Soulbound (10 page)

“Jaysus. You didn’t say nothing about…” The driver swallowed hard and shook his head. “Hurry up, then.” Sweat peppered his grubby brow and he wiped at it with a dingy rag. “First sign o’ trouble and I’m off. Blunt or no.” He did not dare look upon Adam, as if doing so would somehow make him more accountable. “Get him in the cart, lass, afore someone sees.” The driver hurried off to finish his delivery.

The small trip out of the house and to the waiting cart felt endless. Eliza’s back was so tight that she feared a sudden movement might make it crack. The vivid image of them taking a tumble and sprawling on the pavers flashed in her mind before she pushed it away, and, bending her knees to take more of Adam’s weight, she gave his long, unwieldy frame a desperate shove. Coupled with his own, albeit weak, efforts, the man fell into the cart, only to lie prone and panting just inside of the cart door.

Sweat ran down her spine and over her brow as she roughly pushed his legs farther into the cavern of the cart. Good gravy, he was heavy. Wiping an arm across her forehead, she hopped in behind him, having to crawl over his body to get fully inside. Once there, she tugged on his hips and shoulders, edging him along. Adam’s eyes fluttered open, thin slits of pale amber. With a grunt, he heaved himself along, trying to help her. She did not want to think about the noise they were making or the time that had elapsed.

Nausea churned in her belly, threatening to rise up her throat. She couldn’t think about getting caught. She
would not
.

“Lie still,” she whispered in his ear when he attempted to move again. Thankfully, he did so immediately, though Eliza suspected that he’d simply run out of strength. Hunched against the side of the cart, he shivered, his mouth pinched, his knees drawn up to his chest. Damn it, but he was far too injured for her liking. They ought to have waited until he’d healed further.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath. With quick movements, she hunched over him and heaved a barrel in front of him, blocking his upper body from view. Another barrel had to be moved to hide his legs. By the time she was finished, the world around them was a dark cocoon and her arms burned with exertion. She could only be thankful that the big, wooden barrels were empty of mead or ale.

On a suppressed sigh, she pulled off her cloak, draped it over Adam, and then sat back next to him. Her pulse knocked against her throat, her heartbeat visible at her breast. Every inch of her ached. Fear had her body twitching with the urge to run. They were barely covered from view. Anything could go wrong. Mab could decide to return and pay a visit to Adam.

Eliza ground her teeth together.
Stop thinking. Now.

Footsteps echoed out in the courtyard, followed by a man’s voice. “Then it’ll be next month, sir?” The driver.

“Best to make it two weeks,” came the butler’s voice. He must have returned early, which meant he’d soon find the staff drugged. “We’ve been going through mead like washing water, this incident aside.”

“You’ll be hearin’ no complaint’s from the likes o’ me.” The two shared a chuckle. Too close to the cart.

Eliza tensed so hard that she shook. At her side, Adam stirred. Immediately, she put a quelling hand upon his sweaty shoulder. She kept it there, feeling the blood seep through the shirt and willing him still as a single set of footsteps grew louder. The cart shook as the driver heaved an empty barrel into the back of the cart.

The barrels next to Adam’s body were pushed hard against him as the driver adjusted his load. Though Adam hadn’t opened his eyes, nor made a sound, pain pinched his features. Eliza’s hold gentled, trying to soothe, even though a sick, dreadful terror had her by the throat.

She held her breath as the driver secured his haul with ropes, going about his work as though he hadn’t a care in the world. She wondered if he saw them hiding or if he’d done his best to cover them further. She dared not look. But the interior of the cart grew darker, the air heavy and muted.

Moments seemed to drag on endlessly in which the driver fussed about and then walked away. Silence stretched, broken only by her thundering heartbeat. And then suddenly they were moving. Eliza dared not breathe a sigh of relief; she’d save that for when they were well and truly clear of this house.

But as the minutes rolled on, she allowed herself to rest against the high slat-board wall of the delivery cart. Beside her, Adam dozed, his brows drawn and his complexion pale. She’d have to wake him; she didn’t know where to go. But there was time yet.

Eventually, the card rolled to a stop. And then the driver’s disembodied voice drifted through the weak light. “Where to then?”

Eliza moved to shake Adam awake, but his eyes flicked open, and he answered quick but quiet. “Houndsditch, by way of the Rag Fair.”

There was a pregnant pause from without, which made Eliza think Houndsditch wasn’t a favorable destination. Adam confirmed this when he added tightly, “You’ll be well rewarded.” Even half dead, his tone brooked no argument.

The driver’s sigh was audible, but he’d been given enough cash from her to know they were good for it. “Righto.”

They were off in a tick. And the small space in which they hid fell to silence. Eliza allowed herself to be lulled by the rocking of the cart. But her unease didn’t entirely fade. Would she ever feel safe again? Was she insane for helping Adam? Believing in his tales?

“I am sorry.”

The words were so softly spoken that, for a moment, Eliza thought she dreamed them. But, by the expression upon Adam’s face, she hadn’t. “I am,” he said a bit stronger now. “For chaining you.” He visibly winced. “Having been on the restraining end of one, I can safely say that doing so to you was possibly the worst decision of my life.”

She could not help but frown. Some things were harder to forgive. “I won’t argue with you, if that’s what you’re after.”

A line formed in his lean cheek, evident only when he was amused or regretful. She knew that much about him, even though they’d barely interacted with each other. And she was struck by the strangeness of how she seemed to read this man so well. Why him? Not for one moment did she entertain the idea that he was her soul mate. Such ideas spoke of fate. And she wasn’t one for fate but a woman who made her own way through the world. Actions determined one’s destiny not the other way around.

“Ah, Eliza May, believe me, lass, arguing with you is the last thing I want.” He glanced down at his wrists, raw and oozing around the thick cuffs that bound him, and a furrow worked between his thick brows. “I was afraid, aye? Centuries I’d been searching and my time was nearly up. I saw you and…” His muscled shoulder lifted then dropped. “I’ve always been a man of action. It seemed best to secure you by my side where nothing could take you away.”

Eliza sank farther down the side of the lumbering cart. The heavy canvas cover rubbed against her hair and threatened to smother. She hated the dark, hated feeling trapped. “I understand,” she said at last.

One of his brows kicked upward, and she gave him a crooked, half smile. “I didn’t say I approved of your actions. But… well, I’ll forgive you for them.”

When he sat up straighter, his attention more intent, she rushed onward. “We are in this together now. To be at odds is counterproductive.”

Through the strained silence, he cleared his throat. “Do not forgive me, Eliza, unless you mean it.” He turned and faced her head-on. “Regardless of where we stand, I’ll not argue with you or treat you with disrespect. But I’ll no’ harbor false hope. That I cannot tolerate.”

Eliza found herself turning as well so that she might see him better in the muffled dimness. “What is it that you are hoping for?”

The thick fan of his black lashes swept down, hiding his gold eyes. “That we might…” – his cheek twitched – “be friends.”

Her breath hitched, and in the dark, she rested a hand against her belly. Friends? Could she be friends with him? Protest surged forth, hot and deep. How could she even think it? And yet, she’d been the one to offer forgiveness. Had she been merely performing lip service?

He waited quietly, not pushing, not backing away. The cart dipped and bounced along the road, making his big, rough body sway. He was a patient man, but also capable of cold cunning. Capable of torturing as well. She remembered the shadow crawler Darby that Adam had ordered about like a slave and ultimately killed by simply stopping his heart. All without batting an eye. And yet, even though he’d chained her, she had never feared for her physical safety.

He’d never even raised his voice to her, save that one time when her never-ending silence had pushed him past patience.

“You agreed to be mine. Mine! And now you act as though you’ve been tricked. I gave you life anew. I look after your every
comfort,
for all that you ignore it. What do you want of me? What?”
 

“Freedom.”
 

Eliza flinched at the memory. At the desperate anger that had sharpened his tone, and the pleading that had been in hers. And what had his answer been? No. He would not give that which she yearned for most.

Bitterness was a fist punching against the inside of her ribs. Part of her didn’t want to look at Adam, big, strong wreck of a man, whom she had freed. She’d taken him out of hell, at the risk of her own freedom. The bitterness within her grew.

“I don’t know if I can be your friend,” she said, not surprised at the waspishness in her voice.

Though he clearly tried to prevent it, his expression fell to disappointment. For a long moment, he visibly swallowed, several times, as though tasting his own bitterness. “Do you… might you be able to one day? To truly forgive me?”

Gods, but he shocked her. He wasn’t one to beg. He certainly had no reason to with her.

“Why does it matter to you?” she found herself asking. “You no longer need me to avoid Mab. What’s done is done. I won’t help you more or less based on friendship.”

He adjusted his position, the numerous wounds making his movements jerky and stilted. Focusing on one of the barrels they were squeezed between, he spoke in a low, almost irritated voice. “Not everything is about the fae witch. What lies between us, Eliza May, is ours alone.”

T
orture had changed him. For the first time in his life, Adam did not think in terms of the future but focused on the here and now, or rather¸ focused on escaping the here and now. When he’d made his bargain with Eliza May, he wanted only to get away. Get away from Mab, regain his strength, and exact his revenge. Lofty goals for a man who’d been chained these past months. Now, as the wagon rolled to a gentle halt and the sounds of Eliza stirring caught his attention, grave misgivings roiled around within him.

They were in front of a GIM public house. Early as it was, it would not yet be filled with patrons. But there would be witnesses enough. And he would have to ask for their help. He’d have to tell them who he was, and they would see the pathetic state he now lived in. Humiliation was a bitter taste in his mouth, and he nearly squeezed his eyes closed.

But Eliza needed him sharp. So he did what he must and hauled himself to sitting. Well, a half slump. Hells clamoring bells, he was a pathetic wreck. A king no longer. Breathing too fast and light, he struggled to find a steady voice.

“I’ll…” He swallowed down a fist-sized lump of humility. “I shall need your help quitting the cart.”

A tiny wrinkle formed on Eliza’s smooth brow. “Well, of course you will. Your leg is broken, as are a number of your ribs and left arm.”
Silly man
was implied.

“I am healing,” he added with a touch of acid. “There is that, even though it is at a snail’s pace.”

“We need to get those blasted chains off so you can heal faster.”

“No truer words, dove.”

She shoved a pair of lumpy, mismatched boots onto his feet, and he wanted to laugh. Paired with the plaid pants and tatty shirt, he looked no better than a court jester.

They ought to have used the back-alley entrance. Even on this shadowy, dismal street, lined with crooked houses that sagged in on each other, he garnered too much attention. “Act as though I’m a drunken sot,” he murmured against Eliza’s neck.

She shivered, but she began to vocally chastise him. “I ought to have stayed in Boston with mother. You’re a no-account lout and hanging three sheets to the wind to boot. Just look at yourself, barely able to walk, and here you are seeking out more.” She hissed in disgust.

“Shut yer hole an’ do as yer told,” he said in a loud slur.

Muttering and grousing, Eliza all but stumbled them into the small, dark pub. All heads turned their way. And then the barkeep did a double take. “Sire?”

Adam looked the man over. Alan Brown. GIM age: eighty-seven years. Death age: twenty-nine. Cause of death: knife to the gut after his fellow thieves took exception to Alan’s portion of the take. Souls owed Adam: three.

“Mr. Brown,” he said with as much dignity as a man who was heavily leaning on a slip of a girl could muster, “I’ve a favor to ask of you.” He glanced about the room, taking in the familiar faces. He knew them all. Of course he did. They were his children. “Of all of you.”

Mr. Brown’s mouth hung open like a dead cod’s before he regained his wits and snapped it shut, immediately coming out from behind the bar to bow before Adam. “Sire.”

Adam could do without the display. Which was a first. He repressed a sigh. “Rise, Mr. Brown.” When the man did as bided, he continued. “Miss May and I need to be out of sight for a while.” The understatement of the year. However, he’d be damned if he begged for a soft bed and a cudgel blow across the brow so he could find blessed oblivion.

Fortunately, it was obvious what Adam needed, and Mr. Brown sprang into action, snapping his fingers at the barmaid, who bustled over and gave Adam a kind smile. “This way, sir.” Anna Smith. GIM age: seventy years. Death age: seventeen. Cause of death: strangulation after rape.

He kept his voice low. “Thank you, Miss Smith.” And though it gutted him to do it, he let her slip her shoulder under his free arm so that she might help Eliza bear his weight. Thus supported, they moved as an awkward group toward the back of the room. As they went, every GIM in the room stared on, silent and questioning. He’d answer them later.

Adam caught the eye of a slim young man, all but hidden in the shadows by the bar. “Jonathan Moore, I’ll ask you to keep watch outside.”

Quick as a tick, the man nodded and slipped out the door. Good lad.

Brown hurried to open a door that led to a set of narrow and rickety stairs. Wonderful. Adam swore he heard Eliza mutter much the same sentiment under her breath. But when he glanced down at her, her face was serene and her attention set on their destination.

“We’ll get you set up in —” Brown stopped midsentence, his gaze focused on a spot just to Adam’s right. And Adam inwardly cringed, realizing that Brown was listening to a spirit. One Adam could no longer see. Brown’s eyes narrowed, and he turned back to Adam expectantly. When Adam merely returned his look, Brown obviously realized his predicament, and the man’s wispy brows lifted a touch. Inside himself, Adam died a little more. But Brown was polite enough not to make a fuss, only got to the heart of the matter. “Fae spotted coming down the road.”

A ripple of palpable tension ran through the room. Fae were rare enough that most immortals feared them. Misinformation mixed with heinous stories of torture helped that fear along. Rather brilliant of the fae, Adam thought with grudging admiration. For now the mere mention of them had others cowering or looking over their shoulder.

However, the GIM had very real reasons to fear the fae. A GIM could not see much less pull a fae’s soul from his body. Adam knew this fatal weakness was due to the fact that his magic was connected to a fae curse; thus they were the only supernatural immune to the GIM’s power. The only recourse was to fight them hand to hand with iron and hope to strike a killing blow.

“Come,” Mr. Brown said. “We haven’t much time.”

Though a frisson of terror raced up Eliza’s neck, she remained steady as the GIM around her snapped into action. Two men stepped in between Eliza and the young barmaid to take hold of Adam. They wedged their shoulders beneath his arms and, with a shocking display of deference, half carried him towards the other end of the pub. The barmaid touched Eliza’s elbow.

“Follow me, Miss.”

Eliza followed, pretending that her heart wasn’t in her throat, that she didn’t hear the agitated whirring of the girl’s heart or see the way the gentle glow around her body had darkened to a coal-smoke color.

The room grew darker as well. Outside, just visible through the latticed, bottle-glass windows, a thick, greenish fog had rolled in. A shiver tickled Eliza’s skin. It was as if the fog were sentient and searching for prey.

The two GIM led Adam to the back wall of the pub. The walls were constructed of wide slabs of wood so old that they were blackened and glossed over with smoke and grease. Hammered into the walls were intricate bands of iron forming a pattern of crosses interlocked with fleur-de-lis. Rather lovely, but odd. It was if they were inside of a cage.

The woman caught Eliza looking and dipped her head in close. “For the GIM, a fleur-de-lis represents mind, body, soul. I’ve no idea why Adam favors the cross pattée.”

But Eliza did. It was a knight’s cross.

A GIM touched the center of a cross, and a door, completely hidden by the pattern on the wall, swung open. A crawl space, no bigger than a kitchen pantry, greeted them. “There’s a tunnel that leads to an exit about a block away,” said one of the men. He pointed to a hook on the wall. “Pull that there and it’ll open.” The pained tone of his voice made it clear that he thought it unlikely Adam would be able to move.

“I’d rather fight,” Adam said, “short as that battle would be.”

The GIM grinned with satisfaction. “Aye, sire, I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Though they set Adam down with care, the GIM hurried now. Eliza was handed in a moment later. She shuffled over to Adam’s side, where he’d begun to slump down the wall. He wouldn’t last much longer. As she needed his help, anxiety rode through her at the thought of him expiring. He’d promised that he’d soon heal, but it didn’t appear likely.

Adam leaned against her, a slight touch, not one to be noticed by the GIM helping them, but she noticed.

“The iron ought to deter them from messing about with the walls,” a man murmured before unceremoniously shutting them in.

The room fell to utter darkness, not even a slant of light showing beneath the hidden door. A moment later, she heard the fae enter the pub. Worse, she felt them, like a burr under her skin, making it prickle and her heart beat faster.

“You there,” said the unmistakable voice of Mab. “Are you the proprietor of this… establishment?”

“Aye. Can I be helping you with something, Madam?”

In the cramped space, Eliza sat, arm pressed against Adam’s arm. The hard heat of his shoulder and biceps held her attention for one moment before Eliza concentrated on the words drifting in, on Mab’s voice.

“My granddaughter Eliza May has gone missing. She was last seen in the company of the coward Adam of the GIM while boarding a wine wagon. My servant followed the wagon as far as Houndsditch.” There was a pause, as if Mab wanted to let her words soak in. She continued on in a measured tone. “As this is the closest GIM hovel, reason stands that they have come here in search of sanctuary.”

An awkward silence descended before one of the GIM spoke. “It takes naught but a pair of good, working eyes to see that they aren’t here, Madam.”

Heels clicked against the floor. “If you’d like to keep your eyes, GIM, you’ll watch your mouth. I’ve no patience for your cheek. I know very well that you are likely harboring them.”

“Madam,” said the man quickly, “I wouldn’t touch the —”

Mab’s irritated snarl shot out.

“— walls,” the GIM finished. “The iron runs throughout, Madam.”

“Yes, I see that,” Mab snarled. “And I can well guess why. Now you mean to tell me that you are friend to the fae?”

Another voice piped up, a woman’s. “We never said we were. Surely you can’t blame us.”

Footsteps sounded as Mab prowled the room, trying to detect where Eliza and Adam might be hiding. Mab’s voice rang out, heavily laced with pomp and false graciousness. “You ought to be bowing down to me in gratitude. Your creator Adam has no power over you anymore. I have freed you all.”

Beside her, Adam let out a harsh breath that sounded overloud in the tight enclosure. With the tips of her fingers, Eliza touched his forearm. It was enough to distract him. His breath evened out, but his body remained as stone against her.

“Freed us?” came a snide reply. “Were you under the impression that we were slaves, then?”

A ringing silence followed. “Were you not beholden to his will?” Mab trilled out as though shocked that anyone would dare suggest otherwise.

A woman spoke. “We were given the choice to serve. That is not slavery.”

Adam’s head turned, making the slightest noise, and Eliza could feel the force of his gaze upon her. She was glad of the darkness that hid what would surely be recrimination in his eyes. Yes, all right, she’s accused him of being no better than a slave owner. But, admittedly, the GIM had not been bound in chains as she had.

“A choice of death or servitude hardly seems much of a choice at all,” said Mab.

“And yet we’d gladly make the same choice to serve Adam again,” said another man.

Beneath Eliza’s fingertips, the warm skin of Adam’s forearm twitched.

“Enough,” snarled Mab, loud enough that it rang through the small space in which they hid. “Adam’s reign is over. He is an enemy of the fae. Bring him and the girl to me, and you shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

Silence.

Anger and a deadly coldness laced Mab’s next words. “Harbor him, and you shall suffer beyond all endurance.”

Eliza found herself leaning just a bit closer to Adam. He radiated warmth, though she feared it was feverish. At the moment, it did not matter, for she was growing so cold, so very cold. Deep within her, a shiver began, and with it came the urge to give in to that strange, unnatural laughter that always arrived when death grew near.
No, no, no. She could not do this now.
Eliza ground her teeth together and tried to push the urge away.

Outside, another voice rang out. “Threats, is it?” said a man. “Oh, now there’s a rich incentive to betray our creator. To be sure —” His words were cut off with a gurgled sound of pain.

Adam lurched, as if he’d rise, and Eliza clutched his wrist. It gave her the distraction she needed. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his ear. “You cannot help him.” She mouthed the words for fear of being overheard. “You will merely make them all suffer.”

He gave a jerky nod. In the dark, Eliza’s hand slid into Adam’s larger one. Their fingers intertwined. As if one, a tremor rippled through their bodies. An awareness, an acknowledgment. Of what, Eliza did not know, but she felt connected to him. That this broken, wounded man would keep her safe was ridiculous. They had never been in greater danger.

“Don’t like what you see?” Mab said. “Then give the coward up to me. He is mine now. As is the girl. They are my property.”