serve the Prime, remove all threats... Most importantly that last one. It was lonely, bloody work, but he'd known nothing else, all of his life.
Bishop eased back the covers, slipping naked from his bed. He dragged on a pair of the loose black trousers he wore for training purposes, and started gathering together his power. Energy slipped and slid into his skin, the temperature of the room plunging abruptly to freezing as he prepared himself, drawing power from the world around him. Heated breath spilled in a fine mist around his mouth, as he passed in front of the windows, and the faint, silvery moonlight. All in all, it took him six seconds, and the task was done in complete silence.
Another ward tripped, just as the downstairs clock began to chime midnight. BONG. BONG. BONG. There. He closed his eyes, head tilting upwards, as the clock droned on. His thief had found the fireplace, which meant he had no time to spare. Forging a knife made of raw matter, he cut his hand, and pressed it against the plaster walls of the house.
"Hecarah as di mentos," he whispered, breathing a spill of Power into the words. The words meant nothing; ritual was the key in training his mind to accept simple codes, and he had chosen his words wisely so many years ago.
Nothing happened, but he could sense the house coming alive, awakening to his touch, and anticipating his commands. It too, felt like it held its breath.
Above him, the thief paused, just for a second.
And that was when he realized that he was facing a master adversary. The house wards were inverted. Nobody should have felt it waking, but from the sudden fierce patter of footsteps the thief had given up all pretense of stealth, and was opting for speed.
Done then. Bishop moved like a wraith. The tracking ward jerked forward, almost as if it were leaping from place to place–which caused him some consternation–but he was swiftly gaining as he thundered up the staircase. The thief might be heading directly toward the object of their desire, but they were moving in a straight line, and certain obstacles, walls for example, kept interfering.
His blood was up, the fierce hunting edge keening through him. Death rode him hard, hungering for a taste of blood, and Bishop forced it back within its leash. Some sorcerers found power through blood or sex rituals, but only a kill gave him that edge, that sweet ride of power, like an aurora awakening in his veins. He could tear London apart with but a thought following the hot gush of blood, but such power came with a weakness: the hunger for the kill grew every time he took a life. One day he would be a dangerous force to be reckoned with, the sweet addiction stronger than his will, and then another of the Sicarii would be sent to remove him.
But he was not there yet.
Racing silently up the hidden staircase, Bishop saw the faint bobbing glow of a mage sphere through the partly opened panel that led to his secret room.
Bishop threw himself into the room in a roll, beneath a hastily flung ward that would have smashed him back through at least three walls, and came to his feet just in time to face a masked adversary.
No time to think. The rosy mage globe spun into twelve that circled the thief's head, and began to spin faster and faster. One shot directly toward him, and he flung both arms up, crossing them at the wrists, as a single protective ward formed around him. The globe the thief had flung burst into heated, liquid light that bathed the thin shimmering ward around him, and then dripped to the floor. Molten sparks burned straight through the timber floorboards.
"Well," said the thief, in a faintly amused, very feminine voice, "I see the rumors of your skills were not exaggerated."
His first shock of the evening–the Chalice that he'd sworn to protect with his life was already hanging from her belt. It gleamed silvery against her all-black man's attire, along with a dozen small devices of unknown origin.
It should have taken her nearly ten minutes to crack through the safeguards on his safe: a safe that hung open on the wall, it's heavy steel-lined door hanging limply from its grooves.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," Bishop replied, straightening, and letting the silvery gleam of the ward disintegrate with a static crackle. It would take but a thought to reform it.
A faint smile curled over the woman's lips. Her chin and mouth were all that he could see, apart from the gleam of green eyes behind her black lace mask. The battle globes spun lazily around her head, warming her creamy skin, as she slowly circled him. The entire effect was... provocative. "And here I thought you a stranger to pleasure? Or so they all say."
Bishop didn't move. The only way out was through the doorway that stood directly behind him. His smile was cold. "I'd be careful about listening to rumors. Sometimes I start them myself."
"Oh, I know," she whispered, her eyes alight with humor, as she sauntered slowly around the room, crossing one foot over another. "Let's just say I've spent the last month learning everything there is to know about you. I've watched you paint these walls with your blood wards, trying to protect against thieves. And I've watched you move quietly through the house each night, restless, unable to sleep. All alone at night, in this dark house. Why do you send your servants away? Do you not want them seeing the mess of your body that you hide beneath your clothes? Or perhaps you're afraid they'll hear your nightmares? It's the one mystery I haven't been able to crack yet."
Bishop's gaze flattened.
"Didn't you notice me?" Her smile was positively wicked. "And here I thought you had eyes in the back of your head."
Every muscle in his gut tightened, and he took the time to re-examine her. He was very, very good at what he did. The fact that he hadn't noticed the surveillance made him wonder if she was better.
Or perhaps not better, no, perhaps he'd been distracted, more to the point. His nails dug into his palms. What had she seen? Had she any idea what plagued him?
No. No, she couldn't have. Or she'd have used it against him.
Both of them faced each other on light feet, their bodies tense with implied movement. A pair of cuffs circled her slim wrists, and a black corset buckled over her thin shirt. Those slim hips were encased in a pair of trousers that were positively indecent, but she l
ooked lean and strong, and she moved with a kind of supple grace he'd rarely seen before.
"Who are you?" he asked.
JUST WHO IS Bishop's mysterious thief? Find out in BLOODBOUND, coming late 2016...
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ten years ago this dark gothic world crept into my head, and it all started with Drake. I could never quite get that story right until now, but it's crazy what a few simple tweaks to the plot can unleash in your mind!
I enjoyed every second of writing this book, but as with every project I take on, I couldn't have done it without a lot of help from these amazing people:
I owe huge thanks to my editor Virginia from Hot Tree Editing for making this manuscript so clean, my wonderful cover artists from Damonza.com for bringing Ianthe and Lucien to life, and Marisa Shor from Cover Me Darling for the formatting. Also special thanks to my beta readers Kylie Griffin and Jen Brumley for asking all of the pointy questions. To the ELE for keeping me sane, and the CVW group for all the chocolate incentives and good times at lunch! Special thanks to my family, and to my other half–my very own beta hero, Byron–who encourages and supports me every step of the way. You're forever banned from reading out passages in that 'voice' you employ, but I love you anyway.
Last, not least, to everyone who read/loved/reviewed or talked about this book, you guys are awesome! I hope it was worth the wait!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bec McMaster is the award-winning author of the London Steampunk series. A member of RWA, she writes sexy, dark paranormals, and adventurous steampunk romances, and grew up with her nose in a book. Following a life-long love affair with fantasy, she discovered romance novels as a 16 year-old, and hasn't looked back.
In 2012, Sourcebooks released her debut novel, Kiss of Steel, the first in the London Steampunk series, followed by: Heart of Iron, My Lady Quicksilver, Forged By Desire, and Of Silk And Steam. Two novellas–Tarnished Knight and The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Menace–fleshed out the series. She has been nominated for RT Reviews Best Steampunk Romance for Heart of Iron (2013), won RT Reviews Best Steampunk Romance with Of Silk And Steam (2015), and Forged By Desire was nominated for a RITA award in 2015.