Authors: Alexandra Ivy
Bound By Darkness (15 page)
“Were you responsible for the zombies?” There was a faint hesitation before the cur was nodding. She patted his head. “Good boy. Are the rest of your pack nearby?” Another hesitation and another nod. “Are they all curs?” she demanded, certain she was sensing a presence at the edge of the woods, but unable to determine exactly what it was.
Something that bothered her almost as much as a magic-using cur.
Mysteries in the demon world were never good things. He started to shake his head, but before she could probe into the members of his crew, a gunshot echoed through the air.
With a speed that defied physics, Jaelyn was able to dodge the projectile that was aimed at the center of her chest. Still, it managed to graze her shoulder with a searing pain that warned the bullet was made of silver.
Shit.
She could catch the scent of a nearby cur, no doubt the shooter, and moving closer was that oddly muted scent.
For a second she debated taking the wounded cur as a hostage. She didn't doubt with the proper encouragement, and perhaps a few more missing body parts, she could get all the information she needed out of him.
Unfortunately, she couldn't be certain what was lurking in the dark. It could be a mere witch with an amulet, or something recently coughed out of the bowels of hell. And with Ariyal possibly injured ... well, she couldn't take the risk.
Time to get the hell outta Dodge.
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Tearloch felt the prickle of magic before he entered the cavern to discover Rafael standing over a shallow pool of water in the center of the floor.
“Fools,” the spirit was muttering in disgust. “Why must they always call upon zombies?”
Tearloch crossed to peer suspiciously at the images reflected in the water. So the wizard possessed enough power to scry. A handy trick, but one a mere spirit shouldn't be able to manage.
“What the hell is going on?” he rasped.
Rafael pointed a skeletal finger toward the floor. “We have been followed.”
Putting aside his unease at Rafael's powers, Tearloch leaned forward to study the scene that was unfolding in the water like a soggy movie.
“Ariyal,” he muttered, easily recognizing his prince, as well as the fact that he was currently standing less than five miles from the entrance to the hidden caves.
“Yes,” Rafael hissed. “Your prince is annoyingly persistent.”
Tearloch abruptly leaned closer to the water, realizing that Ariyal wasn't battling a group of humans as he'd first assumed. Or at least they weren't human any longer.
With a shudder he stepped away from the water, glaring at the spirit, who was watching the fight with a faint sneer.
“Zombies are forbidden.”
“Surely you must realize that we are now above the tedious laws of this world?” Rafael questioned before giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “Still, I do agree that such abominations are regrettable. They are far too unpredictable and attract precisely the sort of attention we had hoped to avoid.”
“Then why did you call them?”
“This is not of my doing.”
Tearloch clenched his teeth. Was it possible for the spirit to lie to him?
Just a few days ago he would have laughed at the mere possibility. A spirit was bound by the will of the summoner and utterly at his mercy.
Now he wasn't nearly so convinced.
“They didn't crawl out of their graves by themselves,” he accused in harsh tones.
The spirit's smug expression faltered as he belatedly sensed Tearloch's annoyance.
“No, this is the work of your new allies.”
“Allies?” Tearloch growled in outrage. “What allies?”
“Our master comprehends how truly important the child is to his future.” Rafael spoke slowly, as if considering his words with care. “He has called his followers to assist us in protecting the babe.”
Tearloch felt his throat tighten and his head throb at the smooth explanation. Was it possible the Dark Lord now talked directly to the wizard? Or was this a trick?
Either possibility was enough to make his stomach cramp with dread.
“And so you plotted behind my back?”
Rafael attempted to appear properly shocked at the allegation. “Certainly not.”
“Then how did you know of these so-called allies while I was left in the dark?”
“His Lordship finds it easier to communicate with those of us who have a direct connection to the underworld. He assured me that he would call upon his disciples to offer us whatever we might need to succeed.”
Tearloch pressed his palms to his aching temples, pacing across the cavern.
The fog in his mind made it difficult to think, but he knew he didn't like the threat of unknown demons becoming involved in his business.
Disciples of the Dark Lord were by nature untrustworthy creatures who had traded their souls to evil. They would betray and destroy Tearloch at the first opportunity.
He turned back to glare at Rafael. “And you didn't think it was necessary to share that information with me?”
“There seemed no purpose in bothering you with the small details.”
Tearloch lifted his hand, pointing it toward the spirit. Plainly, Rafael needed a reminder of who was in charge.
“No purpose?”
“You have more important matters to occupy your mind.” A smarmy smile curved the wizard's lips. “It is best that you allow me toâ”
Tearloch clenched his hand and jerked it downward, the motion helping him focus on his intangible connection to the spirit.
On cue Rafael was jerked to his knees, a satisfying fear twisting his too-thin face.
“I will decide what's best,” he snarled. “Or have you forgotten who is in command here, Rafael?”
“No, Master.”
He gave another twist of his hand, and the arrogant ass was pressing his forehead against the stone floor.
“I think maybe you have. Which would be a lethal mistake.”
“I merely wish to be of service.”
Tearloch hissed in disgust. Gods, he hated the wizard. Almost as much as he hated the knowledge that he couldn't return the sleazy worm back to hell where he belonged, no matter how much he might want to.
Why had he ever started this madness?
“You're an arrogant prick who would betray me in a heartbeat if I was stupid enough to give you the opportunity,” he said between gritted teeth. “Which I thankfully am not.”
Rafael's fingers dug into the stone floor, but he was not stupid enough to make the move for an open revolt.
At least not yet.
“What do you want of me?”
“Tell me of our new allies.”
“I can show you.”
Tearloch childishly continued to squash Rafael's face into the floor. The spirit couldn't be physically hurt, but he could be humiliated. Something far worse for a man with Rafael's swollen pride.
At last he unclenched his hand and stepped back. “Fine. Show me.”
The wizard rose to his feet, his fingers twitching as if he was barely restraining the urge to launch a spell in Tearloch's direction. Instead he wisely smoothed his rumpled robes and with rigid composure moved back to the shallow pool of water.
He waved his hand, murmuring soft words. Then, lifting his head, he gestured for Tearloch to join him.
“Our allies, as you commanded, Master.”
Tearloch moved to peer in the water, not at all comforted by the vision of a tall, slender man with short black hair slicked from his lean face. Dressed in a designer suit and glossy wingtip shoes, he might have been a banker.
But Tearloch didn't miss the pale, too-perfect features and the dull, emptiness in the black eyes.
Dead eyes.
“A vampire?” he hissed.
“Not only a vampire, but one that possesses skills beyond most,” Rafael corrected, as if the leech's extra mojo would make him less offensive to Tearloch.
“What does that mean?”
“He is an Immortal One.”
“I thought they were all immortal?”
“There are a few vampires who left this world to form their own clan,” the wizard explained in overly patient tones. “They developed very unique talents that I believe will be of use to you.”
“The talent to create zombies?”
“No, he has two curs as companions, as well as a witch,” Rafael grudgingly confessed. “One of the curs is a magic-user.”
A vampire with juiced powers, two curs (one of them a magic-user), and an extra witch tossed into the bargain?
That was enough firepower to easily overwhelm his handful of Sylvermyst.
“Damn you, this is a trap.”
Rafael held up a soothing hand. “No, I swear.”
“As if I would trust you.”
“They were sent by our beloved master.”
“I only have your word for that.” Tearloch gave a shake of his head, wishing the painful fog would clear. “I should have listened to Sergei.”
Rafael cautiously moved forward, waving his hand as if casting a spell.
“There is no need to upset yourself.”
Tearloch swayed, the fog briefly clouding his mind to the point he could barely remember why he was standing in the cavern.
Then, with a curse, he forced back the numbing cloud of confusion.
“Can you communicate with the leech?” he rasped.
Rafael's thin lips nearly disappeared, but he gave a ready nod of his head.
“I can.”
“Then you warn him that if he or his trio of misfits attempts to enter these caves I will not only allow my Sylvermysts to slice and dice them into pieces so small their mothers won't be able to recognize them, but you will be returned to the underworld and your name cursed so that you will never again be allowed to pass beyond the boundaries of Hell.”
Tiny flames smoldered in the depths of the spirit's eyes. “The master will not be pleased.”
“Perhaps for now you should concern yourself with making certain I'm pleased,” Tearloch warned, turning to head for the entrance to the cavern.
Gods. He needed air.
Fresh air.
“Yes ... for now,” whispered Rafael behind him.
Chapter 11
Ariyal stumbled backward in revulsion as the zombies began to literally drop like flies around him.
Not that he objected to their stop, drop, and return-to-dead routine.
A pile of rotting corpses was considerably better than a ravaging horde of rotting corpses. And more importantly, the sight of them assured him that Jaelyn had managed to overcome whoever was responsible for calling the abominations from their grave.
Relief surged through him, along with a wry flare of humor.
He didn't know why he worried.
Jaelyn was a female who could take care of herself. Hell, he'd bet good money that the powerful Hunter was in better shape than he was.
Leaning against a tree, Ariyal glanced down at the numerous wounds that continued to seep blood. The zombies had been relentless in their single-minded devotion in ripping him to shreds and it had taken all his skill just to keep the damage to a minimum.
Thankfully, none of the injuries were life threatening, but still they were sapping his energy. And worse, they hurt like a bitch.
Cursing zombies and witches and every other minion of the Dark Lord who was probably lurking in the shadows, Ariyal lifted his head as the cool wash of power filled the air, watching as Jaelyn flowed toward him with a mesmerizing beauty.
A slender, enticing female who was as gloriously lethal as she was beautiful.
His entire body clenched in ... what?
Recognition, he at last decided.
There was simply no other word for it.
But recognition of what?
Desire? Need?
Fate?
The question went unanswered as she halted at his side, her hand reaching out to touch his bare chest before she was yanking it back as if she thought he might contaminate her.
“How badly are you injured?” she asked, her voice cold.
His lips twisted. No one could claim the female was at the mercy of her emotions. But then, what had he expected?
Horrified dismay that he'd been hurt? A tender need to nurture him back to health?
Yeah, she was more likely to sprout wings and fly.
“Nothing that won't heal.”
“How long?”
He frowned, sensing there was more to her question than mere impatience.
“Two, maybe three hours.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “We don't have that long.”
“Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?”
“It's too exposed out here.”
Absolutely more than impatience. Biting back his groan of pain, Ariyal pushed away from the tree and scanned the seemingly empty meadow.
“Exposed to what?”
“The mage escaped.”
“The one controlling the zombies?” He reached down to grasp the sword he'd dropped at his feet.
“Yes.” She grimaced. “And it gets worse.”
There was something worse than zombies?
Fantastic.
“I'm listening.”
“The magic-user was a cur.”
Ariyal abruptly recalled the scent of cur that he'd noticed earlier. Obviously he should have paid more attention.
But then again, who had ever heard of a cur/mage?
Or was it mage/cur?
“I didn't know that was possible,” he muttered.
“Not only possible, but a pain in the ass.”
He hid his smile at her peeved tone. Jaelyn was accustomed to being the winner. No matter who or what her opponent might be.
Now she was clearly irked that the cur had escaped, although the blood on her hand revealed she'd done serious injury to the dog.
“Is there more?” he prompted.
“He's not alone.”
He snorted. It just got better and better.
“Tearloch?”
She shook her head. “No, at least one other cur and a human witch.” She absently stroked the handle of her shotgun. Ariyal suspected it was an unconscious gesture that offered her comfort. He suppressed a groan, easily imaging those slender fingers stroking something far more interesting. “There's also a creature who is capable of masking his scent,” she confessed, unaware of his erotic fantasies.
He grimly forced his thoughts away from his distracting urge to press her against the tree and ease the need that pulsed just below the surface whenever she was near. His life was in enough danger without adding sex with a feral vampire.
Not that he wouldn't... .
He hissed in frustration, crushing the thought before it could form.
“Another magic-user?” he rasped.
She shrugged. “My guess would be a demon, perhaps even a vampire.”
“A Hunter?”
“I don't know.” Concern flickered in the indigo eyes. “That's what troubles me.”
Ariyal tilted back his head to draw in a deep breath, sorting through the various scents that filled the meadow.
A family of sprites that was scurrying out of a nearby cavern and through the cornfields in obvious panic. A pack of hellhounds hunting a deer.
And more distant, the stench of curs as well as the strangely muted scent that was troubling Jaelyn.
All rushing away to leave them alone and isolated in the meadow.
Alone?
His eyes snapped open in surprise.
“Where's the gargoyle?”
She glanced back at the line of trees, a frown marring her brow.
“He insisted on following the trail of the cur while I returned here.”
Ariyal snorted, not sharing his companion's regret at Levet's absence.
“It's about time he made himself useful.”
“Don't underestimate him. He has ...” She paused, considering her words, turning back with a faint smile. “Unexpected talents.”
“His talent is to drive a rational man over the edge.”
“No doubt it's all that testosterone.” Her smile widened as she shifted to place an arm around his waist and tugged his free arm over her shoulders. “It rots the brain.”
Ariyal stiffened as his body reacted to her touch with predictable eagerness, even as his pride violently rebelled at her imitation of a vampire crutch.
It was one thing to offer him sympathy for his injuries.
It was quite another to treat him as if he was a damned invalid.
Not after Morgana le Fey had taken such gruesome delight in tormenting him when he was injured and at his most vulnerable.
“As much as I want to be in your arms, poppet, I hardly think this is the time or the place,” he drawled.
She made a sound of impatience. “We have to find shelter until you can heal.”
He pulled from her grasp, ignoring the weakness that was only growing worse as his injuries continued to bleed.
“ No.”
“No?”
“I'm not going to have you carrying me around like I'm some sort of feeble dew fairy.”
She slapped her hands on her hips. “Because I'm a woman and you're a big, tough, virile man?”
“Because I will never be at the mercy of anyone. Not again.”
His stark words rang through the meadow, and just for a second Jaelyn's expression softened with understanding. This female knew precisely how it felt to be helpless and abused.
“Fine.” She gave in without an argument. A rare and wonderful occurrence. “Then what's your plan?”
Plan? He swallowed his urge to laugh. It was a little late in the day for a plan.
What they needed was a fast means of getting him back to fighting strength.
“I want your blood,” he bluntly admitted.
She took a sharp step backward, her face rigid with shock. “For what?”
He arched a brow. Her outrage seemed a little hypocritical considering she was a damned leech.
“To help me heal.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No.” He lifted his sword, the moonlight dancing over the silver metal. “I can draw power from my blade.”
“How?”
“Our people have many weapons, but our true Sylvermyst blades were forged before the banishment of the Dark Lord,” he slowly admitted.
Her eyes narrowed. “Which means?”
“The metal was smelted in the pits of hell with silver and the heart of a Lamsung demon.”
Her gaze shot to the sword. “Soul stealers,” she muttered.
He nodded. Lamsungs were rare demons who survived by sucking the life from their enemies.
“The blade absorbs the power of my enemies.”
She turned to meet his gaze, her own expression guarded. “And gives you strength.”
“Precisely.”
A short, oddly tense silence settled between them before Jaelyn took another step backward.
“Stay here.”
He reached out to grab her arm. “Where are you going?”
“To get you blood.” She jerked her head toward the woods. “There's a pack of hellhounds less than a mile away.”
He regarded her in confusion. “I can use yours. I don't need much.”
She jerked away, licking her lips. Almost as if she was nervous.
“ No.”
“Why not?”
“I ...” There was another lick of her lips. “I can't.”
No, not
can't.
can't.
Won't.
The vampire had already made it clear she wouldn't lower herself to feed from a nasty Sylvermyst. Now she was making it equally clear that she wasn't going to lower herself to offering her precious blood to restore his powers.
He squared his shoulders, hiding his shredded pride behind a mocking smile as he swept past her rigid body.
“Right. See ya around, poppet.”
“Ariyal, what are you doing?”
“I'll do my own damn hunting, thank you very much.”
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Jaelyn cursed her stupidity as she watched Ariyal march away, his back stiff with wounded pride and his steps not nearly as steady as he would no doubt wish them to be.
She'd blown it.
In spectacular fashion.
She smacked her palm to her forehead. For god's sake, all she had to do was keep an eye on one Sylvermyst.
A job she should be able to do in her sleep.
But over and over she'd managed to screw up her assignment.
Now she was stuck watching him walk away, furious with her weakness but smart enough to know that for the moment she had no choice.
She couldn't allow him to take her blood.
Not when she didn't fully comprehend the ramifications.
Yeah, it was more than likely that the blade would absorb her blood and it would do nothing more than give Ariyal the strength he needed to heal.
Then again ...
She shivered, turning to gaze over the silent cornfields.
What if the blood reacted as if he'd taken it straight from her vein?
The consequences could be nothing short of cataclysmic.
“He's getting away, you know.”
The disembodied voice sliced through the air a mere second before there was a whiff of brimstone and Yannah suddenly appeared directly in front of her.
Jaelyn yelped as she grabbed her shotgun and pointed it at the intruder. Her finger was ready to squeeze the trigger when she belatedly recognized the heart-shaped face and black eyes that shimmered like chips of ebony in the moonlight.
“Dammit.” Jaelyn shoved the gun back into its holster, glaring at the creature, who calmly stroked her hands down the white silk robe. “You scared the bejeezus out of me.”
“Did I?” Yannah blinked with exaggerated innocence. “I thought Hunters were trained to never be caught off guard?”
“I wouldn't be caught off guard if you walked around like a normal demon,” Jaelyn protested in cold tones, hiding her embarrassment behind a layer of ice. It wasn't her fault she'd allowed herself to be dangerously distracted, was it? If Ariyal would stop being a pain in the ass then she could concentrate on the important stuff. And he wasn't the only one to blame. Yannah and her mother Siljar certainly had their share of guilt. “You should wear a bell or something. It's not polite to just pop in front of people like that.”
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