Chapter XII
Nicolai
There’s nothing in the world I dislike more than being helpless. It’s not a sensation I’ve been familiar with since I was a fledgling. Once upon a time I was weak, unable to control any part of my fate; I made sure that I’d never feel that way again.
Now here I am, immobile, unable to do anything but watch as a too-powerful sorcerer plays with me like a puppet on a string.
Some of the figures surrounding me have started murmuring a chant that I can barely hear.
The same as the one before. All I know is that it’s a language I only vaguely recognize.
It’s old and no longer in use. Not even the covens I’ve done work with use it for their magic.
“My what?” The lycan’s claws come out, light hair on the back of his hand in a partial shift.
He’s getting ready to turn and fight. He can’t win, not against a gathering of witches this large and a sorcerer.
Not by himself. I need to get free, to help.
To save my own skin if nothing else. We need each other to survive this.
The sorcerer tilts his head, his curls falling across his shoulders.
A shimmer of power he can’t contain ripples over him.
I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s literally overflowing with magic in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
Who is he? He has to have been hiding, otherwise the vampyre king would have used him for his own gain.
King Auden has never been shy about using anyone or anything to further his own agenda.
He hasn’t kept his throne this long by being merciful or kind; vampyres don’t reward a gentle touch.
“You don’t know the word bloodmate?” the sorcerer asks. “How curious.”
“I don’t ask questions I already know the answer to.” He’s slowly circling the sorcerer, getting closer to where I’m being held. I hope he doesn’t think he’s being subtle, because I have news for him, and it’s all bad.
“I’m feeling magnanimous, so I’ll explain it to you.” The lycan’s upper lip curls, revealing elongated fangs; he’s so close to shifting I can feel it thickening the air. “It’s a bloodbond. You are bonded to him by blood. It’s more than the werewolves ‘mating,’ it’s unbreakable.”
“So is a mating.”
The sorcerer hums and then continues, not acknowledging his comment.
“Once you exchanged blood, and you gave him your mark, the bond solidified into being, just like it was always meant to.” He lifts a hand, and a strand of sparkling light flies from it to wrap around my throat.
Rage boils from the urge to rip the magic away and destroy the one wielding it.
The lycan snarls and takes a more deliberate step in my direction. There’s a shimmering quality around him, like he’s stuck in mid shift, so close to letting the nature of the beast take him over. “Take your fucking magic off him.”
There’s an edge of possessiveness to his tone.
If he thinks he has any right to act that way toward me, he’ll meet the business end of my blade somewhere unpleasant.
I don’t care what the sorcerer has to say; we’re not bonded.
Werewolves are barely more than animals, and the only use I have for them is wrapped in chains or dead.
The magic withdraws, and the lycan settles… sort of. There’s a definite edge to him, like he’s standing on a precipice and about to go over the edge. No, more than that. Eager to go over the edge.
The sorcerer snaps his fingers, and I stand. No matter how hard I fight it, how much I try to move of my own volition, struggle against the magic running through my veins, nothing works. He has complete control of me. Even the scream of frustration I want to pour out is stuck in my throat.
“What the fuck did you do to him?”
“I can’t have him trying to escape now, can I? I need him for the ceremony. And you.”
So why hasn’t he done the same to us both? Does it not work on werewolves? Or does he not have enough magic to hold us both at the same time? That doesn’t make sense, not with the raw magic all but pouring out of him.
The lycan’s hands clench. “I won’t ask again.
Hand him over, or we’re going to have a problem.
” The sorcerer called him Tarryn. There’s something familiar about it, a knowing on the tip of my tongue that I can’t quite reach.
Like I should know it. I don’t bother to learn the names of most of his kind.
If there’s an echo of familiarity, then it must be of some importance.
Laughter from the sorcerer surrounds us. “Are we? You’re outnumbered, so let’s be smart about this.”
Werewolves and smart aren’t two words I would use in the same sentence. They live by instinct, they don’t stop to think. Can’t he see how close the beast is to the surface? Once they get angry, there’s no rationalizing with them after that. They’re pure adrenalin and rage.
“What do you want with us? I’d like to know before I put you in the ground.” Tarryn’s voice is casual, with a hint of danger peeking through. There’s more clarity than I expect in someone who is so close to losing control.
The sorcerer smiles, unperturbed by the lycan’s anger. That bothers me more than it should. Even I don’t play with an angry werewolf. They have to be put down hard and fast to avoid getting injured or worse.
“You were lured here because you hold the power I need. Once you unlocked it, of course. It’s no use to me when it lies dormant.
The bond you have is rare, and since it must always involve one born of blood and one born of the beast, a completed bond is even rarer.
Given the animosity between your species, I couldn’t wait for it to happen naturally.
I’ve been asleep a long time, and I’m running out of it. ”
“It was you,” Tarryn says, at the same time the realization hits me.
I knew that the lust I’d felt for the werewolf was fabricated, but I hadn’t taken the time to consider how.
What kind of magic can do that? And why?
So he can create this false bond? What kind of ceremony would require that?
One born of the blood and one born of the beast. That implies this has happened before. When? How?
More questions that need answering. If only I could move and force him to tell us everything. The werewolf will be of no help; he seems more focused on me. A terrible tactical error. He should always keep his attention on the threat.
“The haste of it, yes. The bond itself? No, lycan, that was all you.” He turns and gives me a half-seductive look. If I could, I’d sneer at him. “And your vampyre, of course.”
The lycan’s patience runs out, and from one second to the next, he’s shifted into his beast form.
His pants shred as his bones break and realign themselves.
In seconds, he’s several feet taller than his human form.
Harder to fight and contain with denser bone mass and a heavier frame.
The main reason I prefer stealth when hunting is so that I can get them in chains before they have a chance to shift. It’s easy to see why.
He charges forward and, completely bypassing the sorcerer—the idiot—runs right into the circle. The implication of the move, that I’m more important than the fight, isn’t one I want to spend any time looking at. I won’t stand for any of that bullshit.
The flames from the candles rise impossibly high, swirling in the air until we’re surrounded by nothing but red and orange and heat.
The lycan’s claws dig into the marble, cracking it when he comes to a stop beside me.
If only I could tell him exactly what I think of this protective instinct that’s suddenly become a thing.
It’s not going to continue being a thing.
Tarryn moves closer, and his large wet nose buries itself into the curve of my neck.
Is he smelling me? What the fuck does he think he’s doing?
When he licks my skin, my reaction is so visceral that some of it gets through the sorcerer’s magic, and my body twitches.
I need to work out how to do that again, but stronger, and without this animal’s disgusting tongue.
He continues across my shoulder and then down my chest. If he even thinks about going further down, I’ll wring his neck once I’m free.
A low growl emanates from the lycan’s chest. It hasn’t reached his throat; it’s vibrating and rumbling from deep within.
A completely animal reaction. Is there anything human left?
His nose presses against the shackles around my ankles.
Considering that I can’t even move because of the sorcerer’s magic, they seem pointless, but they were there when I woke.
The lycan’s mouth opens, revealing rows of lethal teeth.
He bites through the metal with a snarl.
The restraints snap cleanly, pooling uselessly at my feet.
I instantly stagger, gaining control of myself again. It’s disorienting, and the lycan shifts when I unbalance, using his large body to keep me upright. My hands automatically find purchase in his hairy chest. The very idea of needing his help is like acid settling at the pit of my stomach.
A nudge to the side of my head from a cold nose brings me to my senses, reminding me exactly where we are. Free, but not anywhere near out of danger.
“Get off me,” I spit at the werewolf, pushing away from him.
I almost fall again but manage to compose myself.
“Tic?los!” The unpleasant word is directed at the sorcerer, though if Tarryn wants to include himself in that, I won’t correct him.
The mage is difficult to see, more a mirage through the flickering flames than anything else.
“There are no words in any language for what I’m going to do with you. ”
The threat is far from empty, yet the sorcerer’s demeanor doesn’t change at all. If anything, he looks amused. I’ll happily wipe that look off his face and turn it to one much less pleasant.