The Bonds of Blood (The Final Formula Series, Book 4.5)

by Becca Andre

  He turned his head, his gaze locking with hers. She froze. Knowing him like she did, it was easy to forget what he truly was. But looking at him now, she had no doubt that Death stared back at her.

  His gaze drifted to her throat, breaking the spell that had held her in place. “You’re bleeding.”

  She touched her fingers to her neck, and they came away bloody. When she looked up, he was still watching her, his brow wrinkled and his hands curled into fists. Was it the sight of her blood that was making him so agitated?

  Wordlessly, she lifted her chin and offered him her throat.

  He didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he leaned down and ran his tongue just below her jaw.

  She winced at the burn and gripped his forearms. Just when it seemed at its most intense, the burn faded, leaving her acutely aware of his mouth on her throat.

  A soft growl, and he lifted his head to take her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, his actions rough and demanding, as if the emotions George had awakened still hadn’t left him.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and responded in kind, her anxiety and fear morphing into something else.

  His hands slid down from her waist, and to her surprise, gripped her backside. He had never been so forward—not that she minded. Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up and pressed her against the side of the mausoleum, his body holding hers in place.

  She wrapped her legs around him, loving the feel of his hard body against hers—until she remembered that though secluded, this wasn’t exactly a private setting.

  “We’re still in public,” she said against his lips.

  Something close to a snarl grated in his throat, and he pulled her off the wall, though he didn’t set her down. With an ease that made it clear that her weight didn’t hamper him, he stepped through the busted mausoleum door and into the dark confines of the crypt.

  She bit back a laugh at his actions. This wasn’t exactly what she had in mind as a private setting.

  He crossed the floor in a few strides, avoiding the chunks of stone from the busted vaults lining the walls and the dead that had managed to climb from their graves. Setting her on the stone lid of a sarcophagus, he climbed up after her.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he pressed her down against the cool stone, his lips finding hers in the darkness. He slid one hand down her side until he gripped her thigh, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him once more. She obliged, angling her hips to align their lower bodies as he pressed against her.

  He snarled in what sounded like frustration.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “This would be more fun without clothes.”

  He pulled back a little, his faintly glowing eyes visible in the dimness.

  “Although, it is roomier than that mortuary drawer.”

  He blinked a few times, and she got the distinct impression that he was only just now coming back to himself.

  “Hey.” She smiled when his eyes returned to hers. “You back?”

  He bowed his head and seemed to gather himself. “Yeah.”

  She released him and let him sit up, then did the same until they faced each other on the sarcophagus lid.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “If you’re apologizing for going after George, I forgive you. As for the rest of it, you should be apologizing for stopping.” She couldn’t see his expression well in the low light, but she caught the movement of a smile, though it didn’t last.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have done that. Calling me off a Hunt is dangerous.”

  “I had to. You were starting to change. I didn’t think you could take your true form here.”

  “That’s what Gavin told me.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “But when I smelled your blood on George’s knife, I…” He shook his head. “I lost all restraint.”

  “So that was no-holds-barred, completely off-the-rails James?”

  He looked down. “Yeah.”

  “Scary.”

  His brow wrinkled in the faint light from the door.

  “And sexy as hell,” she added. “Pun intended.”

  He looked up, his raised brows visible over his faintly glowing eyes.

  She laughed. “What? I believe we’ve already discussed my odd proclivities with regard to you.”

  That returned his smile. “Your proclivities aside, I still might have hurt you.” His tone turned serious.

  “The soul bond I placed on you won’t let you.”

  “The Hunt had consumed me. I wasn’t even aware of the bond.”

  “You don’t have to be. The compulsion would have stopped you.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “I’m a soul reaper, and I made you mine.”

  “Like you did Addie… and Doug.”

  She heard the bitterness, though she suspected he tried to hide it. “No, I tethered their souls and inadvertently reaped them.” She had accidentally pulled bits of their souls into her own—which was the curse of her magic. “I bound your soul,” she told James. “I tied your life to my own. You wouldn’t hurt yourself.”

  “I would have killed George. I think that argues against my sense of self preservation.”

  “You were enraged and there was no bond to stop you.”

  “There’s a bond between us. Once he dies, I’m done.”

  “Whatever ties you to him isn’t a soul bond. Soul bonds are different. Their whole purpose is to stop the Made from killing its maker. That’s where the compulsion kicks in.”

  “But some do overcome the compulsion. They kill their Makers, right?”

  “Occasionally, and usually with necromancers who have just enough juice to Make. That’s not the case with me. My bonds are unbreakable.”

  That seemed to stop any further argument from him. “Yes, they are.” He sounded pleased by the fact.

  He slid down off the sarcophagus and took a few quick strides across the room, then stopped. “Why are there bodies all over the place?”

  “Me. George was about to get some company.” She climbed off the sarcophagus. “What are you thinking?” She tried to get the conversation back on track.

  He glanced over. This close to the open door, she could see the considering look he gave her. “I’m bound to you.” He smiled.

  Suddenly, she saw where he was going with this. “No, your bond to me doesn’t supersede your bond to George.”

  “Why not?” He took a step toward her, his tone eager. “You keep telling me how powerful you are, that your bonds are unbreakable, and your compulsion absolute. I’ve experienced none of those things with my brothers.”

  “The link to your brother is what holds you to the mortal world. Your bond with me binds you only to me and not a plane of existence.”

  “Yet if you die, I’m banished from the mortal world.”

  “Yes, because where my soul goes, yours goes. But it doesn’t mean that if I remain on the mortal plane, you will. I didn’t take the place of one of your brothers.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, no, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to capture George and lock him away. Forget about the fratricide.”

  “Is that a command?”

  “No, it’s me asking.” She frowned. “You know I hate to command you.”

  He looked away, clearly annoyed that she wasn’t buying into this solution to deal with his brother.

  She glanced at the mess around them. “I guess I should put these guys back in their graves.”

  “I’ll wait outside.” He turned and left the mausoleum.

  She sighed. His desire to be free of his brother was understandable, but she wasn’t willing to risk him on a theory. Even if it was an intriguing theory. One that she really wished was tru
e.

  Working quickly, she sent the dead to their crypts, though there was nothing she could do about the busted vaults. At least it only looked like vandalism or grave robbery now. No obvious sign of necromancy to give Doug and the Deacon’s office trouble.

  Content that she had avoided drawing Old Magic any unwanted attention, she stepped outside. James sat on his haunches, his back to the wall of the mausoleum. His stance was casual, relaxed, but she had no doubt that he had been watching the area for any sign of his brother.

  “Best I can do,” she announced.

  James rose to his feet and picked up his backpack.

  “We’re going back to your place, right?” she asked.

  “Yes. I need to leave my things there before I take you home.” He walked toward the street.

  “Are you mad at me?” She lengthened her stride to catch up with him.

  “No.” He kept his attention on their surroundings instead of looking at her.

  “You act mad.”

  He huffed out a breath. “I’m frustrated.”

  “No doubt.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “It really is more fun without clothes.”

  He glanced over, a faintly startled look on his face before he started to laugh.

  Relieved that she had made him laugh, she reached out and took his hand, twining her fingers in his.

  He looked down at their joined hands, and she noticed that it was her right one. The one with the partially amputated finger. She never held his hand with the right one. As if thinking the same thing, he rubbed his thumb across the stump of her finger. The skin had healed so perfectly that it resembled a birth defect rather than a month-old amputation.

  “It’s so strange the way you can heal me,” she said.

  He glanced up, looking a bit surprised by her comment. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot—how I’m able to heal you.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to try something.”

  “All right. What do you have in mind?”

  He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Not here. In the land of the dead.”

  “Kinky, but okay.”

  He smiled. “Naughty necromancer.”

  Elysia stood in the land of the dead, the black featureless plain rolling on in every direction, and stared up at the monster before her. James gazed off in the distance, his ears pricked toward the sound of the hellhound howl they had heard.

  “Do we need to go?” she asked. They had been here for several minutes. So far, all he’d done was stare at her soul with those glowing eyes.

  It picked up my scent, he answered. It won’t bother us.

  “That’s good.”

  He faced her once more, and though she really couldn’t read his expression while he was in his were-hound form, she got the impression that he was growing frustrated.

  “What now?”

  I don’t know. The words were a growl in her mind. I feel like I should be able to do something. But I manipulate souls with these. He held up his hands, displaying the ebony claws on his fingertips. Claws able to rip the soul from a body. I’m not going to do that again.

  He once had to dig his claws into her, at her command, to untether her and Ian after Alexander had forced it on them. Had she completed the reaping, it would have killed her and Ian both.

  “I’m relieved,” she teased. “Of course, you never have to take my soul. I’m more than willing to share.”

  His lifted his head, that intense gaze locking with hers, except in this form, that intensity was dialed all the way up.

  Goosebumps immediately coated her arms. “What?”

  I’ve got an idea. Share you soul with me. Here.

  “Okay.” That was better than being clawed. Much better since the relief she had gotten from the cemetery was already wearing off.

  She released her soul into him and watched in wonder as light erupted from beneath his black fur. The light grew brighter, and he began to change before her eyes. His other changes were always instantaneous, but this wasn’t. He slowly changed from a seven-foot monster into the man she knew—except for the glowing skin.

  “Crap.” James frowned at his clawless human hand. “I forgot about this.”

  “I’m rather enjoying it—on a couple of levels.”

  He looked up and smiled, but it didn’t last.

  “What were you planning to do?” she asked.

  “Remember when Kari attacked Gavin and disappeared into him. He dug her out with his claws. I thought if your soul was in me…”

  “You could manipulate my soul with your claws—by digging through your own flesh.”

  “I heal almost instantly in this place.”

  “James—”

  He tipped back his head, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth. “That’s so much stronger here.”

  “I don’t see how my magic even works on you here. This is where your soul is bound, right?” A chill crawled over her. “Or is it?”

  “Ely?”

  “For a soul to remain on the mortal plane after death, it must be anchored. In lich making, the heart is used.” And typically jarred and kept by the one who made the lich.

  “My soul is here. Gavin almost ripped it out.”

  “Yes, your soul is here.” Smiling, she ran a hand up his arm, over his glowing skin. “This is your soul, your true form, just as I told you once, but it must be anchored in the mortal world.” The words had barely crossed her lips when a new thought occurred.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I still think I’m right about you not being soul bound to your brothers, but…” She took a breath and released it. “This is crazy, but I think your anchor is your brothers. Though that violates the rules of necromancy. Anchors can’t be alive.”

  “My ancestor was created with alchemy, not necromancy. And it’s brother, singular.” His brow wrinkled and he looked away. “I killed Henry.”

  “You really killed him?”

  His eyes met hers once more. “You knew?”

  “George told me,” she answered. “But he didn’t tell me why.”

  “I was trying to distract him. He was about to shoot Rowan.”

  In other words, James was protecting his adoptive family from his real family. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not—which I guess says something about me.”

  “Nothing negative as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Thanks.” He looked away, gazing out over the featureless black plain, his human skin glowing softly in the dimness. He was a being of light that looked so wrong here.

  “Is this what you see when you look at someone’s soul?” she asked, running her fingers along his arm.

  He held up his hand, studying it. “I guess so. Though I’ve never seen it in me.”

  “This makes no sense. Why does your soul take the form of the were-hound thing here?”

  “Were-hound?”

  “I just made that up.”

  He smiled. “Because here, my human form was merged with the hellhound to enable me to remain.”

  “Merged,” she repeated, still studying his glowing skin. How had alchemy accomplished that?

  “Elysia?”

  The bond tightened, twisting through her in a near orgasmic rush of pleasure, but also a burning pain. She stumbled forward, but James caught her. She opened her eyes and had to squint against the brightness of his skin. She had fed him more of her soul. But it was different now. As she watched, patches of varying brightness swirled and shifted beneath his skin.

  “Your skin,” she whispered, running a hand down his chest. “I don’t remember this last time.”

  He held out his arm and studied the swirling light for a moment. “This body might be my soul’s true form, but the light is yours. That’s what your soul loo
ks like right now. All those extra bits stuck in it…”

  The light seemed to stabilize, the darker patches fading until they were once more uniform.

  “What—” she started to ask.

  “Did you take any of it back?”

  “No.”

  “Give me more.”

  She did as he asked, releasing more of her soul. She had to brace a hand against his stomach to keep her balance. Oh damn, that felt good. She wanted to close her eyes, but forced herself to keep them open. Once again, the light and dark patches swirled beneath James’s skin.

  She took a step back and crossed her arms. That was her. Those patches were the souls she had reaped. God, that was disturbing.

  “So, if the glow is me,” she said. “Where are you?”

  He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. The cords in his neck stood out as he clenched his teeth. He fisted his hands, and beneath his glowing skin, his muscles stood out in stark relief.

  Elysia was about to ask what he was doing when a shimmer of darkness washed over him, or rather, through him. It reminded her of when he changed form on the mortal plane. He opened his hands, revealing ebony claws now visible on his fingertips. But that wasn’t the only change. The dark patches swirling beneath his skin were gone, leaving only the uniform brightness.

  “James?”

  He snarled and dropped to a crouch before her.

  “Hey.” She reached out a hand to him, but he looked up before she could touch his shoulder. Around each pupil, a crimson band glowed within the green.

  She gulped and stumbled back.

  “Ely?” He rose to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your eyes…they’re red. Again.” Like they had been that evening at the manor, when he healed her finger.

  He cocked his head, watching her, the gesture eerily canine. Abruptly he smiled. “That means it’s working.”

  “What’s working?” Then she understood. His eyes were red. That meant— “No,” she whispered. “I won’t let you eat those bits I reaped. Eating souls is what drove Gavin mad.”

  “I suspect centuries of entombment was a larger factor.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You won’t hurt yourself for me.” She pulled back her soul.

  He stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. “That choice isn’t yours. Elysia Grace Mallory, feed me your soul. All of it.”