Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (48 page)

Those empty, black holes gleamed with nothingness. Every person who passed this man would see a different face in their mind. Nobody would be able to describe him. Only she, who knew Illusion, could see through it.

"What are you?" she whispered, forcing herself to swallow. "Show me your face!"

"I find it interesting that you think yourself in the position to make such demands," the stranger said. The words burned into her mind, as if they'd bypassed her ears entirely.

Her heart hammered, her blood seeming to freeze in her veins. She'd heard that voice before. She'd
commanded
it, so many years ago, when she, Drake, and Tremayne began to dabble with the Relics Infernal. Her fist clenched around the hilt of the Blade, but the creature merely laughed.

"Yessss," it whispered and reached up to remove its mask of Illusion. "Now you are beginning to understand."

Slowly, the mask lowered, and Morgana squeezed her eyelids tightly together. She did not want to see it.

"Look at me."

She shook her head.

"Look at me, or I shall remove your eyelids, so you may never look away again."

That made her open them.

Noah Guthrie's body. Or it had been once.

The creature squatted in front of her, his trousers straining over his thighs. His eyes burned holes of fire in his handsome face. He was beautiful, stunning, his skin made of pure alabaster, as if carved by a Renaissance master. Except... Except for the faint flaws, the sheer
inhumanness
of it. The skin on the middle of its forehead smoked and began to peel, a sigil of burning light branding itself there. A sigil she never, ever wanted to see again.

Morgana froze, turning her eyes away from the sight. She couldn't breathe. All of her life, her dreams, her ambitions... destroyed. She knew it already. And now she was at the mercy of a being who could, and would, do anything it wanted to her. Helpless. She knew that feeling so well. She'd spent years fighting to put herself in a position where she would never be helpless again, but the world conspired against her.

"I see you remember me."

How could she forget? It was the first creature they'd ever summoned from the Nether Reaches, a plane of existence that some termed Hell. Their audacity had been met by a being of power that had stared at them as though it were committing their faces to memory.

Tremayne had crowed, as if the world had been handed to them on a platter, but Drake had grown still. And Morgana had hovered between both emotions. Here was the world—power, revenge, and everything she'd ever wanted—hers for the taking... But meeting the demon's eyes felt like staring into an abyss that had suddenly opened beneath her feet.

The creature smiled, an expression that made her feel like a cold claw was trailing down her spine.
"What can I do for you? Mastersss?"

"Tell us your true name," Tremayne had demanded. A name was power, or so it was spoken by all the mystics. "You are bound by these relics. You must obey me."

It had been a little too easy. The creature blinked. Its eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in its jaw, and then with a snarl it had spat:
"Lascher."

"We can never do this again," Drake had told her, later that night. "We have to destroy the Relics."

"But—"

"I caught a glimpse of its mind, Morgana." His voice had been tight. "For all its subservience today, it was furious. It wanted to destroy us, to rein upon us agony that would break a man's mind and tear him limb from limb, then do it over and over. We can
never
bind that creature again."

"But with the relics, we can control it."

"Do you believe that?" he'd asked, turning to face her.

And she'd doubted, just enough to agree to his plan to steal the Relics from Tremayne and replace them with illusory ones.

Over the years, she'd come to regret that decision, declaiming it as weak, but now, now that she stared up into those merciless pits of eyes... "What do you w-want with me?"

"What I've always wanted," Lascher replied. "It has been a mere flicker of years for me, a blink of the eye, but for you it has been many. Your flesh is sagging and eating itself alive from the inside with age. You are weaker and vulnerable." It poked her directly in the thigh, and to her horror, Morgana felt nothing. "I could tear you limb from limb, just for the audacity in summoning me, but I want more."
It leaned closer.
"We have an enemy in common, you and me. A powerful enemy."

"Who?"

"The one you call the Prime. He is too powerful for me to confront. Serve me," the creature replied, reaching out to stroke her tearstained face with his gloved hands, "and I may not kill you."

Never deal with a demon. Never trust them. Never believe what they can offer you. The only way to approach them was with the Relics Infernal in hand.

But what choice did she have? She couldn't feel her legs and her magic was weakened inside her. She needed to regain her strength, and even then she might not be able to fight this creature off.

"I can help you make them pay," it whispered, and the whisper slithered all the way through her veins. "I can help you bring that son you spat into the world to heel. I can help you make him crawl."

Yes
, her heart thundered, while the little part of her that often offered counsel hid in its corner of her mind.

"I can give you back your legs," it promised, and Morgana's tears welled again, against her will. "I will even allow you to keep this." He slid the Blade closer to her fingers with the tip of his shoe.

"What is your other choice?" it taunted. "Lie here and rot whilst your enemies dance on your bones? Perhaps you will die before others find you, others who find your weakness... appealing. Or perhaps you will not."

There was no choice, not truly. Morgana grit her teeth. "What is your price? What do you get out of this?"

"The same thing you desire. Vengeance. To crush those who thought to harm me beneath my heel." He lifted a hand to his flawed cheek, to the marred flesh there, looking thoughtful. "And I am not fully here. Something happened when you used the Blade. I was brought only halfway into this world, my vessel torn from me before I could overtake it."

She'd used the kitchen knife to stab both Lucien and Sebastian, not the Blade. If he ever found out... "Then how—?" she blurted, gesturing to the body it wore to distract it.

"This?" It traced a proprietary finger down its suit. "Tremayne found this for me several months ago. It serves as a vessel until another more suitable one can be found. I can only use it for short periods of time, however, as the body weakens too swiftly. I need a stronger vessel, one that commands sorcery on the highest level and doesn't burn out so swiftly."

Several months ago.
Her ally had never mentioned anything about
this
, but then Tremayne had somehow gotten his powers back after the Order's Council had locked them away from him.

"Tremayne made a deal with you," she said.

The demon smiled. "I made a deal with Tremayne."

"Then what can I do for you? You want a body?"

Lascher's lip curled.
"I want
the
body that was promised to me. Rathbourne. I want the woman gone—his woman. It stands between us. Kill her, and I shall still have a link to Lucien. If you bring the three Relics Infernal together, then the spell that should have been completed with the Blade shall overwhelm him."

Her mind worked quickly. "What about Sebastian? You could take him as a vessel. He's strong, stronger than Rathbourne, even."

The demon considered it. Its expression shuttered. "No. No, there is... someone who stands between us. I would not rise against her, not yet, and I have no link to your son. He has never summoned me. Give me Lucien. Once I have a vessel, I shall have the power to do my will. I want you to assemble the Relics Infernal and call me into being. Then we shall destroy the Prime. Together."

Yes,
a part of her whispered. If she gathered the relics, then she could do as this creature wanted... and then use the power of the relics to wield
him
. "How do we destroy him? Drake is powerful..." Especially if he could challenge a demon like this by himself.

"I would have you wield a weapon against him that is of his own making."

Morgana frowned.

The demon leaned closer, its breath scalding her ear. "Sebastian is the key. Wield him. Break him. Use him. And destroy the father."

In the end, there was no choice. "You have a deal," Morgana whispered. "But how do I control Sebastian?" The ring had burned through her finger, taking the flesh with it and leaving the stump cauterized.

The demon smiled. "Oh, I have an idea about that."

T
HIS DREAM WAS NEW
.

Cleo sat at a small table in a room with no walls, a room of infinite dimensions. The black and white checkerboard of floor tiles seemed to stretch into the distance where mist obscured it, and the ceiling was made of the evening sky with the rosy taint of sunset darkening to midnight from one end to the other. Stars and constellations gleamed, and yet, seemed somewhat watchful.

She looked down. She could see her hands, which meant no blindfold, and she knew, in a deep part of herself that she was both awake and yet not awake.

"Your move," said a hollow voice across from her, and she realized there was a cloaked figure sitting there, draped in midnight silk. It could have been man or woman, she wasn't certain. At this moment, it seemed difficult to even guess if it was human.

"My move?" There was a chessboard between them with intricately carved figures. If she looked closely, she could see the faces on the white figures were people who she knew from previous visions: Miss Martin, Lucien, the Prime, and two others she didn't know—a young man as bishop and an older lady as one of the knights. The White Queen had a blindfold on, and she was guarded by Sebastian, whose face was rendered above the White King.

Clearly the board was meant to represent the battle between the Prime and his enemies, but she hadn't expected to be the one making the moves.

"Of course you make the moves," the entity opposite her intoned. "You're the one who can see the future."

"But these aren't pawns. This isn't a game."

"It's always a game. What you mean is that each move has a consequence you don't want to pay. Now make your move."

Her hands began sweating in her gloves. The Black Queen wore Morgana's face, and the Black King was her father. Both of the Black Knights had circled the White King and were threatening one of her pawns. She couldn't see who it represented, but she knew she had to save it.

Reaching out, she hovered over Sebastian. A little tingle of wrongness echoed over her skin. It was instinctive to reach for him, but she trusted her senses. Slowly raking her hand over her pieces, she felt a little quiver against her prescience, a tingle that echoed over her skin.

Cleo swallowed hard and moved her bishop.

"Interesting move." The entity wore a smile. He—and it was definitely a he now—crooked a finger, and his black bishop slid toward hers, stopping directly in front of it.

The black bishop was a woman, one glancing over her shoulder, even as she hid something within her waistcoat. She wore men's attire with tightly fitted breeches, but her figure was most certainly feminine, and her hair was knotted into a crown of plaits. The only abnormalities were the shackles at her wrists.

"Who is she?" Cleo asked.

"You shall discover her identity soon enough." The entity bowed his head to her.
"Until we meet again, Cassandra."

The world spun, the room vanishing around her, and then—

With a gasp, Cleo sat bolt upright in her bed. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and the familiar rustle of the linen bindings over her eyes reminded her of where she was—safely nestled in a bed at the inn that Sebastian had removed her to before he'd retired to his own adjoining room. He was hurt, his senses obliterated by the backlash of power, his hands torn and ruined, and his wound newly healed, but he wouldn't allow her to see to him, the fool. Whatever she'd done to him at the house had disturbed him.

With a sigh, Cleo lay back down, drawing her covers up around her chin. What on earth had that dream meant? It belonged not to the realm of precognition or foretelling, but had felt as if it had truly been real.

Something moved, a slow creak, as a floorboard shifted beneath a stealthy foot.

Cleo froze.

"Hello? Is anybody there?"

Skirts swished, and then a hand clapped over her mouth as she tried to scream. "Surprise," Morgana whispered in her ear. "I think you should come with me and be quiet about it. I wouldn't want to have to cut my own son down when he sleeps so heavily in the next room, his mind and body battered by exhaustion." The hand pressed firmly over her mouth as Morgana leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Don't make a sound, or I'll kill him, I swear. Do you understand?"

The hand over her mouth lightened until only a silencing finger pressed against her lips. Cleo thought about her options, her heart hammering in her chest. Sebastian
was
injured. She'd almost had to carry him up the stairs herself, his power bleeding all over her and every step earning a wince from him. He was in no state of mind to deal with an intruder, even one without power.

And she had the suspicion she was not going to be harmed. Morgana wanted something from her.

Cleo nodded.

"Good," her kidnapper gloated. "Now come with me."

"White Queen in check,"
whispered the entity, in her mind.

W
ANT
to find out what is going to happen to Drake and his other two sons? The story continues later this year with Bloodbound...
Read on for an excerpt...

BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE DARK ARTS WORLD...

I 
f you enjoyed Shadowbound, then get ready for Bloodbound! Book two in the Dark Arts series, it will be available in late 2016, so make sure you sign up for my
newsletter
to receive news and excerpts about this release!