Bound By Darkness (7 page)

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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: Bound By Darkness
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“He pledges his loyalty to the highest bidder,” Rafael said, his hollow voice echoing eerily through the room. “A magical hack.”
“Rafael.” The soft whisper came directly beside him and with a low curse he turned his head to discover Jaelyn regarding the spirit with a sudden suspicion. Holy shit. He hadn’t seen her move. “I recognize the name,” she said, shifting her head to meet his startled gaze.
“You know this spirit?”
She shook her head. “No, but the Chicago vampire clan battled a dark wizard who was attempting to sacrifice the Chalice and open a pathway through the dimensions a few months ago.” She shuddered, her attention returning to the wizard. “They killed him.”
Rafael pressed a hand to his pendant, his features twisting with fury.
“I was surrounded by incompetent fools.” His gaze lowered to the babe who remained unnaturally still. “On this occasion I will have the means to restore my prince to his rightful place.”
Ariyal glanced toward Jaelyn. “Prince?”
She curled her lips in disgust. “A few of the more dedicated disciples have elevated themselves to the position of deities and the Dark Lord to their personal prince.”
“I would have thought the deity theory might be reconsidered after he actually died,” he pointed out, allowing his words to carry toward the arrogant wizard. Spirit or not he was a nasty piece of goods. “That’s not very godlike.”
“I knew it was only a matter of time before my master rescued me from the pits of hell,” the wizard snarled, a crazed light shimmering in his eyes. “Death has no hold over me.”
“Obviously neither does sanity,” Jaelyn muttered.
About to agree, Ariyal felt the familiar stir of air before a portal formed next to the wizard and Tearloch stepped into the room.
Wearing traditional leather leggings and tunic with his copper hair pulled into a braid, the Sylvermyst looked painfully familiar.
It was only when Ariyal met the fevered glitter in the silver eyes that he was forced to accept that this was no longer the friend and confidant whom he had depended upon for centuries.
“Ariyal, I’m glad you’re here, my brother,” Tearloch said with a faint bow.
Ariyal deliberately glanced toward the shimmering opening his tribesman had left open. Among Sylvermyst it was an insult to maintain a portal when in the company of friends. It implied a lack of trust.
“Are you?”
The slender fey glanced toward the nearby spirit before at last returning his attention to Ariyal.
“It’s not too late to join me,” he said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Together we shall restore the Sylvermyst to their former glory.”
Ariyal frowned, disturbed by Tearloch’s odd hesitation. It was almost as if he had been seeking approval from the spirit.
“What former glory?” he demanded, keeping his voice soft, unthreatening. “There is nothing glorious about slavery.”
Remembered pain flared over Tearloch’s thin face. “We were slaves to that bitch. The Dark Lord will set us free.”
Ariyal spread his arms. “We are free, Tearloch. Just look around.”
“No.” He shook his head in sharp denial. “Without the power of the master we will be at the mercy of the heathens who infest this world.”
“Listen to me, my brother.” Ariyal took a cautious step forward. “That is the voice of madness whispering in your ear.”
“Do not heed him.” The spirit abruptly spoke, shifting until he could place a gaunt hand on Tearloch’s shoulder. “Clearly he now intends to sacrifice you and your brothers to the vampires, just as he sacrificed you to Morgana le Fey.”
A ball of sick dread lodged in the pit of Ariyal’s stomach. Bloody hell. What had Tearloch done?
“You know he speaks lies,” he said, concentrating on the spirit who regarded him with a smug arrogance.
“Do I?” the wizard mocked, maintaining his possessive grip on Tearloch. “You stand there with a vampire who is your obvious companion.” He glanced toward the silent Jaelyn. “Or is she your lover?”
Instinctively he shifted to stand directly in front of Jaelyn, hiding her from the spirit’s dangerous gaze. For all her power, a vampire was always vulnerable to magic.
Not that he knew why the hell he would bother. She was as likely to stab him in the back as to appreciate his efforts.
For now, however, he was far more intent on his friend who was in obvious trouble.
“Tearloch, look at me,” he commanded, the authority in his voice rippling the air and making his tribesman jerk in reaction.
“Do not,” the wizard hissed, leaning down to whisper directly into Tearloch’s ear. “He is jealous of your powers and he knows you shall be rewarded above him once our master is returned.” His malevolent power swirled through the room with far too much force for a mere spirit, battering against Ariyal with a dangerous strength. “Why else would he be so eager to destroy the child and halt your efforts to resurrect your lord?”
Ariyal lifted his hand, muttering a word of command in the harsh Sylvermyst language.
A smile curved his lips as the wizard attempted to speak, his face twisting with fury when he realized that Ariyal had managed to silence him.
“Much better,” Ariyal taunted.
Something perilously close to fear tightened Tearloch’s expression.
“What have you done?”
“Brought a welcome end to the poison he is spewing.” Tearloch shifted in agitation. “Release him.”
“Not until you have listened to sense.”
Tearloch shook his head, moving closer to the spirit, who glared at Ariyal with a baleful intensity.
“I listened to you once before,” the younger man breathed, “and see where that got us.”
Ariyal flinched. Although it had been the previous prince’s decision to accept Morgana’s bargain, he’d offered his full support, which had swayed more than a few into agreeing to break ties with the Dark Lord.
“You would prefer to have been banished with the others?” he asked.
The younger Sylvermyst glanced toward the spirit, almost as if seeking the answer to Ariyal’s question.
“We should have remained pure,” he at last muttered. Ariyal forced himself to crush the angry accusations that trembled on his lips. Tearloch was clinging to sanity by a thread.
He didn’t intend to snap it.
“Tearloch,” he said, his tone low and soothing, “when did you first call this particular spirit?”
Tearloch blinked in bewilderment. “I don’t remember. What does it matter?”
“You better than anyone understand the dangers of calling upon the same spirit too often,” Ariyal pointed out. Every Sylvermyst was taught to limit their contact with spirits. Not only was there a danger of becoming emotionally attached to the ghost, but there was always the nasty possibility that the spirit might manage to twist the relationship so that they became the master rather than the servant. “Especially such a powerful spirit.”
“No, you’re just trying to deceive me.”
“I’m not the one trying to deceive you, brother,” Ariyal murmured softly, inching closer. “But together we can make this right.”
Tearloch blinked, his silver eyes focusing on his friend. “Ariyal?”
“Yes, old friend, we have fought side by side. You know you can trust me.”
“Yes ...” For a split second Ariyal thought he might actually have gotten through the fog that was obviously clouding his friend’s mind. The copper-haired Sylvermyst even took a half step toward him. Then the damned wizard squeezed his shoulder and Tearloch was once again under the sway of the bastard. With a faltering shake of his head, he came to an abrupt halt. “I mean no.”
Ariyal leashed his frustration. As much as he might want to grab his friend and beat some sense into him, he knew it would be a waste of time so long as he was in the power of the spirit.
And worse, he couldn’t return the wizard to the hell, where he belonged. He might be able to manipulate Rafael on a small scale, but only the actual summoner could dismiss him.
He would have to somehow convince Tearloch to do the deed.
Lifting a hand in a gesture of peace, Ariyal took a step back, feeling Jaelyn punch him in the ribs as he stepped on her toe.
“Fine, I’ll stay here, and we can just talk.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” Tearloch flicked a glance toward the hovering spirit, who reached into the crib and scooped the child into his arms. “I intend to resurrect the Dark Lord.”
“Of course.” Sergei abruptly thrust his way into the conversation, licking his thin lips as he realized that he was about to be cut out of the deal. “We can begin preparing for the ceremony this very moment, if you wish.”
Tearloch jerked his gaze toward the mage, his face hardening with disgust.
“You had your opportunity, mage. I no longer trust your ... enthusiasm for returning our master.”
Sergei stretched out his hands as he edged toward the cradle, ignoring the spirit of Rafael, who was furiously attempting to speak, no doubt hoping to cast a spell against his nemesis.
“Don’t be a fool, Tearloch,” he chastised. “I have prepared for years for this moment. There is no other mage who could possible match my skills or my powers.”
“You are the fool,” Tearloch snapped. “And now you will suffer for your lack of commitment.” His gaze shifted back to Ariyal. “You will all suffer.”
Ariyal’s attention never shifted from the mage. He easily sensed Sergei’s rising desperation at the knowledge he was no longer needed by Tearloch. It wasn’t going to take much for him to do something stupid.
Almost on cue, the idiot gave a muttered curse and rushed forward.
“Stay back,” Ariyal commanded, not at all surprised when the mage continued his terrified charge. “Dammit, mage. What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m dead without that child,” Sergei hissed. “No one’s taking it away from me.”
Ariyal watched the disaster unfold, already accepting there was no way he was going to halt Tearloch as the Sylvermyst pulled the spirit who still clutched the child in his arms into the waiting portal.
The air shimmered as the portal began to close. Sergei screeched in frustrated horror, his hands lifting toward the disappearing Tearloch.
At first, Ariyal assumed the mage was trying to reach the portal so he could enter before it closed. It wasn’t until he heard the low chanting that he realized the stupid bastard was intending to lob a spell at the opening.
Gods, was he a complete moron?
Even a thick-skulled troll knew better than to point magic directly at a portal.
Spinning on his heel, he turned toward Jaelyn, who was watching the spectacle with a disgusted frown.
“Get down,” he snapped.
She blinked, then instinctively backed away as he surged forward.
“What?”
With no time to explain, Ariyal tackled her to the ground and covered her with his larger body. He ignored the fangs she flashed and her foul words of warning. Instead he braced himself for the inevitable explosion of magic.
There was the hissing sound of the spell hitting the portal, destabilizing the massive amount of magic needed to rip a hole through space. The predictable chain reaction was less than a heartbeat behind, and Ariyal cried out as the blast of shattered magic slammed into him with painful force.
Shit.
He was at last on top of his beautiful, aggravating vampire and he was going to die before he could get her naked.
Chapter 6
Jaelyn was knocked unconscious briefly by the invisible wall of power that had crashed over them with terrifying force.
Groggily, she managed to shake off the clinging darkness. What the hell?
Had there had been some sort of magical tsunami?
A nuclear explosion?
The end of the world?
No, surely not the end of the world
, she tried to reassure herself.
Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to condemn her to an eternity being squashed beneath an infuriating Sylvermyst. Could it?
Pretending that the earthy scent of herbs wasn’t teasing at her senses and that the hard, male body wasn’t cloaking her in welcome warmth, she pressed her hands against his chest.
“Get off me,” she muttered, giving a shove to roll him off her aching body.
Ariyal landed on his back with an awkward flop and Jaelyn belatedly realized the explosion had knocked him well and truly out. With a startled curse, she rose to her knees, swiftly scanning the room as she prepared for the next attack.
An attack that thankfully never came.
A glance was enough to discover the Sylvermyst and his pet spirit had disappeared along with Sergei. Thank-freaking-God. It was bad enough to be surrounded by magic-users without adding in a weird-ass spirit who would give anyone nightmares.
She allowed her senses to filter through the house, assuring her there was nothing lurking in the shadows before she returned her attention to the man who lay unnervingly still beside her.
He wasn’t dead. She could hear the steady pump of his heart and the soft rasp of his breathing, but it was obvious the magical blast had injured him.
“Stupid show-off. Like I need you to play He-Man,” she muttered, annoyed by the vivid memory of him jumping on top of her, shielding her from the massive explosion.
When was the last time someone had tried to protect her? Never.
That was when.
And the fact that this man had done so should have annoyed her, not made something warm and mushy bloom in a secret part of her unbeating heart.
Infuriated with her peculiar behavior, with the Sylvermyst who was making her freaking nuts and the situation that she couldn’t control, she leaned over her unconscious companion and laid a hand against his throat, allowing the steady beat of his pulse to reassure her nagging concern.
“Ariyal,” she hissed. “Dammit, wake up.”
Nothing.
Not so much as a twitch.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Her fingers moved to trace over his starkly beautiful features, something perilously close to fear churning through her stomach as she wondered just how badly he was injured. “I should leave your sorry ass to rot here.”
Even as the words left her lips, Jaelyn was scooping her arms beneath the Sylvermyst. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t linger at the townhouse.
Not when the Three Stooges might decide to make a sudden reappearance.
She rose to her feet with a fluid motion. Ariyal was heavy, but her innate strength gave her the ability to sling him over her shoulder as she headed out of the room and down the curved staircase. Unfortunately, he had a good eight inches on her, and considerably more bulk, which was going to make toting him around London more than a little awkward.
Reaching the bottom of the steps, Jaelyn paused as she caught the unmistakable scent of granite coming through the front gate.
Gargoyle?
It wouldn’t be that uncommon in London. There was a large Guild in the city. But they didn’t usually stroll up to the door, did they?
Hastily Jaelyn cloaked herself as well as Ariyal in the thick shadows only a Hunter could create. So long as she didn’t move there was no demon who could detect her presence.
Prepared for a lumbering monster, Jaelyn froze at the sight of the tiny demon who stepped across the threshold.
Well, she’d gotten the gargoyle part right, she wryly conceded. There was no mistaking the gray, grotesque features and stunted horns. Or the long tail that was lovingly polished. But she wasn’t sure the Guild would claim this three-foot version with large, gossamer wings in shades of crimson and blue.
Levet.
The last time that Jaelyn had seen the miniature gargoyle had been in Russia where he’d helped Tane rescue her from the cave where Ariyal had left her tied and guarded by Yannah while he went to destroy the babe.
Perhaps sensing that he was being watched, the gargoyle halted in the center of the foyer, his tail twitching as he peered through the gloom.
“Hello?” he called softly, his voice laced with a French accent. “
Ma cherie?
Where are you, you tiresome demon?”
Jaelyn lifted her brows at the realization that it wasn’t coincidence that had brought the gargoyle to this particular house.
“Searching for someone, Levet?” she demanded, allowing the shadows to dissipate.
“Eek!” With a tiny jump, the demon turned to study her with wide gray eyes. “Oh! Jaelyn.”
“Who were you expecting?”
He wrinkled his tiny snout. “I thought I smelled ...”
“Smelled?” she prompted.
“Yannah. Her scent is lingering on you.”
She grimaced, still annoyed with Yannah and her powerful mother.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen her since she shoved me through a portal and I landed face-first in the gutter.”
Levet cleared his throat, looking oddly uneasy as he rubbed one of his horns.
“She ... um ... she did not happen to mention where she was headed, did she?”
“At a guess, I’d say the pits of the nearest hell,” Jaelyn muttered.
“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Do you have directions?”
Jaelyn blinked. Was he serious?
“No, but I’m miserably certain she’ll be tracking me down in the next few days.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh, pacing the foyer as he considered her words.
“I suppose I have no choice but to wait with you then. I have been attempting to find her since she left Russia.” His wings fluttered in frustration. “She is annoyingly elusive.”
“You’ve been following her for the past three weeks?”
“Oui.”
“Why?”
“Why?” The gargoyle blinked, seemingly astonished by the question. “Because she kissed me.”
“That’s it?” Jaelyn had a brief memory of Yannah grabbing the tiny gargoyle and kissing him before she’d planted her fist into his face, knocking him across the cave. “She kissed you.”
“What can I say?” He lifted his hands in a helpless motion. “I am French.”
Jaelyn abruptly laughed.
There was something oddly endearing about the small gargoyle.
“Well, you’re certainly tenacious,” she said.
The gray gaze shifted toward the unconscious Sylvermyst draped over her shoulder.
“I could say the same of you.”
Jaelyn’s lips flattened. “Not by choice.”
Levet wagged his heavy brows.
“Non?”
Jaelyn frowned. Did the silly creature think that she’d knocked Ariyal unconscious to drag him off like she was some sort of cavewoman?
Not a wholly repulsive thought
, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Perhaps if she had him alone in her lair for a few nights she could rid herself of the raw, pulsing awareness that he stirred deep inside her.
Just for an instant the vivid image of Ariyal’s lean body spread across her black satin sheets seared through her mind. Would his eyes shimmer with a pure bronze as she slowly explored him from his head to the tips of his toes? Or perhaps she would tie him to the hand-carved headboard and ride him until they both collapsed in sated exhaustion.
It was the aroused ache of her fangs that recalled Jaelyn to her surroundings and the fact the gargoyle was watching her with a knowing gaze.
Dammit.
What the hell was wrong with her? Sexual need was a weakness that was brutally beaten out of Hunters.
Or at least that’s what she’d always believed.
Of course, Ariyal was also the only man capable of smashing through her icy control and igniting the temper she had never realized she possessed.
She hastily thrust aside the disturbing thought.
“No,” she snapped with more force than necessary. “This is a job, nothing more.”
“Hmmm.” The fragile wings twitched as Levet stepped toward her, his gaze locked on the unconscious Ariyal. “Is he dead?”
“Of course not. He was hit by a spell.” As the explanation tumbled from her lips she felt a sudden surge of hope. Gargoyles were creatures of magic, weren’t they? “I don’t suppose you could wake him up?”
Levet waddled forward, sniffing at Ariyal’s feet, which nearly brushed the floor.
“It will soon wear off,” he assured her.
“Damn.” She adjusted him on her shoulder. “He weighs a ton.”
Levet tilted his head to the side. “You are taking him to the Oracles?”
“Eventually,” she offered vaguely, her gaze traveling toward the open door. Despite the darkness she could feel the relentless approach of dawn. “For now I need shelter.”
The gargoyle blinked in bewilderment. “Surely you must sense that there are tunnels beneath this house?”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “The mage and the Sylvermyst have vanished for the moment, but I can’t risk lingering here.”
“Ah.” The gargoyle tapped a claw to his chin as he considered their options. “Victor has a lair not far from London.”
“Victor?”
“The clan chief of London,” Levet explained with a smug smile. “He is a close and personal friend of mine. I do not doubt he would be pleased to offer us shelter if I were to approach him.”
A close, personal friend? Jaelyn hid a smile. She was fairly certain that Victor would give a different story if asked.
Not that she intended to cross paths with the powerful clan chief.
“Actually, I prefer something more ...” She chose her words with care. “Discreet.”
Genuine concern touched his ugly little face. “Are you in trouble?”
She shrugged, glancing toward the Sylvermyst draped over her shoulder.
“I just don’t want to answer unnecessary questions.”
“I ... see.”
“Do you know a place where I can disappear for a few hours?”
Levet hesitated before heaving a reluctant sigh. “There used to be a blood pit near Fleet Street, but I do not suggest it.”
She ignored his warning. Granted the usual blood pits were filthy, underground clubs where demons could buy whatever they desired: sex, drugs, and of course, willing blood hosts. But, they also rented rooms with the strict policy of don’t ask, don’t tell.
“It sounds perfect,” she assured him.
“It is not really a suitable place for such a beautiful woman.”
“I’m not a woman, I’m a Hunter.”
Levet’s eyes widened even as a mysterious smile curved his lips.
“You may call yourself whatever you please,
ma enfant
, but I can assure you that you are very much a woman.”
She snorted, refusing to recall that since meeting Ariyal she’d
felt
like a woman for the first time in decades.
Surely she had enough disasters looming on the horizon without adding yet another?
“Can you lead me to the blood pit or not?”
Still, the gargoyle hesitated. “There’s bound to be an assortment of unpleasant creatures staying there.”
“Trust me, I can take care of myself.”
“Very well.” Levet’s wings drooped, but turning on his heel he led Jaelyn out of the house and down the path to the front gate. Once they reached the street, he turned east. “This way.”
Jaelyn was on full alert as they walked through the neighborhoods still slumbering in the pre-dawn hours. Most creepy-crawlies were too intelligent to attack a vampire, but she was still edgy from their earlier encounter and the thought of the dead wizard popping out of thin air did nothing for her nerves.
Neither did the covert glances from the tiny gargoyle waddling at her side.
At last she turned her head to meet his searching gaze. “Do I have something on my face?”
Levet shook his head, his expression one of blatant curiosity.
“I am merely wondering why such a lovely female would become a Hunter.”
She resumed scanning their passing surroundings, skimming over Nelson’s Column, which stretched toward the heavens, and the flanking fountains as they cut through Trafalgar Square.

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