Bonds of Darkness

by Joyce Ellen Armond

  Something hard and cold caught her. She lost her balance, but the hard thing kept her on her feet. The symbols on her body flared. She raised her head, expecting to have enough time to see the blur of the blade before in plunged into her. But Sander had not chased her any further. He stood beside Paul. The knife fell from his hand, and he put his fingers to Paul's flesh, retracing the marks of the spell.

  Kate heard the soft whine of the demon, realized that the hard cold something was the magic circle imprisoning it. Its metallic eyes gleamed at her and it whined again, a desperate, pleading sound.

  If she released it, would it take its own, personal revenge against Sander?

  Kate put both hands against the magic of the circle. With one sharp jerk she pulled it down and hurled it away. The candles went out, but the red flames marking the pentagram inside the circle flared. She probed that magic with her palms, but it didn't give way.

  "The blood!” Paul called to her.

  Blood ... blood and sex: wild magic.

  Sander made a sound like a cornered animal.

  Kate slid her palm down the wound on her right arm from elbow to wrist, cupping a handful of her own blood. She threw it into the flames and then pushed against the imprisoning force. On the other side of the magic, the demon's hands pressed, mirroring Kate's force. Kate felt the magic crack, splitting and shattering like broken glass. The red fire rolled upwards in a burst, knocking her back. She hit the cement floor hard, the breath expelling from her lungs. The flames hit the ceiling, fanned, and went out.

  Kate lifted her head. Sander stood with his back to Paul, his jaw unhinged. Paul stared, too, blinking fast. Kate followed the direction of their eyes, saw the demon step tentatively outside the boundary of the extinguished candles. Its metallic eyes swam through the liquid black flesh until they met Kate's.

  The black flesh flowed towards her, fast. Kate jerked back, but forced herself not to run. This creature had saved her once before. She didn't need to fear it.

  Lightning played across the surface of the thing. Kate saw the flashes like veins under its skin. The metallic eyes did not blink as they stared, as if they wanted to crawl down Kate's own eyes and lodge inside.

  "Tell me your name,” Kate whispered.

  Instead, Paul shouted, “Kate!"

  The demon's eyes swam through its black flesh. Kate saw a blur, a raised hand. The demon flinched away, turning its face and wailing pitifully. Kate took the full force of the blow on her cheek.

  She spun back, pain exploding through her sinuses, her jaw. Her head sang with echoes of the slap and the demon's scream. Her body hit the concrete and she raised her head, her mind fighting the pain, because there was something, something ... something about the demon.

  Sander lunged at the thing, and it flinched again, raising its hands to shield itself.

  Defensive posture. The thought jolted hot and wet through Kate.

  Sander's hand penetrated the black flesh as if it were nothing but oil, grabbed onto something solid once he was in up to his wrist, and dragged the thing around towards Paul.

  The new symbols on Paul's chest flared black as heart-blood.

  "You. Get.” Sander lifted the thing. “In. There!"

  Paul cried out as if his heart were breaking.

  And suddenly Kate knew. Oh God, why didn't I see it before?

  Snatching enough air into her bruised lungs, she called out the demon's name. “Alina!"

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The name left Kate's throat like a hawk and buried its talons in Paul's heart. Alina?

  Sander screamed as if he was coming apart. He wrenched his hand out of the demon's oily black form and stumbled back. His gasping breaths echoed in the magic circle.

  Lightning flared inside the demon's shell, branching out just under the skin like incandescent arteries.

  Sander fell to his knees. His jaw hung slack. Paul had never seen such agony on a human face before.

  The light inside the demon pulsed brighter. The metallic eyes swam through the thick, oily surface to focus on Sander.

  "No.” It was a plea, almost a whimper.

  The metal eyes melted like mercury. Light burned in its core. The air thickened. Oily steam rose from the demon. The black stuff curled up like smoke, revealing apple-blossom flesh: a patch of upper arm, a milky thigh, a slender foot. The internal lightning pulsed and the darkness steamed away, until Paul could see the tall, strong female form he had drawn, over and over and over again. Rivulets of blackness ran down her face, her breasts, her legs, pooling at her feet. She blinked, and rubbed the last smudges away from her eyes.

  "Alina,” Paul whispered. A hundred years of regrets, of sadness, of aching loneliness, swept through him. His chest rose and fell as he hung there, helpless, feeling the real depth of Sander's curse break his heart.

  How ... ?

  His memory showed him the details of that first ritual all those years ago. Alina marked with magical symbols. The demon rising from Alina's body. Had she been dead yet, or had the magic taken her life as well as her soul?

  You have her in the day, and I'll have her at night. Paul closed his eyes against the sheer perversity that had trapped them, all three, for a century.

  When he opened them again, Alina stood whole and unsmudged by the darkness that had bound her. The force of her beauty stole his breath. She glowed as if she'd swallowed the sun, and Paul didn't know how much longer he could bear to keep his eyes on her.

  Her eyes—so impossibly green, he'd forgotten in his black and white drawings—lifted to his. Paul wanted to crawl away and hide. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness.

  "I'm so sorry.” He moved his lips, but he could barely hear the words himself. “I didn't know."

  Alina smiled and shrugged slightly. “How could you?” Her lilting voice carried echoes, as if she were talking from far away. She moved towards him, the smile still on her lips.

  Sander reached out to grab her, to stop her, to control her. But his hands passed right through her luminous flesh and closed into empty fists. Paul saw a deep flush spread from his neck, turning his face the shade of bruises.

  Alina ignored him. She went to Paul and stood for a long time, staring into his eyes.

  Paul forced himself to find the courage not to look away. “I failed you. All this time."

  She laughed. The sound of it cut through Paul. Sander ground out a low, hoarse cry. “Does this feel like failure?"

  She took a deep breath and blew across Paul's skin. Tingling goose bumps rose as chills chased down his spine. The symbols Sander had etched into his flesh faded away. She reached up and tapped the cuffs. They sprang open and Paul sagged onto his feet, his shoulder muscles screaming in protest. For a moment he leaned against Alina's body, and it was like leaning into a spring wind, playful and cool. He caught his balance and jerked back.

  She smiled again, that same edged smile he remembered. Beside her, he felt so mortal: sweat and clay against her light and glow.

  "Goodbye, Paul."

  The words slapped him like cold water. It was over, finally over. He opened his mouth but couldn't speak. Every word he might have said stuck in his throat.

  Alina rolled her eyes. “There is no blame between us, Paul Dumond. Let it be over, truly and forever, and thank God for it."

  A hot rush of tears flooded his eyes, making her glow even more brightly.

  She turned and headed for Kate.

  Sander got to his feet. “You are still my wife!"

  If she heard him, she made no show of it.

  Paul watched as Kate, cradling her injured arm, straightened her spine. Her eyes darted nervously from Alina to Paul, and back again.

  "How did you know, at the end? How did you know it was me?” Alina asked her.

  Paul saw Kate shrug and swallow hard. “You flinched when he raised his hand. You knew how hard he hit.” She touched the red mark on her cheek. “You were afraid of him."

  Paul glanced at S
ander, saw his mouth draw back in a satisfied snarl.

  Alina rippled out a laugh, a sound so green and gold that Paul felt himself smile in response. “So it was fear that saved me?"

  Kate's brows shot up. “I guess so."

  Still laughing, Alina turned from Kate and finally looked at Sander Wald. “Well. I'm not afraid anymore."

  Sander closed his eyes. Alina walked past him. He tried, one last time, to hold onto her. His fist closed, again, on nothing.

  Behind Sander's bowed back, Alina stopped. She looked one last time over her shoulder at Paul, a long, lingering look, and then at Kate.

  "I envy you a bit, Kate Scott,” she said. And then the air tore in half. A jagged rupture of white-gold flame flared to life. Paul threw his hand up to shield his eyes against the brilliance. He smelled roses and snow, heard the pounding of surf. Alina leaned towards the shining and it drank her in. The rent in the air sealed back up, but not before a whip of golden light snapped against Sander's back. He screamed as if burned, falling forward and scrambling away.

  Kate screamed, too. Paul whirled towards her, suddenly terrified. Don't take Kate from me, he begged whatever force might live in that light. Don't you dare take Kate from me now!

  * * * *

  The supernatural brilliance faded, taking the sheen of magic from Kate's flesh. She felt it go, as if someone had given her a surprise full body wax. She lifted her palms, pulled aside the shoulder of her blouse. The symbols were gone. So was the oppressive humidity of power. All of the candles had gone out, the room lit now only by the dimmed, electric sconces on the walls.

  Whatever that light had been, welcoming Alina home, it had stolen all of Sander's magic. Including the magic she'd stolen from him.

  She looked around a little wildly. She saw Sander down on all fours, gasping for breath. She saw Paul, standing free, looking as dazed as she felt.

  So it was fear that saved me? Kate would never forget that question, or the lilting voice and the shining body who asked it. And she would never, ever understand. If fear had been their enemy and love their only weapon, it had been fear, not love that gave Kate the means to break the curse. Laurie would say it had something to do with the turning of wheels, with alphas and omegas, but to Kate it was like a shimmering pattern of dew: too light and insubstantial to grasp without destroying it. I'll ask Laurie about it, when I see her. Maybe she'll...

  And then it hit her like a cement wall of adrenaline. We won. Her legs turned to quivering jelly. Her eyes focused, really focused. The candles were all out. The air was clear of magic. Paul stood staring at her, the confusion on his face beginning to clear into joy, Sander still crouched on all fours on the floor between them.

  It offended her sense of justice that Sander remained alive. He'd fashioned a curse that hurt in a dizzying array of facets. The demon had been a shell imprisoning Alina. Alina had been imprisoned inside Paul during the day, Paul inside Alina at night, a tangled knot of prisons. And it still hadn't been enough. He'd wanted to break Paul, possess both Paul and Alina. If Paul had broken down into Sander's emotional and physical slave with Alina secretly locked inside him, would that have been enough to give Sander revenge? It was too much. Too much.

  Kate looked around until she found the knife. It wasn't far, just a few steps to the right, as if it had been waiting for her. She bent down, closed her palm around the hilt. When she raised her head, she saw that Sander had raised his, finally, too. He stared at Kate, his lips curling in a sneer.

  He thinks I can't do it. In her mind, she saw Ellie just before she'd squeezed the trigger. She remembered the faces of all the abused women she'd ever helped, and lifted the knife.

  "Kate, no."

  Paul took a step towards her, held out his hand. “The slate's been wiped clean. Don't smudge it now."

  "He deserves to die.” How could he deny it?

  Paul held out his other hand, calling her to him. “You don't deserve to be a murderer."

  Kate stared into Sander's eyes, the challenge in them. She was afraid of him, with magic or without magic. She feared him, and she wanted to kill him. A ripple of laughter stirred inside her—mostly hers, but she thought she heard a gentle lilt that wasn't hers at all. Fear was only your ally for a moment.

  Giving Sander's prone body a wide berth, she walked over to Paul, put the knife in his right hand, and her own hand in his left. The contact jolted her, body and heart.

  Paul smiled. It made him so joyously handsome it took away her breath.

  "Come on.” He squeezed her hand. “The sun's not up yet. I want to see the night again."

  He had his life back, his entire life, day and night, darkness and light. We won!

  She answered his smile, reached up on tiptoe to kiss him. She heard the scuffle behind her, the growl, felt Sander's hand tangle in her hair.

  Paul jerked her away, and she spun wildly. Her world tilted. She saw Sander lunge, saw Paul's arm come up. She fell, landing heavily against the cement. The breath went out of her and her vision blurred. Blinking fast, she pushed herself to one knee.

  But the action was over. Paul and Sander stood close as lovers, eyes for nothing but each other. Then Paul stepped back, and Kate saw the hilt of the knife in Sander's throat.

  * * * *

  I killed him.

  Paul couldn't breathe, couldn't think, except for those three words.

  Blood cascaded down Sander's chest, darkened his lips. He crashed onto his knees, then pitched forward. Paul stumbled out of the way. Blood spread across the black cement floor.

  I killed him.

  Something touched Paul's arm. He jumped, looked down into Kate's grimly satisfied face. “Now,” she said, “the slate is clean."

  From the floor came a strangled, rattling noise, and then silence. Inside Paul, the final crack in his heart sealed and he felt whole.

  "Come on.” Kate tugged at his hand.

  Paul turned to go, but a sudden shimmer above Sander's body stopped him. Sparks danced in the air, a golden light. He smelled roses and snow, heard the distant pounding of surf. And then, in an instant, it was gone—so fast he thought he imagined it. He looked down at Kate.

  She stared at the blank air above Sander's body, where the bright light had flashed. “I don't get that."

  Paul put his arm around her shoulders, and eased her away. “Laurie would say it's the turning of the wheel.” He tilted Kate's face towards his. “Let's go tell her."

  Kate grinned, plastered a kiss onto his mouth.

  I'm free!

  He grabbed Kate's wrist and ran for the stairs, dragging her along.

  "Slowly! I'm all banged up here!"

  He couldn't possibly slow down. Bursting through the cellar door, he said, “I want to burn this place to the ground. Is that okay?"

  "Whatever you want."

  He led her down the hallway, still running. “I want to fill the basement with water, put in koi and lilies, make this whole place a park."

  Kate laughed.

  Paul threw open the front door, leaped down the porch stairs. And froze.

  He stared. The moon hung low in the sky; dawn would break in a few hours, he guessed. He had to guess, because he no longer felt the tug of time in his bones.

  "Look,” he whispered to Kate, turning in a slow circle. “Look at all the color."

  The sky glowed blue streaked on blue, the clouds gray and silver, the moon greenish and warm. The stars blinked amber and blue and red. He could see the leaves in the grass, yellow and orange and red and nutty oak brown. The hairs on his arm were not flat black under the moon. His flesh was a living color again.

  He looked at Kate, his pencil drawing come to life. Her hair, her glorious mess of hair, gleamed in spots, polished by the moonlight. Even the mark Sander had left on her face had color: an angry pink. The blood on her arm was red, not black.

  "Your arm! How bad?"

  She twisted at the shoulder, looking down the torn flesh. “No stitches. Maybe a scar, though.
It's not even bleeding..."

  Paul scooped her into his arms, off her feet, and whirled her under the moonlight. She laughed until she lost her breath. Paul set her back down and pulled her close. Her eyes glowed spring green. He kept his eyes open as he kissed her, even after she closed hers, so he could see her skin flush.

  "You are so beautiful in the dark,” he murmured when they broke apart.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Thanks, I think."

  He laughed, lifting her again in his arms and carrying her to the huge maple tree. He set her down on her feet with her back against the bark. He put a hand against it, felt the roughness, the tingling, crystal surface of the night's frost. “My mother and I planted this tree when I was ten.” He worked loose the button and fly on Kate's jeans. “When I was sixteen, she told me the most ridiculous thing."

  "What did she say?” Kate's voice was breathless as she unzipped his fly.

  Paul kicked off his pants and pulled away Kate's. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Her hair glowed against the maple's frosty trunk. “She said that someday I would conceive her a grandchild, right under this tree."

  He plunged inside her, all the way. Kate wrapped her arms around his neck, her body arching and shuddering as she accepted him.

  "Crazy advice from a mother,” his voice had lowered to a growl, “don't you think?"

  Kate opened her eyes, looked deeply into his. She connected them with their eyes as he had joined them below, and he saw nothing but Kate, felt nothing but Kate, knew nothing but love. Absolute joy rose in his chest as an orgasm built below.

  A light twinkled in Kate's eyes. “Don't laugh, or I'll win."

  Joy barreled through Paul, exploding out. His hips rocked. Kate cried out. He threw back his head and laughed, just as the first rays of the dawning sun cut through the clouds.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kate pushed open the liquor shop door, sending the string of sleigh bells fastened to the handle into a spasm of jingling. “Be careful.” She held the door open wide. “Don't drop it."

  "I'm not going to drop it.” The case of champagne balanced neatly in his arms, Paul followed.