“I know you’re awake, girl,” a sibilant voice whispered in my ear. I recoiled, jerking away from the sound and smell that followed when I breathed in. I nearly fell to the floor in my desire to get away from the stench.
I opened my eyes reluctantly. The Sorcerer, Synlair, bent over me. His horrid face and fetid breath were far too close. He smiled, a humorless mimic of the gesture; the rivers of black beneath his skin writhed like worms under white dirt. I held back my bile, although I wouldn’t apologize if I vomited all over him.
When he didn’t rouse me to a response, he turned away. My gaze immediately found Ian, his dark eyes tortured and sad, bound to the wall more firmly than me. Heavy chains linked his wrists to the stone. I tried speaking to him in my mind, but I couldn’t. Something about the black metal around my limbs, the same thing that kept me from reaching my men or my power, dulled our mental connection. The hole in my chest grew.
The only other person in the room was Everett. He slumped in a chair, not the throne, his eyes unseeing and his skin sagging from his bones. Somehow I doubted he had looked like that before the Sorcerer’s interference. I had never met him, but I had heard tales of his handsomeness. It remained slightly apparent under the sallow flesh and vacant eyes.
I breathed a sigh of relief that my other matches weren’t here. They should stay away; they should save themselves. I was a fool to come alone and a fool to let the Sorcerer capture me.
Sudden cackling made me jump. Synlair rubbed his hands together like a gleeful child. “Ah, here are your other matches, my dear. Perfect.” I couldn’t hide the fear in my eyes, nor was I prepared for what I saw.
Seb led Clay into the room, a rope tied around the broader man’s waist. Their eyes studied the room in a glance, but Seb’s eyes merely grazed over me before landing on the Sorcerer. “Give me the girl, and I’ll let you have the rest of the men,” Seb told the Sorcerer, his voice hardened and sharp. A shiver of fear coursed down my spine. Had the men turned on each other in my absence? Ian’s eyes glittered with rage, and I knew this wasn’t a plan they had concocted together.
Synlair narrowed his eyes at my Planner. “What are you talking about, boy?”
Seb shrugged as if facing off against the Sorcerer didn’t bother him in the least. He tugged on the leash around Clay’s waist, and Clay’s eyes gleamed dangerously. He was angry. I’d never seen my Merchant angry.
“I think it’s obvious,” Seb continued. “I don’t want to share her anymore. I want Kiarra to myself.” He glanced at me, and something flickered deep within his gaze, but he didn’t hold my eyes. He tugged on the rope again. “This one is the weak link. He’s a cripple. What good is a cripple to either of us?”
Synlair, his eyes assessing, circled predatorily around the duo now standing in the center of the room. The muscles bunched in my men’s shoulders. I tried to rise to my feet, but the metal around my wrists and ankles sapped my strength as well as the magic of our bond. I could do no more than shift on the settee and moan with discomfort when my body protested.
Synlair kicked one of Clay’s crutches from under him. It clattered noisily across the hall. Clay fell to the stone floor, grunting in pain. His arms barely caught him. I cried out, tears forming behind my eyes as he fell. Ian jerked against the chains, snarling in rage. I couldn’t tell if he was angry at the Sorcerer or Seb though. I pushed down my doubt. There must be a reason. My men wouldn’t turn on each other. I held onto that conviction with the little mental strength I had left, rebuilding my faith in my matches thought by thought.
When Seb didn’t move to help Clay stand up, Synlair assessed him with more interest. When the Merchant tried to pull himself back up, the Sorcerer kicked away the other crutch, leaving Clay helpless on the floor. Anger replaced my sadness. I seethed. How dare he treat my men so horribly?
“Hmmm, this is an interesting development. Unfortunately, you are the least valuable link. I don’t need a Planner’s skills. I don’t need any of you in fact; I just want you here when I drain your woman.”
The Sorcerer clapped his hands, his skeletal frame producing more noise than should have been possible. Guards entered through the still-open door. They wrenched Seb’s hands behind his back viciously and secured them with a length of chain. He was searched for weapons, and the two daggers he carried landed with a clang on the pile of weapons I assumed came off of Ian’s person. I recognized a couple of the blades already in the collection.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have enough myzantium to restrain you all,” the Sorcerer mused thoughtfully. I glanced at the sinuous black shackles around my wrist, the substance he called myzantium. I couldn’t see a catch, a keyhole, or any kind of opening in the cuff. It wasn’t just metal. There was a spell upon it; a dark cloud hovered over it. I wasn’t restrained by chains, but the enchanted material was enough.
They didn’t tie Clay's hands. They simply pushed him against the wall and attached the rope around his waist to Seb’s restraints. The Sorcerer stood over him, kicking his crooked feet. His lips twisted. “Such a useless excuse for a man. I’m surprised you were even able to form a bond with your disfigurement.”
“Leave him alone!” I croaked, my voice dry and cracked.
The Sorcerer turned back to me, his red eyes glowing. “What’s the matter, Princess?” he asked mockingly. “Does it bother you to see me hurting your cripple? Does it bother you knowing your men turn on you the second you leave their presence? I had hoped for a stronger bond, but,” he shrugged, “I don’t have time to wait. The sheep outside the palace grow suspicious, and I need more power to subdue them. Whatever bond you have formed will be sufficient for that. They are such mindless drones, after all.”
He cocked his head as if he could hear something I couldn’t. Another second passed and the sound filtered to me as well. Cursing and struggling filtered through the open door. Four burly men were required to drag Mason into the room, even with the black metal around his wrists. The guards carrying him were bleeding and bruised but didn’t seem to feel pain. Mason’s eyes held so much fury they nearly set the Sorcerer on fire where he stood. His gaze found me and he struggled even more. His muscles strained against his tunic, the fabric ripping in places. Blood trickled down his arm, the makeshift bandage around his bicep stained red. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks.
“Such a shame I need you all conscious,” the Sorcerer murmured absently. He approached me. With a touch, the metal slid from each of my ankles. It formed a strange blob in his hands. He strode back to Mason and secured the cuffs around his forearms, the metal moving like water as it flowed and reformed around his bulging muscles. He fell to the floor, his strength stolen from him.
Without the bindings on my ankles, my body was more mobile, but I still couldn’t access my bond. I could see it, though. The golden threads were complete and whole. My men hadn’t betrayed me. It had been a ploy on their parts, one that hadn’t worked.
Reed was next to enter the chamber, as I knew he would be because I could feel the string between us growing slack. It took three men to subdue him, and the Sorcerer grunted in dissatisfaction. He glanced at me, his red eyes glowing. “You must be a good fuck, Princess, for your men to fight so strongly for you. Even the Scholar has some strength to him. I hadn’t expected that.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “No matter.”
Synlair directed the guards to tie Reed to the chains restraining Seb and Ian. They clustered together. Clay was the only one with his hands unbound. He sat on the ground. His jade eyes glittered dangerously as he followed the Sorcerer’s movements. His tunic caught on something at his waist, and my eyes widened. They hadn’t stripped Clay of weapons, assuming he was helpless without his legs. Hope trickled into my being for the first time since waking.
“And now, we are all here,” the Sorcerer sang gleefully, his voice filling the hall. His eyes lit upon me, glowing red. “Finally, we can begin.” My matches strained against their bonds, all except Mason, who was so firmly captured by the strange magical
metal that he couldn’t move. But his eyes burned, the pale fire in them blazing a path across the great hall. I could feel their helplessness, their anger, and their sorrow as the Sorcerer walked toward me.
“Why are you doing this?” I gasped. It didn’t make sense. Why were my men still alive? What did he plan?
“Doing what?” Synlair asked. The black veins mapped across his pale face writhed and coiled.
“What do you plan to do with me? Just let them go.” I wasn’t above begging. My matches watched me, their self-condemnation at their perceived failure glittering in their eyes. I tried to reassure them, but I could do no more than look at them. Tears streamed down my face, unheeded.
“No,” Synlair quipped. “You see, the power I harvest from you will be even stronger if you are pulling it from your men at the same time. I know you can do it.”
I held up a wrist weakly. “I can pull nothing while these are on,” I snarled. Rage filled me, so hot I felt I might burn up from within. Seeing my men made helpless only fueled that anger. “And I can’t pull from them when they are restrained the same,” I added, hoping it was true. The only way we were going to survive was if we could access our combined power.
Synlair shook his head. His cloak dragged along the stones as he approached. “You are only half correct, my dear. No, you cannot pull from them with the bracelets on, but they can still send to you with their restraints on because you are the conduit. I know they will send to you because you have bonded with them. They will do anything for you.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “They will even send you their life force if you asked them because they are that stupid.” He spat the last words, spittle flying from his thin lips to glisten on the floor.
I tried to send power to Reed, Clay, or Ian, believing they had the best chances at freeing themselves. The Sorcerer sensed my pitiful attempts and laughed at me, throwing back his head. “So predictable you are, Princess. You cannot send to them; you are the conduit. Really, you are all so appallingly ignorant.”
He approached, and I shifted backward on the settee. Two guards came forward, the ones not bruised and battered by Mason’s and Reed’s attacks. They held my arms behind me, but their touch was impersonal. They weren’t there, just as I imagined Everett to be. Their essence had been stolen, and only a mindless body remained. They yanked me to my feet. My men could become like these guards. The thought nearly drove me to my knees, my chest flaring with pain.
The clanking of chains rang through the hall as the men strained against their bonds, mingling with Mason’s grunting and growling as he struggled to move. I kept my eyes on the snake in front of me. Synlair walked to within a foot of me. His cruel eyes sank into the broken cage of my soul, examining the flickering light that had once been so bright.
“You will pull from your men, and I will harvest all that wonderful energy from you. I will be stronger than any Sorcerer in history, and the Gods will reward me handsomely. I don’t know what makes you so special, Kiarra, but the Fates have blessed you with a pure bond. Such a thing is uncommon. Almost every bond encounters problems that cause rifts between its members. Not you, though. What is it that makes you so special?”
I struggled against the two walls of muscle behind me, but their fingers dug into my arms. I tried to pull power from my men, but the spelled metal still restrained me, and the guards had been imbued with inhuman strength. The Sorcerer lifted a hand. His fingers were tipped with black talons, like an animal. I shrank away from him, but he trailed a claw down my cheek. I shivered with disgust, bile again rising within me. He leaned closer, his hot breath bathing my face.
“I will have your power, Kiarra, and then I will keep you as my doll. You shall sit upon the throne and do my bidding for the rest of your short life until the entire country is under my thumb.”
“No,” I spat angrily, hearing the bluster of my men as well. Chains rattled and threats were hurled.
“I tire of your blathering,” the Sorcerer roared, anger momentarily replacing the intention on his face. He waved a hand, and my men stilled, unable to move. I cried out in distress and agony painted Clay’s features, his hand hovering near the weapon in his waistband. It was just me now. They were paralyzed statues. Their mouths were still open in shouts, and their eyes were angry and despairing.
“No!” Fury and pain filled me.
“Oh yes. Think you are a match for me, little girl?” He laughed, and I struggled again, but it was hopeless. He motioned for the men to hold my arms forward, and the metal slid from my wrists.
Power flooded through me suddenly, the bonds between my men and me lighting up like lights strung across the room. A bright, thick thread connected me to each of my matches, and the convoluted web that connected my men overlaid their cluster, nearly obscuring their bodies. Their emotions flooded me - sadness, despair, anger, hopelessness. The force of their combined feelings would have driven me to my knees if the guards hadn’t supported my weight.
A hand twined about my throat, tilting my head back. The Sorcerer’s skin was as cold as a corpse’s. I saw his poisoned energy and his corrupted soul. It was a seething ball of obsidian in the center of his being, lower than the location of my soul. It coursed through his blood, and he disappeared behind a veil as a cloud of darkness descended and embraced him. His black veins pulsed.
My chest burned when he began pulling. I held on tightly, trying to keep the soul light within my chest with every fiber of my being, but I couldn’t stop the flow. He was too powerful. As it traveled the distance between us, it changed color. My golden light blackened, tentacles reaching across the gap between our bodies. The power moved from my chest, up his arm, and into his skin. His eyes fluttered shut with orgasmic pleasure.
My eyes met my men’s, my head immobile. I couldn’t keep my soul from instinctually drawing on their energies, but I didn’t have to. They sent it to me a little at a time, their eyes resigned. They would give me everything they had in an attempt to keep me alive. They chose my life over their own. Visions flashed through my mind. I remembered the first time I had met each of them, our lovemaking, their smiles, and the colors of their eyes. I saw Alyson, Ahnika, and the faceless women across the Kingdom that would be lost when I was drained of my power.
I told my men I loved them, the words strong in my mind. They returned the sentiment with their eyes, their voices and mental connection still silenced. I met each of their gazes: pained icy blue, dark eyes so steeped in agony and loss they were nearly black, bright blue eyes, hazel eyes shining with tears, and jade eyes that still believed in me. Clay pushed. I felt his energy flow along the bond, a golden ball traveling toward me. My other men followed suit, all of them providing freely as the Sorcerer continued to steal. I held onto my energy with all my strength, trying to retain the golden light within my chest. I couldn’t live without that bond.
As my visions cycled again, I remembered the conversation with Ahnika. Souls could not be possessed or won. I hadn’t understood at the moment, but I understood now. My men chose me over themselves, their golden lights and life-forces were unpolluted.
My eyes met the Sorcerer’s red, inhuman eyes, and I surrendered. I released the tight grasp on my energy and offered willingly, discharging it all in a rush. I would die with my men.
Chapter 33
Clay
They all felt the shift when Kiarra let go. Her eyes met theirs one last time, and she slackened in the guards’ arms. The Sorcerer still gripped her neck tightly. Clay’s anger, fear, and hopelessness vied for superiority in his chest and mind. He was willing to give everything he had to his match. Without her, he was nothing anyway. He could tell she didn’t want to steal their energy, so he provided it without question. Her fellow matches, his chosen brothers, did the same. Their love and adoration sped along the cords between them, golden light pulsating like a heartbeat as it flowed into Kiarra.
The thread glittered between the Sorcerer and Kiarra, the golden color changing to black as the Sorcerer took it. T
he moment he stopped stealing and Kiarra started giving, the cord throbbed once and then morphed. Instead of blackening as the Sorcerer fed upon the energy, it remained golden as Kiarra offered it without reserve. The Sorcerer’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and he grunted incoherently.
The cloak had fallen back from the arm holding Kiarra’s throat, and the churning black veins beneath the man’s skin glistened. The darkness turned to light as it began to pump through his blood. Gold shone beneath the Sorcerer’s thin skin, a glow forming around his body and piercing the shadowy cloud hovering around him. His eyes wide with disbelief, he tried to pull his arm away. Kiarra tore a hand from the guard’s slackening grasp and held him tight, continuing to drive her untainted energy into his blackened soul.
“No,” the Sorcerer whispered.
Clay blinked and then twitched, movement returning to him in degrees as the Sorcerer began to lose control over his magic. His fingers tingled, and then he moved swiftly, reaching for the dagger beneath his tunic. He only drew a little energy from his brothers before he raised the blade and flung it through the air. It unerringly found its place, the hilt protruding between the Sorcerer's evil red eyes. The golden glow spread from the weapon, the magic imbued into the dagger merging with Kiarra’s and continuing to burst over the man’s skin until it cracked wherever his veins coursed. The light formed rivers on his flesh, shining through the surface.
The guards behind Kiarra crumpled to the ground as if they no longer contained bones to hold them upright. Their eyes closed, and their chests stopped moving. Everett followed suit, his body falling to the floor like a sack of flour. Clay’s breath caught in his throat as the Sorcerer screamed and toppled. Black magic oozed from the hole in his head until his face was nothing more than an oily patch of darkness with golden light glimmering beneath.
Harmony of Their Souls - A Reverse Harem Fantasy: Soul Tenders Book 3 Page 20