Soulbound

by Bec McMaster

  She could be the ruin of you. Your utter destruction.

  For there was little in his life that he'd ever truly longed for.

  His heart slowly kicked in his chest, and he tested the bond to make sure his shields were fully engaged, hoping she hadn't felt that thought.

  But Cleo wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her fingers curled around his upper arm, her head tilted sharply to the side, even as he lowered his face to hers once more. "Stop!"

  Sebastian froze, feeling her fumble for him psychically. He slowly let her in.

  “Can you feel that?” came her thought-whisper.

  If he focused, there was a new itch afflicting her, this one curling dread through her.

  “Feel what?” he tried to send back.

  “My sense of premonition just started tingling down my arms and spine, and I don’t think it means something good is coming this way.”

  Fog eddied around them in the night, thick tendrils of it seeming to creep out of the nearest lane. He scanned the quiet fields, stepping back and reaching for the knife Bishop had given him.

  "It’s too quiet here," Cleo murmured.

  As if in answer, something scuttled over gravel, like claws.

  "Quiet’s good," Cleo squeaked, backing into him.

  He stepped between her and whatever was hidden in the fog, hands held loosely at his sides as he opened himself to the pool of power deep within him.

  By himself, he might have faced whatever was watching them, but not with Cleo here. Indecision gripped him. Stay and call for help? Or flee into the fog, and hope they came across Verity and Bishop?

  Neither of them was truly trained in the art of sorcery.

  His mother never wanted him to have control of the immense power he could wield, and Cleo’s father considered it more important for her to dedicate her focus toward her tremendous gifts of divination.

  Sebastian lifted his hand to the sky, summoning a mage globe of pure red with a word of power. He flung it into the sky, forcing pressure through the globe, the way Bishop had taught him.

  The globe exploded, somewhat like the fireworks. In the quiet laneway it set the dogs off again, loud barking echoing through the neighborhood. A lantern blinked to life in a neighboring farmhouse and someone called out, "Shut up!"

  "There’s something behind us." Cleo spun, pressing her back to his. "I heard it in the dark."

  Coppery eyes began to gleam in the shadows of the fog. All of Sebastian’s blood ran cold. An imp. His mother had begun summoning them months ago, but they worked for the demon now.

  "We need to get moving," he said, staring at the imp as it slowly materialized, creeping out of the fog on all fours, its tail slowly lashing behind it.

  Where there was one, there were bound to be others.

  Taking Cleo by the hand, he urged her in the direction Bishop and Verity had vanished in. Fog seemed to be rolling in across the fields now, gleaming pale beneath the moonlight. The only clear patch was the laneway they were in, and as they ran into the soft edges of the fog, it wisped away from them. Someone was clearly controlling it.

  "Stop!" Cleo hauled suddenly on his grip. "We're not alone."

  Summoning his power, he formed a ward that cascaded over them in a shimmering dome. It slammed into the dirt, and the fog within it evaporated as if summoned by sorcery. Nothing could get in or out, unless whatever was out there destroyed his ward. Some sorcerers could do that, Bishop had told him.

  And there was definitely a sorcerer out there. Imps couldn't work magic.

  "Safe for the moment," he whispered.

  "But trapped," Cleo replied, her pulse pounding visibly in her throat. "Do you think Bishop will have seen your beacon? He won't think it merely another firework, will he?"

  "Bishop's remarkably aware of his surroundings." Not surprising, considering the man was an assassin.

  Cleo cleared her throat. "But if he's distracted...."

  "I'll say this for the bastard... it would take a lot to distract him when we're in an unsafe area."

  "Verity could do it," she pointed out.

  He didn't let himself think of that. The situation vexed him. He'd never needed to rely upon others before. But with Cleo here, he couldn't simply launch a full-scale telekinetic assault upon whatever was out there. Not and maintain a ward to protect her.

  "Are any of your powers offensive?" he demanded.

  She shook her head. "Not really. My natural inclination is telepathy. I know very little of the telekinetic arts."

  The opposite of him.

  "I can ward. And form a white mage globe, but there's not much impact in that."

  Red globes were the color of war, or death; blue had significant impact; but white were almost harmless, and used mostly for light. He considered strategy. If he dropped the ward and stepped out of it to attack, he had to leave her to her own defensive capabilities.

  "You're not invulnerable," Cleo blurted, as if she sensed his thoughts. "And we don't know what's out there. An imp or two hiding in the fog, but possibly something else. Be patient."

  As if to underscore her words, something prowled the edges of the fog circling them. It couldn't get in, but they also couldn't move.

  "Curious," he said, his gaze flickering to the manor, "that we're attacked by imps mere minutes after we leave the house of a man who pledged his allegiance to Morgana in exchange for the Relic."

  "You think Malachi alerted her somehow?" Cleo half turned to him. "It's possible Morgana had someone—or thing—watching the manor. She wanted the Wand back eventually."

  "Is there a reason you're defending him?"

  "I'm not defending him." Her eyebrow arched. "Is there a reason the first thought that leaps into your mind is a conspiracy?"

  Yes. Jealousy. "Life experience. If someone's able to stab you in the back, then they probably will."

  "Well, I think—" Cleo hesitated. "Is your ward supposed to be doing that?"

  He turned, finding a bizarre buzzing ring of red light at the base of his warded dome. As he watched, it began to fizz, evaporating upward.

  "Something's breaking through," he said, trying to force more power into the ward. The power merely drained through, as though there was a leak in the ward somewhere. "Stand close to me!"

  Another shadowy ripple stirred through the fog, as if an imp darted toward them, and then away. In the distance, a hollow boom sounded, and a patch of fog lit up in red. Fireworks? Or Bishop and his deadly mage globes?

  Cleo pressed against him as the ward kept burning away from the bottom. A pair of claws flexed on the edges.

  And Sebastian made a decision.

  Grabbing Cleo, he dragged her into his arms, pressing her head to his chest to protect her. Letting go of the ward, he spat one of his power words, unleashing an enormous wave of force outward as the ward vanished. The fog evaporated, and something screamed in a high-pitched squeal as it went flying through the air. Timber groaned, and then a tree was tumbling down, its branches crushing through the gatehouse roof.

  Sebastian stared at the damage. Served Malachi right.

  "Behind you!" Cleo yelled.

  He swung a hand, reverting to Expression to control his powers. Fear added a punch to his next blow, and he swept another imp out of the way with a flick of pure force. There was no finesse to Expression, merely destruction. He reined himself back in sharply.

  "Warding!" Cleo yelled, and she glowed with faint light as a shimmering ward coalesced around them again.

  The fog had swept away in the aftermath of his blow. A hooded figure moved out there. A human. Three imps circled them, but it was the man in the cloak who held his attention.

  "What sort of coward hides in the fog?" Sebastian called.

  The hood froze.

  "He's not alone," Cleo pointed out.

  There were two other figures out there. He could just make out a hulking form that towered over him, and a smaller figure, cloaked in a way that made him think woman. The three of them stoo
d in a triangle shape around them.

  "Take them," the first cloaked figure said.

  Sorcery swirled, but it was the sort of thing he'd never encountered before. Cleo's ward began to evaporate the same way his had. The woman summoned a lash of pure electricity to life in her hands, and flicked it like a whip.

  He couldn't take them all on at the same time, and he couldn't ward.

  "Got the right!" Cleo called, casting a shield between the whip of lightning and the pair of them. She cried out as the lash struck her invisible shield, but it held.

  A spinning ball of light came at him from the left.

  Sebastian swung his arms up in a cross, forming an invisible shield. The impact of whatever the fellow threw at him staggered him back, where he tripped on Cleo.

  They both went down. Sebastian rolled to his feet, catching a glimpse of a flurry of golden web heading his way. He shielded again, but whatever it was wrapped around his shield and obliterated it. The second it vanished, he saw an imp launching directly at his face.

  "Get down!" someone bellowed, and a month of listening to that voice and obeying it made him slam Cleo onto the dirt.

  A roar of fire shot overhead, the air turning hot and dry. Sebastian buried his face in Cleo’s hair, trying to shield her with his body. The imp screamed as it was roasted, hitting the dirt and rolling wildly.

  "Verity, get them out of here!" Bishop yelled, suddenly leaping over them with his cloak flapping behind him like wings.

  A hand helped drag Sebastian to his feet, and Verity appeared, her face tight with worry, and her breath coming shortly as if she'd been running. "I've got you."

  "Cleo, first," Sebastian insisted, pushing his wife into Verity’s arms. "I’ll stay here with Bishop."

  It eased some of Verity’s concern for her husband, but Cleo’s dark eyes shot to his. "Don’t get hurt."

  Nobody had ever truly cared about him before, except as a weapon, or a tool to be used. "I promise." His voice came out dry, and he gave Cleo a curt nod.

  Verity wrapped her arms around Cleo, and they both began to waver, then Verity punched out of there, translocating Cleo to safety. The bond between them vanished for a second, and then he felt her reform somewhere far to the south. Hopefully, Bishop's house, or Lady Rathbourne's.

  "Remember how I told you to keep your power under tight rein, and hold everything back when we were dueling?" Bishop called. He flung a hand, his rings glittering with green light, and a ring of green flames raced to circle them.

  "Yes."

  "Ignore it," Bishop said. "You have carte blanche to annihilate anything that comes at us."

  Finally. Sebastian began to channel power, sucking in the well of energy that filled the world around him. Every living thing thrived on energy, and he absorbed it, taking care not to pull from Bishop.

  A red mage globe formed in Sebastian's hand, and he levitated it into the air, focusing on the first hooded figure. "Ignitius!" he bellowed, and the globe flew toward the stranger. It struck the man's shield, and obliterated it. The fellow landed flat on his back, his heels drumming on the ground.

  The world lit up with red. Bishop was spinning at least a dozen red mage globes around his head.

  "Show-off," Sebastian growled. He had more sheer power than Bishop, but none of the finesse. And mage globes were new to him. The best he could do was handle one at a time.

  Bishop's globes darted toward the remaining two sorcerers. They hammered at hastily formed shields, exploding in washes of power. Imps flooded out of the shadows in response, racing across the ground toward them.

  Fine. He didn't have his brother's finesse. That didn't mean he was defenseless, far from it. Sebastian sucked in energy from the imps, encasing some of them in ice. The second they froze, he flung another wave of force, and the frozen statues exploded into thousands of bloody shards. Black ichor sprayed across the ground.

  It felt good to fight.

  Something physical to burn off some of the tension Malachi Gray had left him with. Sebastian moved with oiled ease, echoing the moves Bishop had taught him, and locking down his focus until power words spilled off his tongue with ease.

  He summoned globe after globe, all of them burning hotly red, until the world took on a bloodied tinge.

  "Try not to burn yourself low," Bishop called, and Sebastian reined himself in.

  A pair of imps took advantage of his sudden recalcitrance, stalking him from both angles. He formed the glowing quarter staff Bishop had made him practice with, twirling it around him. One launched at him, and he moved to the side, sending it flying with a well-timed heave. The other used the momentum to dash in and rake at him.

  Claw marks sliced through his side of his ribs. The flare of pain made him flinch, and his countermove lacked punch. He got it off him. Somehow. Turned, the staff spinning in his hands, as the first one launched at him. Not thinking. Just reacting. Slamming it to the ground, and then withdrawing just enough to drive the end of his staff through its ribs. It screamed, pinned by his staff, and Sebastian forced a wave of energy through the length of the staff, detonating it inside the creature’s rib cage.

  Black ichor sprayed him like acid. He turned his face away, staggering on something in the grass.

  Another imp came at him, and Sebastian rammed the end of the staff into its throat. Shadow flickered behind him, and he thrust back, keeping the newcomer off his flanks. They moved ridiculously fast. A month ago he wouldn't have had a chance. Sharp teeth bit into the end of the staff, and on the edge of his awareness, he saw red flashes illuminating the night as Bishop set to work.

  "Eat this," he growled, as the imp shook the end of his staff. Another pulse of energy went through the staff, and he met its bronze eyes seconds before its head exploded.

  "Retreat!" someone called.

  And then the wave of imps vanished, shooting the pair of them cattish glances, and hissing at them as they melted back into the shadows.

  Sebastian slumped over, letting his staff vanish. He rested his hands on his thighs, breathing hard. It was one thing to spar with Bishop, quite another to fight for his life.

  It felt good.

  Bishop's red mage globes flickered out, leaving him merely a shadowy figure. "I can't sense anything alive out there." He turned toward Sebastian. "You're bleeding."

  "A scratch." He clamped his hand over his ribs and winced again.

  "They have poisonous claws."

  "Noted."

  A hand reached toward him, and he drew back, before realizing Bishop only intended to touch his arm.

  "I can heal you," Bishop said slowly, as if sensing his reluctance.

  "Sorry. Habit." He'd nearly sent a punch of power in Bishop's direction. "Maybe later when we're home." Exhilaration thrilled through him, his muscles twitching as if they hadn't received the message that the fight was finished. "It's not safe here, and we need to get the Wand back to your house before they can send for reinforcements."

  His vision was slowly adjusting to the moonlight. Bishop's eyes gleamed black, locked on his face. "Don't say I didn't offer."

  "I won't." He strode toward the sorcerer he'd downed at the start of the fight, holding just enough power within him to deal with any threats in case the sorcerer suddenly sat up.

  "He's dead," Bishop called, following him.

  And as a sorcerer of the Grave Arts, Bishop would know. Sebastian released the energy he held. His legs and arms trembled from the rapid fluctuation of power he'd wielded. Bishop had warned him not to use his own energy reserves, but in the heat of the moment, he thought he might not have obeyed.

  Or maybe the poison from those claw marks was working its way through him swiftly.

  Bishop turned the body over. A pale face stared sightlessly at the sky. A man in his twenties by the look of it, his figure cut lean, pockmarks on his cheeks. A gold stud gleamed in his ear.

  "Anyone you recognize?"

  Bishop's lips thinned. "Not a face I know, no. He doesn't belong to the
Order."

  "There are plenty of sorcerers outside the Order."

  Bishop revealed a black tattoo on the back of the corpse's left hand. A crow, by the look of it. Bishop sucked in a sharp breath. "This is a sign of the One-Eyed Crows."

  "Isn't that a street gang from the Hex Society?"

  "Some old friends of Verity's, yes."

  Chapter 9

  "I'M NOT SURPRISED the One-Eyed Crows are involved. Daniel Guthrie wasn't very happy with me when I defected last month, and made him look like a fool in front of the entire Hex Society," Verity grumbled, brushing off Bishop's coat as she slid it from her husband's shoulders. "You've burned another one."

  "Couldn't be helped," Bishop murmured.

  Cleo watched the pair of them tend each other. There was something more important than words passing between them as Verity chided Bishop about sending her away. Verity kept clucking over the coat, but it was clear she was using it as a euphemism for her husband, and Bishop paused in his movements to tuck a strand of hair behind Verity's ear. A gentle moment from the assassin who rarely revealed his feelings.

  And one that left Cleo feeling vastly left out.

  Sebastian poured himself a brandy. Clearly favoring his right side, he ignored the byplay, though he rested one hand on the side table as if his legs weren't quite steady.

  "Are you all right?" she murmured, crossing to his side.

  "I'm fine. It's just a scratch," he murmured. "An imp took me by surprise."

  "Of course it's just a scratch. That's why you look so pale."

  "Are you all right?" he asked, his silky lashes shielding his eyes as he glanced down at her.

  "Quite." She wasn't the one who'd been left to fight a pack of imps.

  "No... remaining side effects?"

  Her cheeks burned. "None."

  Cleo's mouth still tingled from Sebastian's kiss, but he'd retreated into himself. He lifted the brandy to his lips, and then set it aside with a mutter. "I'm sorry, I'm not at all myself. If you'll excuse me," Sebastian murmured. "I think I need to go to bed."

  "Should I find Cleo a bedchamber?" Verity called, and Sebastian barely glanced at her. He pressed a hand to his side as he vanished through the doorway.