Heart & Soul (My Demon Bound Book 2)

by Jade Bones

  To our left, the gates to Dremen Academy glint in the low winter sun. Because it isn't summer—the deciduous trees lining the grounds tell me that without a shadow of a doubt.

  Logic screams the answer to me, even though I don't want to admit it.

  "This makes no sense," Mal insists. "How can the North tower be restored? We've only been gone an afternoon!"

  "Mal..."

  "No, seriously." She looks around on the ground for a forked branch, finds a tiny twig, and casts the spell that attempted to guide us home earlier.

  The spell sparks, fizzles, and dies. And it isn't because my energy is drained—whatever burst of power allowed us to connect back to my dorm earlier has simply gone. Faded.

  Or been taken from us.

  "Mal, we're stuck," I say quietly, my heart racing. Fire licks at the edge of my shirt, a potential inferno seconds away, and I brush it away with a steady palm. "Someone has brought us here."

  "Who?" she insists, brow twisted in incredulous fury. "Alaztair? Professor Eaken? No one has the power to bring us back in time, geez, we'd have to be mad to believe that... It's a prank. Or an illusion." Her frantic gaze lands on the gates, and she marches towards them.

  An illusion is a fair guess, but I don't think so.

  "Maybe if we reset the illusion by leaving," she calls over her shoulder.

  I follow close behind, keeping a wary eye out for watchful eyes in the darkness of the forest. Anyone could have been in there with us. I'm a fool for not paying closer attention.

  For a moment, I think I see eyes staring back at me from the gloom, but then they disappear.

  Part of me longs to shift into my stronger form, but I'm not willing to reveal my secrets to Mal yet, not even for this.

  She reaches the gate and steps deliberately through it and back in again. Nothing happens. Unease crosses her face, lines of tension drawing her mouth down at the corners, and she glances at me.

  "Can you... look away for a sec?"

  I could lie. Mal is obviously about to use her strange power, which I'm guessing does more than create ghost trees. But the look on her face when she'd said we weren't on the same team forces its way into my mind, and for some reason I can't do what I know I should, even though it breaks one of my rules.

  Maybe not 'breaks', but it certainly bends. Gives the illusion that I trust her, even if I don't.

  So, I nod and turn away, ignoring the strange little surge of power I sense rippling through the air. My gaze lands on the forest as something glints in the dim light, but no matter how much I squint I can't locate it.

  There's another ripple, and Mal calls to me, "Done."

  When I turn around, she's massaging her limbs as though they've gone to sleep, a frown on her face. "I don't get it," she confesses.

  She spots something on the gate, leaning in to study it. "There's an etching of a key here, like Alaztair said..." Her voice trails off.

  What the hell?

  Before I can caution her to go slowly, Mal traces her fingers across the drawing. The ornate latticework begins to shake, the earth rumbling, and a spectre appears beside the gate.

  FIVE

  Mal

  "Stacey?" My jaw practically hits the floor, and I'm embarrassed to admit how relieved I am to see my gossipy roommate.

  Observing the gate in my spirit form didn’t reveal anything; its true form was just massive lumps of iron ore. No hidden illusions or anything. But touching a weird drawing of a key makes Stacey appear. Go figure.

  "Mal!" Stacey's face wavers in and out of focus, almost like I'm looking at her from underwater. "Wow, so I guess Alaztair was right: you are a key." She frowns. "Damn, I owe him ten bucks."

  "Excuse me, I'm stuck several hundred years in the past, and you're betting on me?"

  It's the first time I've said it out loud, and even though it's meant to be a dismissive joke, my entire body freezes up. We're stuck in the past. Hundreds of years in the past. What the hell are we going to do?

  But seeing a friendly face is enough to make me feel hope again—a sensation that was sadly waning in the last fifteen minutes or so. If Stacey can reach us, we can get back, right?

  The sympathetic awkwardness on her face doesn't reassure me.

  "In my defense, we didn't know where you were then," Stacey points out.

  "You don't sound surprised to find out now."

  "No, well... Violet had a theory. And when I got trapped in the past, it was a few thousand years at one point, so I'm sure you'll be fine."

  The world goes white around the edges, and I sit promptly down on the grass. An indefinable instinct tells me to keep my hand on the key. Aeden appears beside me, his stoic frame a comfort in the same way a giant rock is a comfort when you're in the middle of quicksand. It's not much, but I'll take it. He crouches beside me, somehow looking like a predator ready to spring, and frowns at Stacey.

  "You were trapped in the past?"

  "Only for a few hours." Stacey winces. "Violet suspects it will be longer for you. You're in Dremen, aren't you? Like, with other people and everything?"

  "We haven't seen anyone." Aeden glances back at the school. "But possibly. The building is intact... before the North tower collapsed."

  Stacey nods, like this is an average Tuesday. "Violet suspected the second key would have a different set of trials, and since my trials involved being stuck on my own in hell, fighting ghost guardians, it makes sense that yours would be somewhere that was the opposite of that."

  "First time I've heard Dremen called the opposite of hell," I mutter, mostly so that I can still pretend I’m involved. Then, "Hang on. What trials? You were in hell?"

  There's a quiet scuffle somewhere behind Stacey followed by muffled voices. Stacey winces, her attention fixing back on me. "I don't know how long we have, so I'm going to keep this quick. Also, don't stop touching the key."

  I adjust my grip subtly so it doesn't slip.

  "So here's the rundown: there are four keys, each representing the four kinds of dreams the succubi feed on—"

  "The what?"

  "Please don't interrupt, or you'll be stuck in the past with nothing but the knowledge that when you get back here, I'm going to whack you upside the head."

  "I'm all ears."

  "So I apparently represent the physical key, and had to work out how to recreate that—which ironically wasn't physical at all so don't go thinking this shit is any kind of clue—and we don't know a lot about the succubi which means there's only one other type of dream we can theorize. So you're basically looking for a mystery key or..." Stacey's eyes widen suddenly. "Well... actually, you know what, let's just make it all a mystery, hey?"

  Aeden's face becomes very carefully blank, but I don't have time to work out what I've missed because succubi? Seriously? "I thought they were a myth."

  "Surprise. Not only are they real, but in our past lives we apparently imprisoned them, and then reincarnated every few centuries to oil the locks. Via willing sacrifice."

  "Wait..." Thoughts racing too fast to make sense, I latch onto the one thing that is suddenly demanding my attention. "If we're recreating the keys we represent and using them to escape instead of lock up... doesn't that mean we're freeing the succubi too? And incubi?"

  "Presumably."

  "But aren't they meant to be real dicks?"

  Stacey sighs. "Unfortunately, the way this seems to work is that you're now tied up in the gate's magic, and your choice is either to let the prison spell consume you to recharge itself, or to let yourself and the succubi out. There's no middle ground."

  Silence rests between us as that sinks in.

  "I mean, who are we to judge?" I say eventually. "They could be nice."

  "No one likes a witch hunt," Stacey agrees, a world of consternation in her tone.

  I take a deep breath and let it slowly out. Beside me, Aeden's concentration is fixed on the distant forest, his eyes narrowed as though something in there has caught his attention.

&
nbsp; "So the short and skinny is that we're stuck here looking for some kind of key, which may not look like a key, and as soon as I let go of this engraving we're on our own."

  "Also the succubi might try to talk to you," Stacey adds. "Both Alaztair and Daerek have heard their voices, and they think you should stay on your guard. You'd think us letting them out would put them on our side, but according to them it doesn't seem that way."

  "Excellent. Love a challenge."

  Stacey grimaces at me, fear in her eyes despite the thin press of her lips as she tries to hide it. Bizarrely, it relaxes me.

  "It's alright," I assure her. "We'll figure this out."

  Whatever Stacey goes to say in return is lost when a giant wolf launches from the forest and startles my hand from the engraving. Snarls erupt into the air, shattering the stillness, and in the chaos of tumbling fur and teeth, Aeden disappears.

  I back up, stumbling over my feet as the wolf darts back and forth, moving so fast it can't be a real animal, has to be a spell. In the fading winter twilight, I can't track its movements at all. One moment it's in front of me, the next it's behind, and I hurry to at least put the gate at my back.

  Then it appears there are two wolves, my eyes playing tricks on me in the light. The first one snarls, snapping its teeth, and in the blur of movement the second wolf disappears as though it never existed. Shadows twist, and Aeden appears amidst the brawl, his torn shirt revealing the fire of his heart as flames burst free.

  The wolf howls, winces, and sprints for the forest.

  I rush to Aeden's side, checking him over for serious injury, but miraculously he's fine.

  Nonetheless, the grimace on his face deepens, and when his eyes meet mine—brown and intensely captivating, as always—there's pain there that I don't understand. Careful not to let any of my bare skin touch him, I press firmly on his ribs, ghosting my hand down lower and across his stomach to the other side. He freezes beneath my touch, pulling backwards ever so slightly, but not enough to truly leave. It’s as if he doesn't really want to.

  "Nothing's broken," I murmur, glancing up at the academy. There are lights on in the upper levels, and despite everything, part of me is curious to see what the students of the past are like. "But we should get you out of the cold."

  Aeden chuckles, gaze fixed on mine, searing hot. "I don't get cold."

  Of course. His heart.

  Swallowing, I knit the fabric of his shirt back together with a simple spell. Then, I stand up and put a good three feet of distance between us. He climbs to his feet, towering over me instantly. How did he take on a wolf and emerge with barely a scratch? Demon or not, that's some serious shit.

  I lead the way to the academy steps, the familiar pale stone rising above me and welcoming me home—a little newer, a little cleaner, but still home. For all its shitty teachers and unfair rules, always pushing witches to be the best—even if that means pitting us against each other—I'll still always have a fondness for this place.

  As soon as I step through the front doors, every coherent thought in my brain falls away.

  This place is huge.

  It's impossible, but it's like the inside of the building has changed. Walls that should be cozy, even claustrophobic, with their thick tapestries and warm wooden beams are absent. There's no other word for it; they're completely gone. In their place is a foyer that looks more like a ballroom. Glittering stone stretches into the distance, white columns lining the royal blue carpet that leads me towards the dining hall.

  Only princesses should walk a carpet like this, but all around me are ordinary students. Talking, laughing, gossiping. The only thing strange about them is their clothing—skinny jeans give way to leggings and blouses, most tied off with a leather cord.

  The men are in what look like leather jodhpurs minus the fancy ass. It's pure cloth against skin out here, ladies.

  Got to say, I'm a fan.

  Blinking around uselessly, it takes Aeden steering me by the shoulder towards the noticeboard to break me from my spell.

  One of the girls walking past looks over, eyes running up and down Aden's body as her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. He's taller than the other guys here by about a foot. Have demon generations gotten taller over the years?

  I search for the closest demon to see how short he is, and that's when I realize: there are no demons here. All the men in view are witches, made obvious by the protective amulets around their necks and spell books under their arms.

  With Aeden's unusual height, piercing eyes, and flaming fucking chest there's no escaping his heritage, and it's slowly occurring to me that might not be in our favor.

  "Aeden," I hiss, tugging at his sleeve. "I don't think demons are allowed in the foyer."

  As I speak, I have the weirdest sensation that something is nudging me, like a stick poking a wild animal through a cage. Does it want me to react? Or does it want my magic to?

  I shake the sensation off in favor of the immediate danger.

  Aeden looks over his shoulder, assessing the room with a quick sweep of his eyes, and grunts. Without speaking, he maneuvers me in front of him. I barely come up to his chin, but it's enough to block the flicker of light beneath his black shirt. When his arms hook around my shoulders it sends a shiver through my whole body.

  It's a good move—clever. With me hiding his only demonic feature, no one can be certain he isn't a witch. And if he acts like we're dating...

  No one would ever think a demon and a witch were dating.

  The stares prickling into my back ease, and the fear making me rigid with tension slowly dissipates. We need to get out of sight and think of a plan, and fortunately Aeden had the right idea of starting at the noticeboard.

  "Find an empty dorm," he murmurs into my ear, pretending to nuzzle into my neck. God, I'd almost say he's enjoying this. "Who's looking for a roommate right now? There's less chance they'll be there."

  I scan the handwritten ads. "Room one eight two. South tower."

  "Time to run." His voice lowers, and through the curtain of his hair I see the heads turning our way.

  Maybe playing at boyfriend-girlfriend wasn't the smartest idea. Shit, they're probably prudish as hell back in this era.

  Turning me away from the noticeboard, we prepare to make a dash for the stairs, but something catches my eye. I spin back around, my stomach flipping over, hoping I misread it.

  But no. In the center of the board is a poster for a dance competition—ballroom, to be specific.

  And the engraving on the trophy is a key.

  Aeden follows my line of sight and freezes, fighting to control himself; it's apparent in the clench of his jaw, the flaring of his nostrils. But in the end, he can only say what we're both thinking.

  "You're fucking kidding me."

  SIX

  Aeden

  Through a clever illusion, Mal manages to get us away from the mistrustful stares by faking a fireworks spell gone wrong. It masks any flicker someone might have seen of my heart, while also explaining away a reason for our closeness. Because it turns out these fifteenth century academy students aren't too big on public displays of affection—something I probably should have realized before I was so quick to play house with my witch.

  In the chaos of squeals and bright orange sparkles of light, we run from the foyer and make our way to the dorms. Fortunately, the layout of the academy doesn't seem to have changed overly much in the centuries between then and now. Or now and then, as it is to us I guess.

  I pick the lock on dorm one eight two, and we do a fast sweep of the area to make sure we're alone. The timetable and calendar on the wall confirm it—our dorm buddy has tutoring, so we're safe for another hour yet.

  "The key can't seriously be in a trophy from a dance competition," Mal hisses at me as soon as the door is locked behind us. "That's ludicrous. I know Stacey said it might not be a physical key, but come on. I'm waiting for the hidden cameras to appear and someone to yell surprise! You're on the country's favo
rite game show!"

  "Technically, they'd wait until after the competition to do that anyway," I point out, rifling through the books on the desk for a clue about this place.

  Her face falls, and she scans the room surreptitiously—presumably searching for cameras. An admirable optimism on her part.

  I don't think someone is trying to prank us; I think they're trying to kill us.

  That wolf was no random encounter. It was sent to test us, or possibly to lure my powers into the open—something it achieved spectacularly as I didn't even think before shifting form.

  Mal hasn't seemed to notice there were two wolves in the fight, and I'm not going to be the one to tell her. No one knows about my wolf body, because demons aren't shifters. I'm an anomaly, a freak amongst freaks. The reason I can't hide my flaming heart behind human features is because I already have another body—a wolf's body.

  Try explaining that one to Professor Eaken. The twat would probably break out in hives.

  If I told him the wolf in me is drawn to Mal... that it drags me up and down her hallway after midnight to ensure no danger befouls her dorm... he'd send me straight back to hell. Willingly admitting to a violent bloodlust is the most surefire way to get kicked out of Dremen Academy, even though more than one of my demon brethren are warriors at heart. We keep it silent.

  "We need to steal that trophy," Mal says, picking up items from the bookshelf at random and putting them back down after barely looking at them.

  Leather-bound books, a quill set, stacks of letters... nothing in here has any personality. I'm at as much of a loss as I was when we first arrived. I drop backwards onto the bed and sit with my elbows propped on my knees. "You really think it will be that easy?"

  "Excuse me for being optimistic."

  "That's not optimistic; that's naïve." She glares at me, and I shrug in response. "Someone brought us here. They aren't going to keep the key to our escape in something so easily infiltrated as a glass trophy cabinet."

  Our argument is interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Mal startles, backing up into me, while I run through our options: fight an innocent student, achieving nothing except the title of complete asshole; run—nowhere, looking like idiots; or lie and hope we don't get caught.