Emergence (Book 2)

by K. L. Schwengel

  "Lieutenant, see to the horses, then ride back to meet the escort and see they make it here."

  "Aye, General."

  "Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the trip?" Ciara asked.

  Bolin set the packs down and began removing Sandeen's saddle. "I'm not ignoring you now, but you want to know something I've no intention of telling you. Either of you." He added that last for Nialyne's benefit as she came to stand alongside Ciara. "A united front is a fine thing. In this case, it won't get you what you're after. And if either of you ever leave the escort again, without my direct instruction, your horse will be tied to another. Is that understood?"

  Neither of them responded.

  "Love of the Goddess." Bolin spun away with a growl.

  Sully had stretched a picket line between two trees and had one of the mares tied off already. Bolin led Sandeen to the far end, tied him securely, then went to relieve Sully of his duties.

  "Go meet the escort," Bolin said.

  Sully gave a quick dip of his head, and left without a word. How much easier would things be if only Bolin could instill that kind of discipline in the two women who now trailed his moves as though waiting for him to change his mind and answer their questions? He'd known the risk to what he did. But if he could turn the witch, even a little, then the risk would prove worth it. Even if he didn't, he'd gotten information from her. He knew what had become of the missing guard. Though what kind of unnatural spell she'd woven to create a beast from a dead man, Bolin couldn't fathom. Or even why, for that matter.

  He had also gotten a sense of her mood. Whatever type of coercion Donovan had used to snare her, did not set well with the woman. She had been uneasy about being summoned. Had worried Donovan would find out. That much had been clear. Bolin would have to be very careful the next time. No sense in alarming Donovan before he was ready.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Teeva's head snapped to the side, and tears sprang to her eyes with the force of Donovan's slap.

  "Did I not forbid you to leave this fortress in any manner?"

  "I cannot ignore a summoning of my own power."

  "Then you were foolish to allow him to keep it." Donovan turned away from her, pacing, contemplating the General's motives. "What did he want of you?"

  "He questioned my contentment in your service."

  "Did he?" Donovan stopped behind her. He trailed the backs of his fingers down her arm, and she shivered. "And what did you tell him?"

  "I told him nothing."

  "Tonight we will have the blessing of the dark moon." Donovan slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. The scent of her magic intoxicated him, and his arousal became obvious. It had become harder for him to resist her pull, but this night he would find his release. "Once I have bound you, you will be powerless to move against me."

  She gasped when he spun her and pushed her back against the wall, trapping her there. The light in her eyes harbored contempt and anger. Yet when he brushed a hand against her breast her back arched, and a glimmer of desire rippled through the deep violet of her gaze. Donovan lowered his head to her neck and inhaled the musky scent of her.

  "I have no fondness for you," he said in her ear. "Any more than you have for me. Perhaps less so. Our joining will bear the passion of power embracing power. I will take your body, as I take your soul, mine to use whenever and however I choose."

  "And what is it I get in return?"

  "Your life." His lips against her neck elicited a tremor through them both. Her hands reached for his hips, and clenched his buttocks to drive him against her. "And freedom to practice your arts for my purposes."

  "Freedom," she scoffed. "Nothing you offer me is freedom."

  "You will want for little and be able to embrace your Dominion heritage." His hand brushed the bruise already forming across her cheek. "Would you have as much unbound? Do you think he would give you what I promise? You exist to serve, Priestess, and you shall serve me or no other."

  He covered her mouth with his, hard, demanding, inhaling every bit of her until she gasped for breath. Donovan drew away.

  "Prepare yourself. This night all you possess is mine."

  He shoved away from her, dismissing her with that one action. She let out a shuddering breath as Donovan turned his back to her and moved across his study. His hand shook as he poured a drink. He despised frailties of the flesh, desire being chief among them. Not desire of power, that had purpose and use. Carnal desires. The basest of all animalistic tendencies. The fact the Dominion priestess could so easily arouse him angered him, though he convinced himself her power alone drew him, not her body.

  He swallowed his drink in one scalding draught and refilled his glass. Tonight he would give over to base need to acquire magic as dark as his. Perhaps, like her touch, it would help tame the crone's hold on him. Even in death her power surged inside him, trickling along his spine like tongues of fire. Just when he thought he had found some order to it, it fragmented and scattered.

  "Why do you linger?" He snapped the question out, not turning.

  "You fear him."

  Donovan turned to face her, eyes narrowed. She blanched in the face of his anger and moved to put a table between them. She gripped the edge of it and leaned across, a sneer distorting her face.

  "He has taken something from you. Something you would possess. He will not easily give you this thing back."

  "And did he tell you this?"

  "I have seen it."

  "What else have you seen?"

  "You cannot keep it. It will destroy you. He will destroy you."

  Donovan smiled. Teeva edged around the table opposite him, her eyes glowing. Her fingertips splayed against the surface of the wood: she arched her body as though she thought to climb on top of it. "I can give you all you desire, Lord. My body. My magic. This man and the prize he has kept from you. But only if I remain unbound."

  Donovan laughed. "I would sooner put a viper in my bed."

  "And I would sooner suckle a pig," she said. "But such is the vow I will give to you to remain unbound."

  "You are strong, Priestess." Donovan started around the table. Teeva jerked in an attempt to move away, but found herself held fast. "But you are not that strong. If you cannot best me, you cannot best the Sciath na Duinne. And consider this, I will always be honest in my use of you. He will not. He will employ lies and trickery to get what he wants."

  She screeched, an inhuman sound that pierced the air, and Donvan winced at the intensity of it. Her fingernails dug into the table top as he stopped beside her. Her breasts heaved with each breath; her muscles tightened as she strained against his hold. Donovan leaned in to see her face, allowing her enough movement to turn her head towards him.

  "Have I ever lied to you, Priestess?"

  She spit in his face and Donovan's hand flashed up, his fingers tight around her throat, nails digging in until her eyes bulged. Blood flushed into her cheeks, and the violet of her eyes showed panic beside the ever-present defiance. Donovan held her a moment longer, until those strange eyes started to roll back in her head. She crumpled to the ground when he released her.

  "Come now, Priestess, had you been born a man you would have been bound as a child. You would have served your order and had nothing of your own." He glanced down at her, huddled on the floor, gasping for air, and shoved her with the toe of his boot. "Stand up. I detest sniveling."

  She used the table to pull herself to her feet. She glared at him, a hand on her throat, hatred on her face. When Donovan lifted his hand she flinched. But when he cupped her cheek in his palm, Teeva leaned into the touch.

  "Your desire gives you away, Priestess. The greatest of power comes with the greatest of emotions, but they must be harnessed."

  "I despise you," she said, her voice rough.

  "And yet your body aches to join with mine. Your magic even now seeks to be controlled."

  "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

  "Yes
." He lowered his mouth to her ear and felt her tremble. "If you defy me again, know that I will have no such hesitation where you are concerned. Now, go prepare yourself. We have much to do."

  ***

  There were very few purposes for which Donovan would choose to align any of his practices with the moon. That silver orb belonged in the realm of the Goddess and, as such, garnered as much of his hatred as she did. The Dominion, however, found strength in the dark moon, and though he could bind the priestess at any time, doing so when her magic would be in its fullest would guarantee a stronger bond. He would need it with this one. She would fight the loss of her freedom with every ounce of her being. A shame he had not found her at a younger age. He still marveled that the crone had not attempted to bind her.

  Pain rippled through him as the crone's power flared up, still trying to claw its way free of his. Donovan ground his teeth and gripped the edge of the parapet. The ancient words he whispered to soothe its effects on him should have long subdued it, and yet only seemed to calm it for short bursts. It had taken far too long a time to mend his own power after the battle in the crone's chamber. Trying to blend the two challenged him. It could be foolhardy to add the Dominion magic into the mix if not for the fact the Priestess seemed able to calm the crone's hold on him.

  He sucked in the tepid night breeze. Stars pierced the blackness of the sky above him but gave no light to the tower. There would be none. Not even a single candle. Though braziers flanked the low, stone altar they would not be lit. Dominion magic shunned the light.

  Donovan turned and rested his back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. As much as he longed to search for his daughter, he had to admit to not having the strength. Though he could easily call to Andrakaos, at the moment, he would be able to do little beyond that. It worried him that the General had survived their battle. When he had taken the crone's power, it should have killed him. That he could wield enough control over Andrakaos, the crone's power, and the shreds of the girl's earth magic, and come out of it still drawing breath caused Donovan to admit, if only to himself, that he had greatly underestimated his enemy.

  He would not make that mistake again.

  After this night, he would have a new weapon to employ.

  The trapdoor thrust upwards, and the scent of cool earth wafted to him as Teeva stepped onto the rooftop. Donovan straightened and his breath caught. Her magic oozed around her, thick and black, hissing as it dripped to the ground. She had painted her face, accentuating her eyes with swathes of deep emerald that swept across her temples and disappeared into the waves of her unbound black hair. She wore a simple robe the color of blood.

  He felt the corners of his lips pull up. She meant to fight him.

  Before he had even finished the thought, whip-like cords of her magic flicked toward him. They seared his skin where they wrapped around his arms and legs. Donovan reached out a hand and gathered them together. They cooled instantly, and he jerked his arm back. The priestess stumbled forward, but she would not be that easily caught. She twisted her hand beside her, drawing up a gale force wind that drove tiny bits of magic like molten pebbles to pepper Donovan's skin. He shielded his eyes and dropped to a crouch to avoid the onslaught, pushing them back at Teeva.

  She spun, her hand flashed out, and a streak of silver sped toward Donovan's chest. He stopped the knife in mid air, a hair's breadth from his skin, allowing it to spin slowly above his heart as he stood.

  "The ceremonial dagger. How thoughtful of you." He plucked it out of the air by the blade, testing the weight of it in his palm. "Are you finished?"

  She growled incoherently.

  "I thought as much."

  "You will not bind me."

  "Ah, Priestess, but I will. Come here." When she hesitated, he gestured, and his power whipped around her, pulling her step by halting step to stand in front of him. He slid the flat of the knife blade along her cheek. She shuddered as he continued down her throat to the ties of her robe. With a flick he severed them and the robe fell open. "You will willingly give me your vow, your body, and your magic. I will take these offerings to use as I see fit. If ever you cross me, I will destroy them, one by one. Slowly and painfully."

  He moved the blade across her stomach, and her taut muscles contracted. Desire smoldered beneath the hatred in her eyes, the scent of it mingling with the dark, musk of her skin.

  Donovan left her standing there, quivering, and retrieved a chalice from beside the altar. There were many forms of binding ceremonies. He knew several. How the Dominion bound its priests he did not know, nor did he care. He would bind the priestess with blood and body, which she would give willingly, and hold her because his power exceeded hers. His blood rushed through his veins, pulsing as it had never done.

  "Hold up your hand," he said. He held the chalice under her raised palm, and slid the knife into her other hand. "Your blood, Priestess."

  His power no longer held her, but it enveloped them both. She quivered, her eyes wide, and wet her lips. Like all who dwelled in the darkness, she hungered for more. Their union would put her in the lap of power she had only ever dreamed of, and though she would have no control of it, she would be able to immerse herself in it as a swimmer in the ocean. Donovan counted on that to guide her next move.

  The knife shook as she raised it. Her gaze never left his. She drew the blade across her palm with a sure, slow stroke, hissing through her teeth.

  "Well done." He took the knife, handed her the chalice, and added his own blood to the mix. "Your vow, Priestess."

  She tugged her lower lip in between her teeth. "I give you my vow without binding."

  Donovan shook his head. He moved casually away from her. Placing the knife and chalice beside the altar, he allowed his power to flow through her like a gentle breeze through the trees. Teeva gasped. Donovan glanced over his shoulder. She stood with her head tipped back, her eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

  He called his power back to him, whispered ancient words of binding to blend within the chalice, and turned back to her. "You have already willingly given your blood. Your desire for more is obvious."

  Donovan stepped toward her with the chalice. A moan escaped her as he trailed his fingers down the side of her neck.

  "I hate you," she said, but the words had little vehemence.

  "And I you."

  She took the chalice in both hands and Donovan circled around behind her. He slid the robe from her shoulders, letting it drop to pool around her feet. Brushing her hair to the side, he placed a kiss on the nape of her neck.

  "There is no pleasure that can rival what you will experience tonight," he whispered. "You will be immersed in such power as the Dominion could never have offered. Give me your vow, Priestess."

  His hands caressed her smooth skin. She put the chalice to her lips and murmured something in a language Donovan did not recognize. The words may have been foreign to his ears, but the meaning of them slithered through him in a rush of delight. She tipped the chalice back and downed the contents in a quick gulp.

  Teeva shuddered. The chalice slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. Her teeth began to chatter and she threw her arms around herself. "All that I have is yours." She turned in his arms and backed toward the altar, drawing him with her.

  Donovan stripped off his own robe. His body hummed with pleasure. He spread his arms to the side and lifted his face to the night sky. Darkness surrounded him, a nectar sweeter than any. Power surged through him, and for once the crone's seemed in complete accord as he called the Dominion magic to his embrace.

  Teeva whimpered. Her magic crackled and hissed as Donovan drew it around them both, calling on the blessing of the dark moon. She reached for him then, pulling him down to her and running her hands over his body.

  "Yes," she murmured, and her nails dug into his back. "Blood and body, as my vow. Yours to command until they are taken from you."

  ***

  They were a coarse lot. Three men and a
woman dressed in rough wool and scarred leather. They bristled with weapons, some of obvious Imperial origin, the confiscated bounty of raids against the Emperor's forces. No surprise there. Imperial troops were, after all, a marauder's favorite quarry.

  Two of the men were brutes in both height and build. Muscled, dour, seething with anger and hatred at the world, they stood with feet planted and hands resting on their weapons. Both had long, dirty hair that hung around their scalps in thick braids--or possibly matted clumps, Donovan had a hard time determining which. Small bones and colored beads decorated the strands of their beards. They looked enough alike to be brothers, and smelled rank enough to make his eyes water even with a stiff wind. They were the intimidation.

  The third man had a darker complexion and slighter build. He had drawn Donovan's eye immediately with the smooth way he moved, and the constant attention he paid his surroundings. His hands were never near a weapon, yet of the men, he posed the most danger.

  The woman, however, led this little band of miscreants. She wore her command around her like a cloak. Tall and straight without an ounce of bend, head high, raven hair glistening in the torchlight as the breeze played across the courtyard. She moved with a self-possessed, predatory grace. Nothing soft about this woman. Piercing blue eyes took in everything in one sweep, and Donovan had no doubt she had tallied the number of guards, every possible entrance and exit, and how a pitched battle would play out before they had even dismounted from their shaggy horses. A gold torque circled her neck, both decorative and functional. An Imperial vambrace encased her right forearm and one of the two swords at her hip bore the Imperial insignia. Trophies proudly displayed.

  "Lenia of Tor Gurn, I take it?" Donovan said.