Soulbound (5 page)

“I know,” he said softly. “I can only strongly suggest that you never agree to a blood vow with anyone you do not implicitly trust.”

She made a pretense of putting on a pleasant face, but still she did not look at him. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“You must learn our world, Eliza,” Sin murmured. “We are not like humans.”

When she looked up swiftly, he gave her a false smile even as his tone remained serious. “You are more than half fae, even if you’ve yet to believe it. Which means you can be bound by a blood vow. I am an elemental. Thus, I too can be bound.” Sorrow lined his handsome features. “Once bound, your vow is irrevocable, no matter how much you regret it.”

Eliza took a step away from him. “I think I’ll take a turn around the garden.” Her voice was wooden.

He frowned. But then nodded. “I understand,” Sin whispered. “I do.”

“No,” she ground out. “I don’t think you understand at all.”

Loneliness smothered her as she walked along an abandoned garden path. She’d thought Sin would be her one ally in this strange new world. She thought she could trust him. Enough. She was becoming downright maudlin. “Pity is for the weak,” she whispered. Especially if that pity was applied to one’s self.

“Yes, Eliza, it is.” The familiar masculine voice sent a shard of terror through her middle.

Eliza whipped around, her voice lost in shock. From out of the shadows, a figure slipped. And her dread increased, her insides threatening to heave. The man was of a towering height, his hair pale blond, and his eyes a deep, endless brown. Those eyes had once smiled at her, promising her the world. And she’d believe in them, just as gullible as the endless young men who laid upon Mab’s table like offerings.

Through dry lips, she found her voice, weak as it was. “Mellan.”

Mellan Marbury. Leader of the Black Death gang in Boston. Now her personal nightmare. She almost let out a laugh. And here she’d thought her demon captor was a bastard. She’d clearly forgotten what true bastards were.

His gaze, cold as ever, raked over her, lingering on her breasts, and his thin mouth curled. It was not a look of lust or even appreciation but of ownership, as though he believed he was entitled to do anything to her. Eliza did not flinch, even as her mind screamed at her to run. Gods almighty, she’d faked a death, traveled across an ocean, and he’d found her.

Mellan tilted his head, the angle extreme, calling to mind a crow about to peck at its prey. “You do not seem happy to see me, pet.”

She knew that tone. A fist would be accompanying his words soon enough. Eliza found she didn’t damn well care. “For once, you’ve correctly assessed my feelings, Mellan. Is it too much to hope that you’ll also turn heel and leave this instant?”

His slow chuckle was nails against glass. “I have so missed your sense of humor, Eliza.”

“I have no sense of humor where you are concerned.”

His patience vanished like smoke, and he took a hard step closer. “Your constant sassing wears thin.” His teeth showed with an ugly grin. “Here on in, I’ll be taking my pound of flesh for each snide remark.”

“I expected nothing less,” she snapped back as though her insides weren’t churning. “Only I do believe our acquaintance has come to an end.”

“Is that what you believe?” He chuckled. “Dear girl, you know so little. It’s pitiful, really.”

They glared at each other, laughter and the gentle murmur of conversation drifting over the garden, when the light scuff of a shoe sounded.

“Ah, Eliza,” said Mab – her savior. Mab’s doll-like face plumped with a smile as she looked toward Mellan. “I see that you’ve found Mellan. Excellent.”

Eliza’s heart nearly stopped as she gaped at her aunt. “You… you know this man?”

Mab cocked her head, exactly as Mellan had done. “Know him? Why, my dear girl, he’s my brother. And your kin.”

The bottom dropped out of Eliza’s stomach. As if Mab hadn’t just voiced something utterly horrible, her expression grew beatific, and she gave Mellan a pleased nod. “I believe he’s been most desperate to see you.”

For an endless moment, Eliza simply stood, her hand pressed tight to her middle, her mouth open and silent. “I… How…” Her breath hitched, and her hand curled into a fist. “Aunt, you do not understand —”

Mab’s little nostrils flared in irritation. “I assure you, child, I understand perfectly well. Mellan has kept me apprised of the situation, and shame on you for running from him. That is not the mark of honor.” Her eyes were hard and unyielding. “I realize that you yearn, as all fae do, to be independent. But a child of my bloodline has certain duties, and certain customs must be respected. Make no mistake, Mellan shall be your husband.”

“You’ve healed nicely.”

Adam refused to react to the sly finger that slid along his chained arm and lingered along his collarbone. The very bone the bitch had broken in three places last night. Mab hummed, a pleased sound, as her touch moved to his nipple, and Adam ground his back teeth together. Given the choice between enduring her touch or meeting her gaze, Adam picked the latter.

Her beauty was flawless, an elegant rose in perfect bloom. And beneath it, foul rot. She smiled at him, her plump lips revealing black fangs. She liked to bite him with those fangs. Hard, deep bites in his most sensitive places. Bitch.

“Such hate in your eyes, Adam.” Mab sat back on her heels and tutted. “When your freedom could be gained by simply loving me.”

Unable to hold it back, he snorted with disdain. “Love? Is that what all this is about? Your undying need to be adored by those who refuse you?” He would be ill. He imagined splattering her fine satin dress with his vomit. An entertaining image, that. But Adam would not give her the satisfaction of seeing the depths of his feeling.

Mab stood, her small nostrils flaring. “Always so very proud, Aodh. To your downfall.” With the tip of her boot, she forced his chin up. Her eyes held the satisfaction of victory. “One day, you shall gladly kiss these boots.”

He ought to remain silent. If anyone knew how maddening silence could be, it was Adam. Eliza had given him a hard dose of that particular treatment for months. It had nearly driven him to madness. Often times, he’d pictured himself tearing apart a room, rage and hopelessness over her refusal to engage with him pushing him to the edge. Yes, Mab would detest a mutinous silence.

Unfortunately, Adam detested holding his tongue with equal measure. He simply could not do it. Which is why he found himself affecting a pleading voice, strongly laced with acidic sarcasm. “Oh, Mab, please spare me another round of torture. I cannot possibly stand another moment.”

Her lips pursed as she glared down at him. “You think you’re so cheeky. We’ll see who’s laughing when I finish flaying your skin.”

One of her favorite methods. Bile surged upward. “If memory serves,” he said as though his throat wasn’t burning, “that would be you.”

After all, the bitch had cut his tongue out during that particular session so he hadn’t been able to join in. And while Adam would rather not think on that time, or experience it again, he’d be damned if he’d let that show.

Her eyes narrowed, their color flashing from human brown to a fae’s pansy purple. “I clearly need to be more creative with my tricks.”

He simply stared back, tired of her games, tired of everything.

“Silence, is it?” she intoned brightly. “No pithy replies?”

“Perhaps you ought to tell me what I should say.” He shrugged his aching shoulders. “Write a script for me to read.”

The smack across his face was so quick and hard that his head rattled against the wall. It took all his control not to snarl at her, to try to rip free from his bonds. A useless endeavor at any rate. And she watched him, her eyes alight, as if waiting to devour his anger. Her rapt expression crystallized to icy disdain when he did nothing.

“What do you want of me?” he asked. “Truly? Are you not tired of this game you play?”

Her little fangs flashed, black and needle sharp. “To beg.”

He sighed, letting his head rest against his arm. “I will no’. Best you kill me now, fae.”

For a clean, bright moment, he thought she might, as her arm raised and black claws sprung from the tips of her fingers. One good and true swipe and his head would topple. Some wounds even an enchanted man did not come back from. But she collected her wits and took a visible breath.

“Too easy, Aodh. By far.” Mab’s lips lifted in a cruel smile. “There is another way to earn your freedom.” Her tone and the bitter twist of her lips spoke of reluctance. “Return what you stole from my people.”

Ah, yes, Adam’s stolen artifacts. It always came back to that. When he’d been a knight, charged with collecting heathen artifacts for the Church, he certainly did not view his quest as theft. Now, he simply had no desire to give Mab what she wanted. He smiled, with teeth. “I did not offer them up when you first threatened to curse me. What makes you believe I shall now?”

Her red curls bounced as she shook her head. “Why would you not? You prefer to live this way? Prefer being a dog on a leash?”

Adam merely raised a brow and stared back at her.

Mab sniffed. “Fine. Have it your way. This shall hurt you far worse than it hurts me.”

The bitch actually believed she was amusing.

Smiling, Mab strolled across the cellar and picked up a hammer. Adam eyed the thing, sick dread spreading through his gut.

“Tell me” – she hefted the hammer’s weight, testing it with a light smack against her palm – “where is the Horn an Bás?”

Surprise hit Adam. The Golden Horn an Bás, the horn of death. It was said that to hear its notes was to be instantly struck down. No being of this earth or of the fae could fight its power. Death to immortals.

Adam nearly laughed. He bloody well wouldn’t be hanging like a side of beef on a hook if he had the horn. But it wouldn’t go well for him at all were he to admit that. Then again, it wouldn’t go well for him either way, so he was bolloxed.

Best to irritate the bitch and let her vent her frustration until she tired. So Adam grinned with teeth. “
Nuair a thiocas an bás ní imeoidh sé folamh
.”
When death comes he won’t leave empty.
The Irish had used that proverb in regard to him at one time. He’d relished it. Now, he gloried in the frustration and rage gathering over Mab’s too pretty countenance.

“Lest you want
an bás
to come for you now,” Mab said lightly, “you’ll tell me where it is.”

“Best you go fuck a goat.”

And that ended the conversation. Mab’s narrow boot heel stomped down upon his gut. Absently, Adam watched the crescent-shaped bruise bloom, growing darker as blood seeped below the surface of his skin. Adam did not know where the horn was. But that triviality was not going to stop him. If the fae wanted it that badly, he was going to get it. Somehow.

E
liza had returned. Adam could scent her drawing closer, feel her vibrancy light up the pitiless grave they’d left him in. He kept his eyes closed and remained still, barely daring to breathe. It hurt to breathe at any rate. Perhaps she’d see him sleeping and leave. It would be better that way.

The rustle of her skirts and the scent of luscious pears surrounded him, his senses stronger now as he was a dog. The ruff along the back of his neck lifted, his skin prickling beneath the fur. The urge grew worse as she knelt down next to him and the silk of her gown settled over his hind quarters.

“Lord above but you look worse for wear.” A soft, tender hand settled upon his hip bone, and he whimpered. Damn dog reaction.

A massive shiver scattered agonized shards of pain throughout him as he dissolved and then reformed as a man. It took a moment for his vision to clear, to focus in on the perfect oval of her face. Concern pulled the gentle arches of her brows together, and the pink curves of her lips puckered into a small pout. He wanted to lick, suck, and bite those lips, feast on them as if they were sweetmeats. He also wanted to shove her bodily out of his cell and out of his sight.

He settled for remaining as he was, sprawled upon the ground, his arms wrenched high overhead by the chains that bound him. Her hand had not strayed from his hip, and while it was one thing for her to touch him there when he was a dog, it was quite another to feel her palm resting upon his bare skin. The muscles along his lower abdomen tensed, a sweet-sharp pain. With a lazy air he knew would irritate her, he glanced down at her hand.

“Planning on moving that hand lower, sweets?” He allowed himself a leering grin. “There is one part of me uninjured. Yet I can assure you it aches all the same.”

As expected, she snatched her hand away. He ought to rejoice but missed the touch too much.

She let out a little huff. “You really are the most mercurial demon —”

“Mercurial?” He laughed and immediately regretted it when his body seized in protest and the open wounds that crisscrossed his chest began to weep blood. “Dear girl, my temperament is as steady as they come.”

She snorted but her gaze strayed to his chest, and that beguiling pucker returned to her mouth. “When we first met, you acted the insouciant ass. Then you changed, becoming a brooding, snarling, cold, unfeeling —”

“You’ve made your point,” he cut in. “And if my mood was less than appealing, it had all to do with the dour, silent weight attached to me.” She had driven him half mad with her silence. Had she expected him to be happy about it?

Her pretty cheeks darkened. “It’s a good thing I left you then. You are
far
more pleasant now.”

“Sarcasm, Miss May, is not the mark of a lady.” He rather loved her unladylike barbs, but wasn’t about to confess it now. When storm clouds gathered in her eyes, he spoke again. “Why are you here? Pleasant a distraction though you may be, you appear far better dressed for a party.”

She was utterly lovely in her bronze satin gown that both hugged her curves and offered them up for one’s delectation, a hothouse lily both delicate and luscious. Tiny garnets glittered in her hair and at her throat, bringing out the velvet-brown color of her eyes. Eyes that were focused on his chest. Her fingers twitched over the folds of her skirts. And while Adam would like to think that her attention was due to pure feminine appreciation of his male form, he knew better. She could not stand to see a being in physical pain.

“The party has yet to begin.” Still eyeing his wounds, she rose and went for the leather doctoring satchel she’d brought before. “And I wanted to visit you.”

“Oh.”

Eliza May did something he thought he’d never witness: She laughed. It was a husky sound, full and round and wonderful. Her eyes crinkled, going triangular in shape with her mirth.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” she said, still grinning, “that the great and fearsome Adam of the GIM was reduced to a single exclamation.”

He wanted to scowl, but could not. Not when humor lightened her fine features. It did not help that her gaze slid down his unclothed length, and his cock began to take notice. He did not mind her seeing him naked. Not that there was much to boast of at the moment. He’d had better days. But her stare was altogether too probing for his comfort. And he rather thought now was not the time for his roger to be waving about and begging for attention.

“Keep staring,” he told her, “and I’ll assume you like what you see.”

Slowly, she stirred as if waking from a dream and met him head-on.

“I don’t.”

Adam blinked. Right then, the lass certainly wasn’t one for false praise. A scowl drew at his mouth despite the fact that he bloody well didn’t care what she thought. “You don’t.” He managed to fit a world of skepticism into those two words.

And her rosebud of a mouth twitched. “So certain of your charms.”

He wasn’t. “I am.”

Eliza shook her head, a patronizing gesture if ever he saw one. But her answer was not. “It seems wrong.” Her voice was soft then, thoughtful, and it held all of his attention.

“Wrong?”

“Yes. That I should see you unclothed this way.”

The tight unease in his belly grew. Shame. He felt ashamed. And he hated it. “Lass, it does not bother me in the least if you see me without clothes.”

That earned him a ghost of a smile. “I’m certain it doesn’t. But it still feels wrong. It’d be one thing if you undressed for me.” Adam studiously ignored the heat elicited by that image as she went on. “If you’d done that, I could feel free to be annoyed or disgusted.”

Oh, well, don’t hold back, lass.
His glare grew in strength. Not that she noticed. Her bloody, pitying look remained.

“It isn’t your choice to expose yourself. Thus I cannot view your body with anything other than a sense of unfairness and anger that Mab should treat you in this manner.”

He couldn’t say a damned thing to that. In truth, he couldn’t even look at her. He wanted her out of his sight. He wanted to be out of hers. Desperately. A first, and it did not feel like a victory.

“Tell me why you’re here, dove.” Then perhaps she’d go and leave him in peace.

“Why did you treat me as you did?” Her voice was calm, quiet, and yet it rang like a shout between them. He ought to have expected the question, but it surprised him all the same.

Adam braced himself against flinching. Inside, however, an uncomfortable feeling coiled like a knot. All those months he’d held her captive, he hadn’t wanted to tell her the truth. The utter rot of it was that he’d been embarrassed and afraid. Afraid that she’d laugh in his face, embarrassed that he needed her, based on nothing more than a bloody curse. A man ought to have a choice over who his life mate should be.

But he couldn’t say all that now. Not with Miss Eliza May staring a hole through his skull. Flushed, he cleared his throat. “As I said before, I was cursed.”

One delicate golden brow lifted. An annoying prompt to continue. He scowled. “I’d lose possession of my freedom if I did not find my soul’s other half in the allotted time frame.”

Her silence was smothering, making it harder for him to get the words out. “I had a saving grace, however. It was prophesied that my soul’s mate would be one who died before her time yet stubbornly clung to life, and that I’d know her upon sight.” He shifted his arms, trying and failing to alleviate the ache in them. “The light of her soul would match mine.”

For a moment, she simply stared. Her voice, when she spoke, was crisp as burnt toast. “And you can see the light of souls.”

Before he’d been stripped of his powers, yes. Adam merely gave a curt nod. Eliza’s eyes narrowed, her sweet mouth turning down at the corners. But she said nothing, forcing him to finish his confession. “It is why I created the GIM, you see. In return for their immortality, they had to bring me stubborn souls who refused to die.”

“So you were searching all this time for —”

“You.” He met her eyes. “Your light is an exact match to mine.”

With those words, Eliza cocked her head as if he were a particularly odd object she’d happened across. And never had he wanted to rage and snarl as much as then. It wasn’t as though he wanted to need her. Or that he loved her. Hell, he barely liked her.

He opened his mouth, the temptation to say all that and more too great to resist, when she spoke over him. “And you think we are soul mates?” A sharp, half laugh cracked through the air. “Are you mad?”

“Madam,” he ground out, “you cannot begin to fathom how much I wish I were.”

“Oh, I believe I have some idea,” she said, rising with a rustle of petticoats. “Let me see if I have this correctly. You believe me to be your soul’s mate, and, as a result, your first course of action was to put me in chains and force me to be by your side henceforth.”

When put that way… Adam stared back, unspeaking. And Eliza made an unladylike snort. “Well, isn’t that simply brilliant thinking on your part.” She paced before him, her skirts snapping around her legs with each brisk stride. “Certainly, the best way to court a woman is to keep her prisoner.”

“I wasn’t trying to court you. I was trying to secure you.”

At his mulish retort, she halted and spun round to face him. High color stained her cheeks. “Secure me?”

Hot, uncomfortable regret made it hard to answer. “I was not thinking clearly.”

“Obviously.”

He shot her a look. “I only knew that, after hundreds of years, I’d found you. I wasn’t going to risk losing you.”

With a huff, Eliza leaned against the cell wall and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked him over with the cool detachment he’d become accustomed to. “One would think,” she said after a moment, “that I’d know it if you were my soul’s mate.” Her nose wrinkled. “A ridiculous notion, at any rate.”

He concurred. However… “And yet when you ran away, Mab took claim of me because you had rejected our bond.”

Her mouth fell open, her eyes going wide as tea saucers. “Bond. Is that what… you blame me?” Again she laughed. “Good Lord above. You needed my acceptance, and yet you treated me like a slave. You
are
mad.”

And what could he say? Those had not been his finest hours, driven by a sort of madness that had sound logic fleeing in the face of a base, nearly animalistic need to claim what was his.

From the moment she’d opened the cellar door, Eliza knew it was a mistake to visit Adam. Nothing in his behavior proved her wrong. Yet she found herself unable to leave him now. Not when he lay prone and bloody, needing aid, even though she knew he’d never admit to it. Now that he’d confessed, her head was reeling. Soul mates? Impossible. Ridiculous.

“I don’t believe in soul mates.” She hadn’t meant to speak, but, then again, it was best to tell him straight out.

“Neither do I,” he shouted, his swift ire shocking her into silence, as he glared a hole through her head.

“Then why —”

“Because I saw your light.” He bared his teeth when he growled out the words, reminding her of a wounded animal. “I took one bloody look at you and began to feel again. Do you understand what it means to feel nothing that is good or real?”

She did. She’d felt it for a mere twenty minutes when she’d first died. To live that way for centuries was an endurance she did not want to contemplate. But he wasn’t finished with her. His tendons stuck out like thick ropes as he strained towards her. “I was bloody desperate, you ken? I was promised my suffering would ease upon finding this elusive soul mate, and lo’ you arrive with your bloody golden glow, making me bloody feel again. So, aye, I’ll play the fool. I’ll believe whatever I damn well have to, if that’s what it takes to find some measure of peace.”

Well then. Eliza licked her dry lips. “All right. Neither of us believes in this farce —”

“Oh, I believe in it,” he cut in, rather snidely. “I simply don’t like it. Do you suppose I fancy being beholden to a woman who loathes me?”

“For good reason.”

He rested his head against the grimy wall and sighed. “Fair enough. Now, what do you want?”

Biding her time, Eliza soaked a length of linen with cool witch hazel. Under the slashes of his brows, Adam’s deep-set eyes narrowed, and a low growl of protest rumbled in his throat as she came near.

“I… don’t…” His ruined pectorals twitched. “Need help.”

Gently, she lowered the cloth onto his chest. His body tensed, ropy muscles bulging in response, and then he let go with a sharp breath. His tension eased on a sigh. “Better,” he rasped.

Eliza prepared another cloth and assessed how she could best help him. Two separate lengths of chains, each attached to heavy cuffs around Adam’s wrists, held him fast. Secured to a set of rings driven into the stone cell wall, the chains had been pulled tight and forced his arms up over his head so that he was stretched out and barely able to move.

“Lean forward, if you can, and let me see to the rest.”

With a muffled grunt, he complied, tilting his big body towards her. She was able to reach around his neck and drape the cloth along his shredded shoulders. So set was she upon her task that she did not consider how close she’d brought herself to the man. Not until the heat of his breath ghosted along her neck.