by Sadie Moss
Many… hundreds of years? Dear gods, how old are they? And what have they done for Kaius in all those years to “serve” him?
I probably don’t want to know.
The god before us sighs dramatically. “All right. Since you believe she is worthy, I will spare the lost soul.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, all the tension that gathered in my body as I waited flooding back out through my parted lips. If I was near enough to a wall to sag against it in relief, I would. As it is, my knees are so weak I actually consider kneeling before this god to hide how desperately I need to let my legs collapse.
As if he senses my distress, Echo steps back and takes hold of my elbow firmly, helping me stay upright. He catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye, and I could swear I see the corners of his lips tilt up slightly for a heartbeat, but the expression is gone from his face too soon for me to truly register it.
I swallow and dip my head in a barely discernible nod. I don’t dare do more than that in the presence of the deity who nearly snuffed out my soul, but I hope his “messenger” can read the meaning in that small gesture.
Thank you.
If it weren’t for Echo’s bravery in standing up to Kaius for me, I wouldn’t still be standing here.
I wouldn’t still be. Period.
He saved more than my life—he saved my very existence.
I’m still baffled he went to battle for me like that. That all of them did, really, considering none of them seem to like me. It’s not as if they picked me up from the forest floor with welcoming arms and whisked me off on a grand tour of the world. They chased me through the strange landscape until I kneed Paris in the groin and punched Echo in the face.
By all rights, they should be happy to see my soul destroyed.
“However.” Kaius’s voice splits through my relief like a bolt of lightning. He tilts his head back just a little, giving himself the perfect angle to stare down his nose at me. “Lost souls cannot just freely wander my realm. Souls must have a resting place.”
It seems almost like a threat, and I’m not sure I like the sound of that either.
Echo’s hand falls away from my elbow, and I almost stumble sideways. I didn’t realize how much I was leaning on him, and I’m surprised how acutely I feel the absence of his grounding touch. I’m still adrift here, completely lost in this foreign new land, and the only anchor I have is a man I don’t even know.
Kaius taps a single finger to his full lips, his eyes narrowing. His gaze shifts between me and the three messengers who delivered me to his court, and then smiles wickedly at his three men. “Ah. I have a marvelous idea. You three will become the keepers of her soul.”
Paris groans. Callum swears softly under his breath. Worry lights in my chest, and I look at Echo, who’s staring at Kaius as if he’s lost his mind.
“Echo? What does that mean?” I hiss. Keepers of her soul could mean a lot of things. Maybe I have to live with them. Maybe I have to report to them while I live within city limits. I’m not sure. Anything is better than being erased from existence.
At least, I hope so.
Echo turns his head to look at me, and his dark brown eyes are as wide as saucers. But he doesn’t have a chance to speak before Kaius stands again, rising as fluidly as a cat.
The god raises his arms to the ceiling, muscles bulging as he begins chanting words I don’t recognize. It must be the old tongue, a language spoken before time was time. No one I know speaks it, but there are markings on the altar to Zelus written in this language.
And now Kaius is using these strange, foreign-sounding words to do magic.
I recognize the energy field as it builds in the room. It’s similar in feel to what Paris did to me when he bound me for the journey here. As the magic around us grows more powerful, a strong, brisk wind begins to whirl inside the palace’s huge court. I fall against Echo as the magic seeps into me and fills every corner of my being.
Farse, it hurts.
It’s like Kaius is inside me, poking and prodding so deep within my soul I couldn’t shove him out if I tried.
Echo grips my arms tightly, keeping me on my feet. His gaze catches mine, but I can’t read the expression on his face.
Then, suddenly, Kaius’s magic grasps at me.
I’m being torn in half. The pain is excruciating, even worse than those last few moments on the sacrificial altar when I shoved a knife into my own heart. This agony is less physical and more metaphysical.
My soul is on fire.
Then a piece of it breaks free.
A scream wrenches from my lips as I feel Kaius’s hand close around that piece of my soul. He’s not touching me. He’s still standing several feet away in front of the throne on the dais. But I feel him nonetheless. He rips out a part of my soul and carries it away from me. I try to reach for it, to grasp it and take it back, but that’s not even a possibility.
Then he places that piece of me somewhere new.
Inside Echo.
Echo’s hands tighten on my arms, and he gasps in pain. This time, he’s the one whose legs give out, and I sink to the floor with him, supporting his heavy body so he doesn’t fall face first and hurt himself. I feel responsible for this, even through the agony of my soul being torn asunder. Whatever is happening right now is all my fault.
Twice more, Kaius wrenches a part of my soul free. He gives one piece to Callum, who grunts but remains standing, and then gives the second piece to Paris. The blond messenger cries out and sinks to his knees, placing his forehead on the floor.
All the while, Kaius chants in that strange language, and the wind barrels around the room, whipping my hair into my eyes.
Finally, with a final few words, Kaius lowers his hands. The winds die down, and the magic snaps firmly into place.
The spell is complete. It’s done.
I can feel Callum, Echo, and Paris linked to my soul.
Irrevocably.
8
When we leave the palace again, I’m slung over Callum’s shoulder, my ass straight up in the air and all the blood rushing to my head. At least this time, I’m not trussed up with magic rope like a solstice turkey.
“You know she could walk on her own, brother,” Echo says as the three men walk back across the drawbridge outside the palace. It’s later in the day now—more time passed while we were inside the palace than I realized. The air is humid, almost tropical, and the abnormally clear sunlight has a tinge of purple in it, giving everything a surreal glow.
“Yes, but that wouldn’t make me feel nearly as good,” Callum snaps.
I appreciate Echo’s half-hearted argument on my behalf. It’s a little strange to hear him suggest that I can stand on my own two feet, considering he carried me all the way from that strange no-man’s-land to the palace in the first place.
But a lot has changed since then.
The roguish man keeps stepping up for me, for reasons I can’t begin to guess. The soul-deep connection that’s been forged between me and each of these men has given me a discomfiting awareness of their emotions, but it hasn’t granted me an insight into their thoughts.
I don’t need to be psychic to guess that Callum is furious right now though. His grip on me is firm, his strides long and jarring as we make our way through the city; anger pours from him as he carts me through the streets on his shoulder like a caveman choosing a bride.
“This is all your fault,” he adds, still speaking to Echo. Every word comes out quick and sharp, like tiny daggers.
“My fault?” the man beside us snaps. “Because I didn’t want the girl to be erased from existence when it’s not even her farsing fault she’s here?”
“Your twice-cursed moral compass usually only affects you.” Paris speaks up, and although his voice still has a hint of the lazy drawl I’ve come to expect from him, there’s an undertone of anger that matches Callum’s. “But now it’s affecting us too. So if we want to blame you, we’re going to.”
/> Callum adjusts his hold on me with little regard for my comfort, and my nose smacks his back. I gasp, both hands coming up to protect my face. His footsteps pause momentarily, but I can’t tell if it’s because he noticed my sharp inhale or for some other reason. Then he keeps walking, his gait even longer as he turns his head to glare at Echo.
Well, I assume he’s glaring.
“What the hell are we going to do with a human soul?” he demands.
“Could we put it in a cage?” Paris offers. “Like a parrot?”
“I’m right here.” My voice is muffled by my hands, and I dig my elbows into Callum’s back a little, infuriated they’re still talking about me as if I’m an object to be dealt with.
“Human souls are useless,” Callum seethes, talking right over me like I haven’t even spoken. “What business is it of ours if Kaius wiped her out?”
“You’re a better man than that,” Echo argues. “Your anger is talking.”
“He’s right, brother,” Paris says. “We don’t need a pet. She’ll be a distraction and inconvenience we have no use for.”
I’ve managed to keep my cool through all this. For the most part, anyway. I didn’t break down in Kaius’s throne room, and I haven’t given in to the panic that rises and falls in my chest like a wave. But right now, I’m starting to plummet into a deep well of humiliation. These men are not only talking about me as if I’m a piece of trash, or a pet, but they want nothing to do with me either.
I place a hand over my chest. Somewhere near my heart, an almost physical connection links me to all three men, like a string pulled taut between us. I’m all too aware of their presence inside me; I’m entirely too drawn to them. Not only can I feel them there as a part of me, but I can feel their emotions too, mixing and churning with my own until it’s hard to tell which feelings are theirs and which are mine.
Callum is furious, a volcano of rage with a splash of irritation directed at Echo. Paris is amused but also carries an undercurrent of concern and anger.
But Echo’s emotions hurt the most. He’s full of regret, and I can only guess his biggest regret right now is standing up for me to Kaius.
I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful. These men saved my soul, but they’re already treating me like I’m a feral animal they found by the roadside and couldn’t quite bring themselves to kill.
If this is any indication what my future holds, maybe being snuffed out would have been the better choice.
The only thing that could make any of this even worse is a little bit of public humiliation. And with the way other souls on the street are stopping everything to watch my arguing companions pass by with their unwilling passenger, I’m getting that too.
Luckily, the show doesn’t last long before I’m carted up the front stoop of a house, staring at the floorboards as the door clicks open under Callum’s hand. We pass inside, and the large warrior drops me unceremoniously onto a plush couch.
I blink up at the ceiling, dazed from the sudden rush of blood coming back through my body from my poor head. Beneath my hands, the couch cushions are soft, almost silken. Intricate plaster knotwork lines the walls where they meet the ceiling, and I follow the pure white plaster down to an elegant archway. Beyond the arch, a well-made sideboard cabinet complete with shiny silver dishes crouches on one wall, and a long dining room table dominates the room.
The floors are marble, just like in the palace, and I’d bet anything this lavish house was a gift from the god to his messengers. As he said—they’ve served him well, and he’s rewarded them for it.
I don’t get to appreciate any of it for long though. My head has barely stopped spinning before Callum jerks his chin at me.
“Get up,” he says gruffly. “I’ll show you your room.”
I grit my teeth but do as he says. We leave Echo and Paris in the living room, and I follow Callum down a dark inner hallway. My knees are still weak, and my feet tingle from hanging upside down, but I keep my chin up anyway. I’d die a thousand deaths before I would let this man know how terrified and vulnerable I feel right now.
Although if the soul connection between us works both ways, there’s a good chance he knows anyway.
I grit my teeth and shove that thought away, refusing to entertain the idea of these three men being privy to my innermost feelings, my deepest held fears and desires.
Callum shoves open a door at the end of the hall, and golden sunlight spills from the room. He nods at the room, then walks away, his deep voice drifting back over his shoulder. “You’ll stay here. I’ll come fetch you for dinner shortly.”
In the silence after his departure, I gently close the door and then lay my head against the cool wood. Tears prick my eyes, but instead of giving in to the despair, I take a deep breath and latch onto my anger. Anger pushes away the pain. It makes me feel stronger.
Pushing away from the door, I survey my new accommodations. My new… home.
The room is nearly as big as my family’s hut, and the bed is much bigger than any one person could possibly need. A magnificent fireplace graces one wall, while a set of dresser drawers and an armoire stand against another. On the outer wall, a large door opens onto a balcony that overlooks a courtyard at the back of the house, while a door in the opposite wall leads to a private washroom.
I walk inside the dark washroom and feel a zing of magic in the instant before a glow of supernatural light sparks to life near the ceiling. This room is massive too, with a small sink, a commode, and a grand bathtub big enough to hold two, maybe even three people.
When I turn on the gilded taps in the bathtub, I gasp as hot water falls from one. Again, I can feel magic hovering over the pouring water, and I assume that’s how it comes out warm.
No more heating bath water over mother’s fire; no more cold cloths and wash basins.
I find a small stopper dangling by a chain from the rim of the tub and plug it into the drain, then shed my clothes and crawl into the spacious bathtub.
Leaning back against the cool tile, I close my eyes and let the rush of falling water lull me. The warm water builds around my legs, soothing and cleansing, and it chases away the sadness that’s been threatening to overtake me since I arrived in this house—in this world.
Until I think of my family.
I’ve been able to hold off thoughts of them, too distracted by what was going on around me to truly feel the heartbreak of leaving them behind, the worries and questions that plague my mind.
Are they all right?
Zelus accepted my sacrifice. Did he bless the village and my people, making the crops flourish and replenishing the animals in the woods?
Nolan was in rough shape when I left him, and my mother was nothing but bones. I wish I could check on them to make sure they’re all right. To make sure my sacrifice helped them and the others in our village find a lucky turn of fortune.
Despite how tightly I press my eyelids shut, a few tears do spill out, and I wash them away with water and soap that smells of lavender and thyme.
By the time I pull the plug, I feel somewhat more human again—not that I technically am human anymore. I wring the water from my long blonde hair and let the weight of it rest over my shoulder as I stand. I was too taken with the miracle of the instantly hot water to worry about locating a towel before bathing, so I remain standing in the tub, water caressing my legs as I look around the room for something to dry off with.
Before I spot anything of that sort, movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I whirl around as Callum appears in the open washroom doorway.
I jump, startled by his abrupt appearance.
My heart slams against my ribs, and I want to snap at him, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?
But something in his gaze stops my voice in my throat.
We stare at each other in stunned silence for several long seconds, as if time has momentarily lurched to a standstill.
I’m too shocked to have the presence of mind to cover my nude,
dripping body, but it’s too late for that. His green gaze drops to my breasts, and suddenly, my skin flares with dizzying fire.
His big hands clench into fists at his sides as he watches me, but nothing else about him moves save his chest as he draws a ragged breath. The moment draws out, and his gaze is everywhere, all over me, seeming to take in every detail and the entirety of my essence all at once.
I don’t just feel naked.
I feel exposed.
Laid bare.
Stripped of every mask and shield I’ve ever worn.
The taut string connecting us tugs at my chest, and through that connection, through the piece of my soul that he now owns, I feel his reaction to the sight of me.
Heat. Anger. A burning, fierce desire.
Suddenly, Callum moves. He strides into the room like a tiger stalking its prey, his gaze never leaving mine. An echoing desire, a mirror of his, pools low in my belly, and I still don’t move as he approaches.
I don’t know what I expect him to do. Touch me? Kiss me? There’s a tiny, irrational part of me that wants him to. That craves his touch like I’ve never craved anything else in this world or my old one.
But my insane wish isn’t granted. He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he drops into a crouch and whips open a cabinet hidden beneath the sink, yanking out a towel before continuing toward me. He stops at the edge of the tub to wrap the soft cloth around me before lifting me bodily from the tub.
I’m airborne for a long minute, held aloft by his strong arms as easily as if I weigh nothing—then I’m back on my feet, the two of us chest to chest. A bead of sweat trickles down his muscled neck as he starts to dry me off, still consuming me with his intense gaze.
His big hands rub my arms and my torso with the towel, keeping his skin from direct contact with mine. His touch is somehow rough and tender at the same time, nothing at all like when he picked me up earlier.
This is different. More intimate.
He spans his fingers across my rib cage, torturously close to my breasts, and I breathe a little faster, heat burning through my body as if my blood has been replaced by liquid fire.