The Necromancer's Dilemma (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 2)

by SJ Himes

  Eroch flamed over and over, and the hound bit through the troll’s left knee, bone cracking. Stone screamed, and fell to his knees. Eroch screamed in triumph while the hound leapt for Stone’s throat.

  It was over so fast Angel had trouble believing it.

  The hound bit deep, its jaws eclipsing the troll’s thick neck, and he shook his head, worrying at the flesh. Stone tried to force the hound off, but with a solid, fast jerk of its jaws, Stone’s head left his body. The headless body fell forward, blood spraying over the floor. Angel dodged a thick spurt, the rich metallic scent of warm blood heavy in the cool air. Eroch landed on the corpse, flaming it while screeching in victory.

  The hound dropped the head with a thick splat and a happy wag of a long bushy tail. Its eyes glowed, flames brighter, the spell resolving itself as the hound’s physical form released. A howl echoed through the temple, the price for the hunt paid, until Simeon summoned him anew.

  Angel exhaled a shaky breath, adrenaline making him dizzy. He spat on the floor, leaning over, hands on his knees. “Oh, that was so gross. And cool. But gross.”

  Eroch was chittering to himself and cleaning his face, wings out and fanning. Steam rose from the little dragon’s body, his emerald scales glowing around his snout and on his chest. “You are so badass.”

  Eroch chirped, happy, then went back to cleaning himself. Angel stood upright, and stumbled on shaky legs for the end of the temple. He hadn’t heard anything from that part of the room. Weird magic rose and fell in waves, Angel’s own magic sparing and flaring in response. The ambient magic fields were chaotic, as if someone was tapping the veil and then releasing it, over and over.

  He cleared the dais, and stopped. Simeon and the fae lord Cian were locked in a horrific tableau. Simeon was standing over the fae lord, who was on his knees, covered in slashes from claws and teeth. Simeon had his claws buried in the side of Cian’s neck, frozen in what must be millimeters from ripping out his arteries. What made Angel’s heart stutter and skip a beat was the root that was buried in Simeon’s back—too close to his heart. So close, that one twitch of the root would put wood through his heart, killing him.

  Simeon’s pain-filled eyes met his own, and he tried to smile. “A ghra, walk away. Don’t look.”

  “No…look, necromancer.” Cian coughed, blood running over his lips. “Look at what you’ve done.”

  Cian raised a bloody hand, fingers shaking as he pointed to the dais. Angel ripped his gaze from the tangled duo and looked at the coffin. The stasis spell was falling apart, the runes dying one by one. The body within would be freed in moments, and then the grievously wounded fae would die.

  “My brother will die, murdered by your hand,” Cian gasped out, tears running down his blooded cheeks. “My life is nothing compared to his. Therein lies a pure soul, a hero, a noble man untouched by the world’s evil. I am nothing without Ruairí. And so shall your mate be nothing if my brother dies.”

  “Tell me what you want,” Angel demanded, but he knew. If there was one thing Angel knew without a doubt, it was what Cian was going to ask of him.

  “Angel, no. There is no need, a ghra. If this one here can kill without remorse for his brother, then imagine what that one must be like. Walk away, my love, and let me finish him.” Simeon jerked as the root twitched, and Angel wanted to throw up, his terror so acute at the thought of Simeon dying right before him. He shook his head, tears running from his eyes, hot and scalding.

  “I won’t watch you die. I love you, dammit. I’m too selfish to be noble.” Angel wiped at his face, spreading dirt and blood, begging for Simeon to understand. “You wouldn’t let me die, so I won’t see you go before me!”

  “Hurry, necromancer, or we all die,” Cian whispered, eyes locked on his brother’s form. The last runes were flaring, the spell coming to an end.

  “If his soul passes before I can restore him, I will not resurrect him. He’ll be a revenant, not alive, not as he was, not if I pull him back across the void.”

  “I care not. Do it!”

  Angel jumped to the dais, knocking the vampire heart from the top of the coffin. He gripped the lid, and pushed, the heavy glass lid refusing to budge for a frustrating moment. It released with a snap, and Angel pushed it away. It fell to the ground, shattering, the sound deafening. The last of the runes flared, and then died, and Angel slammed his hand down, covering the wound.

  Eyes the shade of clear amber opened, startled. A shade so pure and lovely Angel fought not to be distracted. Angel reached out, blood flowing from the ruptured heart beneath his fingers, and he summoned all his magic, the death magic coming to his call. Desperation made him pull on the mate bond, and the primordial magic within Simeon answered.

  As he had once with Daniel, Angel used the death magic huddled within the dying fae lord to reach out and tried to grab the soul hovering on the precipice. Angel closed his eyes, falling into the cavernous void between life and death, chasing after the fae’s soul as it hurtled towards the Other Side.

  In his short life, Angel had only ever healed mortals, human practitioners that took life-ending injuries and spells. He could not heal the undead, not with death magic—he could only ever heal the living. How to heal a fae was unknown to him, but the fae were living creatures, so he might be able to do it.

  Once the soul, the spirit, fell from the precipice and entered the Other Side, Angel could not heal the injured. He could resurrect, bring the soul back to a dead body, but it was beyond even his affinity to truly bring someone back to life, a living soul in a living body, restored and pristine. Such an ability was in the purview of the gods, and only them. He had the narrowest of windows in which to succeed, and time was running away from him.

  Angel chased after the soul, Ruairí’s death imminent. Desperate, Angel poured all of himself into the fae, his own spirit loosening from within his mortal coil. He reached, further and further, Death so close Angel sensed a Presence, the Void looking back. His mind and spirit made one last attempt—and he leapt after the departing soul, falling from the precipice. Angel cried out, despairing at his failure even as he caught the fae’s soul before it was swallowed by the blackness. He fell, spirit loosening from his body.

  Angel!

  The golden cord of his soul bond went taut, jerking his descent to a rough halt. A horrible tension grew, the weight of the fae’s soul pulling his own apart, the bond with Simeon unrelenting.

  Simeon, help me!

  The golden cord sang, the death magic it carried joining in harmony. Strength filled him, sewing him back together, pulling him and the fae’s soul back from the Void. Angel used the bond to find his way back to his own body, all but dragging the fae’s soul behind him.

  He came back to himself, slumped over the fae, Simeon’s worried calls in his ears, the fae lord screaming. Angel gasped, lungs burning, eyes watering. He clenched his hand in the ruined, warm flesh of the injured fae’s chest, and returned the soul to the body. Flesh knit, blood ceased to flow from the deep wound, muscles and tendons and nerves stitching themselves back together. Angel poured all the power he could into the healing form under his hand.

  Angel panted at the effort, terrified by how close it had been, heart racing in an attempt to prove he was alive too. Beautiful amber eyes blinked up at him and there was a confused, kind smile gracing perfect lips. Ruairí breathed, chest rising, a wide, red scar in place where a gaping wound had been. Angel smiled in return, a reflexive response to such beauty as that smile.

  “Ruairí!” Cian cried out, heartbreaking and yet joyous. Angel looked over his shoulder, to where Simeon and Cian were locked together in their deathly stalemate.

  He made a choice, hoping love would win out over violence.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Paying the Price

  “Let each other go,” Angel gasped out. “He’s alive. Let Simeon go. Simeon, it’s alright. Just stop, both
of you.”

  “My love…”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  Simeon withdrew his claws, and the root fell from his back. Cian dashed towards the dais, and Angel fell to the ground out of the way. He crawled to Simeon’s side, where his lover fell when the root pulled away.

  Simeon reached out for him, and Angel pulled his head and shoulders into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Simeon, and held his wrist to Simeon’s mouth. “Drink, baby. Please.”

  Simeon gripped his wrist, and fangs bit into his flesh. Angel shuddered, but held fast. Simeon drank, and Angel buried his face in Simeon’s hair, so thankful to have his mate in his arms. “You pulled me back,” Angel whispered in Simeon’s hair, dropping kisses amongst the strands. “You pulled us both back. Thank you. I love you so much.”

  Simeon rubbed his forearms, soothing, loving touches that calmed his racing heart and settled his frayed nerves. Simeon drank great mouthfuls that made his arm pinch and pull, but he accepted the pain with a grateful heart.

  Sobs and laughter reached them, and Angel looked to the dais. Cian had Ruairí in his arms, the brothers weeping and laughing in happiness. Joy glimmered in the air and on their skin, hair lifting gently in a nonexistent wind. They spoke to each other in a language Angel didn’t recognize, the words lyrical and sweet, almost intoxicating to hear. Their reunion made his heart hurt, the love coming from both men almost too much to witness.

  A chirring cry echoed through the room, and Eroch flew over the pair on the dais, and he landed on the ground next to Angel. “Hey, wee beastie. So proud of you.”

  Eroch puffed up, flapping his wings. Angel cast a glance at the fae lords, who were in their own world, paying them no mind at all. Angel shifted, and with his free hand pulled out his cell. No service, but he wasn’t surprised. He opened his texting, and wrote a short message, adding the recipients before setting it to send once there was a signal.

  “I need you to do me a favor, Eroch. Take my cell, and fly back the way we came. Get my cell to the tunnel entrance, and leave it there, okay? Then come right back.”

  Eroch tilted his head to the side, stared at the cell he held out in his palm, and Angel waited. He knew Eroch understood, but the beastie was not a pet, and could refuse. Eroch nodded, an odd gesture to see from a creature that wasn’t humanoid. Angel quietly thanked the dragon when he leapt onto Angel’s hand, grabbing the cell with his front legs. He chittered, wings flapping. Angel focused his will, summoning a tiny green hellfire star to stay with Eroch, lighting the dragon’s way through the tunnel. He had no idea if Eroch could see or not in the darkness, but the beastie was doing him a favor, acting as a beast of burden, so it was a small kindness. Eroch took off, his usual effortless leap slightly cumbersome, but he flew fast enough. He disappeared into the shadows of the temple, the tiny hellfire light keeping pace.

  Simeon pulled his fangs from his wrist, and Angel hissed at the sting. His wrist throbbed in time to his heart, and he groaned, dizzy. Angel helped him sit up, and Simeon pulled him in, taking his mouth in a savage kiss. Anger, frustration, love, all of it was in Simeon’s kiss, demanding Angel respond with fervor.

  Simeon pulled back, and Angel crawled into his lover’s lap, hands roaming over his back, searching out the place where the root had pierced his back. Smooth skin ran unblemished under his fingers, and he embraced the intense relief he felt at the discovery Simeon would be fine. Simeon held him, the steel bands of his arms refusing to relinquish their hold on Angel, and he burrowed his face into Simeon’s chest. Tears came, and he let them, enjoying the feel of Simeon holding him.

  He had no idea how much time passed, but he jerked awake from his doze when a hand touched his shoulder. Angel sat up, wiping at his face, and jumped when he met amber eyes and a wide smile.

  Simeon growled quietly, and Ruairí held up his hands, kneeling beside them. He looked at the way Simeon held Angel in his lap, and the fae lord chuckled, murmuring something softly in his own language that spoke of amusement and sympathy.

  Angel shook his head, and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Ruairí tilted his head, much like Eroch did, and the fae lord’s expression turned rueful. “Forgive me, necromancer. I assumed you knew my tongue. The last necromancer I met knew it better than I do.”

  Ruairí’s voice was astounding. Deep, smooth, accented with a lilt much like Simeon’s, it made Angel shiver, his attention captured by the sound. As charming as the sound of a babbling brook or the song of a forest wren, it captivated and seduced. Simeon’s arms tightened around him, and Angel breathed out, blinking as he let go of the sensations generated by the fae lord.

  The red scar on his chest was smaller, less vibrant, and even as he watched the wound continued to heal. Ruairí would be perfect once again, his own natural healing ability able to restore such damage. Angel frowned, and Ruairí looked down, touching the wound and sighing.

  “The blade that cut me down struck true and sure,” Ruairí said softly, giving a half shrug, the motion elegant and endearing. “I could not heal, not so grievous a wound. My heart was damaged past the point I could heal. Cian told me what he did. Last I recall, I was on the battlefield, cutting through British infantry attempting to retake the city. My brother loves me, as I love him, but that does not excuse nor allow the evil he committed in my name.”

  “He murdered innocents. Humans, werewolves, vampires. All to save you,” Simeon growled. “Cian must pay.”

  “And so he shall, without complaint,” Ruairí promised, gesturing behind him. Cian knelt beside the dais, his mercurial eyes locked on his brother, as if afraid to take his gaze from his twin, lest he disappear. “We owe you a debt, necromancer. A debt that may never be repaid. Cian will accept whatever punishment comes his way from the human authorities.”

  “From the bloodclan, you mean,” Batiste said, making them all jump but for Ruairí. Batiste appeared behind Cian, standing over the kneeling fae.

  Vampires emerged from the shadows, over a dozen of them. Bridgerton appeared beside Batiste, carrying Stone’s head by the hair. He threw it to the ground, and it rolled until it smacked into Cian’s knee. The fae lord bowed his head, as if waiting for a blow to take his own head in turn.

  Angel stood up, Simeon holding him under his arm. Batiste leaned down, and picked up the vampire heart from the dust. He stood slowly, and spoke to Cian. “How long ago did you slay my child?”

  Cian lifted his head, confused, but responded easily enough. “Less than an hour. His body is through there, Constantine.” Cian pointed with his chin at the doorway in the roots. “And so are your remaining children. They live, all of them, but for the unfortunate soul from which I took the heart.”

  Batiste stilled, and even Angel could tell the Master was surprised. Angel was too, and Simeon tensed beside him. Batiste gestured, and Simeon pulled away from Angel, Bridgerton blurring as well. They went through the root doorway, and Angel turned back to Cian.

  He walked over to the kneeling fae lord, and crouched beside him. Cian met his eyes, unashamed and peaceful. There was regret there, but Angel had a feeling it wasn’t for killing innocent people. Nor was it for getting caught. He frowned, and asked, “You said you were away. Where were you?”

  Cian was surprised, perhaps expecting Angel to shout or yell at him, but he answered. “I was searching for a priest of our people. I’ve been searching since Ruairí fell in battle and he was placed in stasis. My search was for naught—I gave up a few months ago, and attempted the restoration spell known only to our priests on my own. That is why I collected the hearts.”

  “But you didn’t know the ritual, the specifics, so it kept failing,” Angel said, and Cian nodded.

  “I saw it performed once, millennia ago as a child, but could not duplicate it,” Cian said, a wry smile twisting his lips. “For my failure, Ruairí nearly died, and I stole lives from worthy so
uls in a fruitless quest.”

  “You knew I was a necromancer. Why didn’t you come to me directly?” Angel asked, utterly at a loss. Cian reared back on his heels, and the absolute shock on the fae’s face left him surprised.

  “I have never known a necromancer to offer their skills for nothing,” Cian said, eyes wide and startled. “The ones I have known in the past were not trustworthy, or would have refused. Powerful sorcerers all, but evil men with rotted souls who would enslave Ruairí as soon as heal him. I thought to perhaps bribe you, or maybe take your brother as hostage, but the last fool to touch your brother you burnt alive. Then I learned you were bonded, mated, and the dishonor in harming a pair is unparalleled. So I sought to keep you out of my affairs, and strove to heal Ruairí on my own.”

  Angel gaped at Cian. He knew the reputation of necromancers. He wasn’t a fool, or blind. He fought against that prejudice every day, no matter how well-deserved of a reputation it may be. His kindred across the globe weren’t known for their acts of kindness nor charity. If Cian had been here when Angel was growing up, he may have known better, learned Angel would have helped simply because it was the right thing to do.

  Ifs and buts were pointless, though, and Angel shook his head, standing.

  “Ruairí is innocent of all his brother’s transgressions,” Angel said to Batiste, the Master glowering at him, but he nodded. “Do as you will to Cian. Stone is dead, his life for the human of yours he killed. Turn Cian over to the humans, or take his life, I don’t care. I’m done.”

  Angel walked away, not looking back. His hellfire light still burned above them all, lighting the room. Angel skirted Stone’s headless corpse, and walked to the tunnel.

  A slight weight landed on his shoulder, and Angel reached up for Eroch, pulling his familiar into his arms and hugging him to his chest. “Thank you, wee beastie.” Eroch chirred, snuggling, warming Angel as regrets that weren’t even his own clouded his thoughts.