Resurrection (Lost Souls #2)

Chapter 1

My eyes wander through the empty bedroom, taking in the space for the last time.

I’m aching to get out of here and be out there with my lovely wife, which is something I never would have expected.

When I first set out to find someone to help me break free, I was ready to use and then discard them.

It’s what I always did. Just like how others always did with me.

Yet, with her, I feel the need to keep her close, to protect her, perhaps even to care for her. It’s… strange.

I rub my sternum, the bond between us still humming softly beneath my skin.

Rolling up my sleeves, I make my way to the library, tsking at the scorch marks on the floor and walls.

I told her I would return the favor one day, but now I’m thinking I might as well destroy her instead.

A soft smile pulls at my lips, knowing she has come to crave my specific brand of destruction.

Everything I need is neatly laid out on the last remaining desk. Her handwritten spell, a detailed drawing of the circle, notes on how to execute the spell, my brother’s feather, and a jar of dark paste sit beside a note: Teeth and blood for the symbols in the circle. See page three.

Leafing through the pages, pride fills my chest, because her attention to detail is truly astounding.

I don’t think she realizes the potential she holds.

She’s already more powerful than I anticipated, even without the merging being completed.

Once she is at full power, she will be a force to be reckoned with.

I place the notes back on the desk and take the dagger in my hand.

All it takes is a swift gesture to cut my left wrist, the sting of the blade barely noticeable.

Wiping the blade clean on my slacks, I move to the open part of the library in front of the fireplace.

I dab a finger in the bleeding cut and start to draw the circle on the ruined hardwood floor.

Next, I add the Elomadh symbols to the circle, using the jar of teeth and blood paste.

With every symbol I add, more magical energy gathers in the air around me.

It feels heavy, weighing on my shoulders as if it’s trying to slow me down or halt my progress altogether.

Perhaps it’s the magic of this prison finally revealing itself, knowing what’s about to happen.

From the corner of my eye, I see a small transportation circle appear, flickering lightly to draw my attention.

“I’m ready. How far along are you?” Her voice is steady and sure, yet I easily discern the slight tone of uncertainty beneath it.

“Mal…” Her voice wavers ever so slightly, and a small twinge of concern runs through me.

“Adding the last symbols now.”

I move on to the final ones as I speak, and once I’m done, I get up and step away from the circle.

With a glance at the jar in my hand, I place a spell on it—my goodbye gift to this damned place.

Taking aim, I throw it across the library, through the open doors to the garden.

It smashes against a tree, and the spell explodes in a ball of fire.

“Already burning everything down?” Her voice chuckles behind me, her amusement like a caress against my skin.

“I have to uphold my promise,” I say, unable to keep the venom out of my voice.

“Then let’s get this over with.” She sounds determined—good.

“Let’s. See you soon, love.”

A whoosh, and the small circle disappears into thin air. I throw a last glance outside at the garden, rapidly being overtaken by flames.

I roll my shoulders and neck, then take my place in the center of the circle, the feather clasped firmly in my hand.

“Aqlo adchi i dlugam lonshi i al purg baghie.”

The first part of the spell raises the temperature in the library to an uncomfortable degree.

The blood from the circle starts to sizzle, and I cautiously take a step back.

It looks like festering boils, and with each one that pops, the putrid stench of the paste becomes stronger.

It creates a bloodred hue, hanging thick in the air, almost making me gag.

“Telocvovim christeos isro tibibp of doacim.”

Something starts to tug at my skin, causing it to tear and ripping bits of flesh and blood from me.

They turn to dust upon contact with the bloodred hue, floating to the circle and being absorbed by the magic.

My healing replaces everything the spell steals from me, but it only results in more being taken.

The faster I heal, the more is ripped away.

There’s nothing to do but endure it and have faith it won’t take more than needed or faster than it can be replaced.

“Drix fafen salman teloch na na e el adila hubardo tibibp.”

I hold the feather out in front of me, and the spell immediately recognizes and accepts the sacrifice. It’s plucked from my hand, reduced to dust that spreads around the circle, mingling with the thickening hue.

That’s when my chains—the tattoos keeping me tethered to this place—start to react, sending severe jabs of pain through me, protesting against the magic.

The spell is ready to take me away, but this place is not yet willing to give me up.

The chains sear my skin like hot pokers as they burn their hold into my already battered flesh.

They break through the glamor on my arms, ripping the magic away and revealing the hidden scars.

The way they fight against the pull of the spell makes the magic falter, and the chains dig themselves deeper into my skin in return. The pain is excruciating. Black dots crowd the corners of my vision, and I nearly sway on my feet. They’re not ready to let me go, and perhaps will never be.

A sliver of doubt burrows into my mind, making me uncertain for a moment.

I pull out my dagger and make a long cut along the inside of my arm, from my elbow to my wrist, following the vein running there.

Blood wells up and evaporates in the hot air.

The black magic inside lingers—a shimmer that mixes with the bloodred hue.

Swiftly, I switch the dagger to my other hand and make a similar cut in my right arm. I’m not exaggerating when I told her a spell is best cast by its creator. The fact that I’m not the creator proves to be a greater weakness than I expected.

Meanwhile, the fire I set to this place is gaining on me. My reckless decision is already coming back to bite me. That’s what my lack of impulse control gets me, and it’s exactly how I used to get myself—and everyone around me—in trouble.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, the magic from the spell clashes against the prison magic, making the whole place shake. Looking up, I see cracks forming in the ceiling. My mind drifts back to the time-stitching spell in the red room, and a sting of unease courses through me.

Something explodes outside, and the fire surges into the library.

I rapidly draw a protection spell in the air around me, using the blood flowing from my arms to fuel it.

A field of black, smoke-like energy erects itself around both me and the magic circle on the floor.

The fire bounces off it, wrapping itself around my protection.

Before I know it, I’m trapped in a cage of roaring flames.

A piece of the ceiling crashes down beside the protective circle, sending a shockwave of heat through the air.

I raise my arms instinctively in front of my face, trying to shield myself from the scorching blast. The scent of burning wood filters through, a thin layer of ash clouding the inside of the protective bubble.

As I glance down, I notice dark red and black lines snaking beneath my feet, forming intricate patterns—a circle within a circle.

The blood from the cuts on my arms is drawn toward those lines.

When it touches them, it transforms into bloodred smoke streaked with black specks, seeping through the lines like tears from the floor.

The spell is finally granting me passage, and a shaky, relieved breath falls from my lips.

I send a surge of magic through the tears, hoping to let her know I’m almost there.

After a heartbeat, my magic touches hers.

It recognizes its own, tugging at her, wrapping around her until it envelops her completely.

I let it caress her, and her magic responds, sizzling where our energies intertwine.

Some of my magic flows into hers and vice versa.

It’s a sign of our bond—an undeniable, unbreakable connection I never imagined sharing with anyone else.

It’s my promise to her, my vow to protect and cherish her.

She may think she’s merely a means to an end, but this bond runs deeper.

One day, she’ll see. One day, she’ll know.

Another chunk of the ceiling crashes down, causing an explosion.

I close my eyes against the flames breaking through my protection.

The cuts on my arms start to heal, signaling the spell has taken enough and is pleased with the sacrifice I offered.

My surroundings shift, and I drop my arms to my sides.

Smoke brushes against my skin as I step forward.

The air is charged with my magic, crackling and surging through me.

My eyes snap open, immediately finding hers—bright blue and emerald green, filled with relief.

She stands on trembling legs, her expression telling me her part of the spell fought as hard as mine.

The smoke around me dissipates, and I give her a wicked smile, stepping out of the circle. It shudders and then shatters, the sound of breaking glass echoing in the air. The shards evaporate until my magic is all that remains—thick and laden with the promise of death and destruction.

The way she heats under my gaze, how she licks her lips in anticipation, tells me she feels it too.

Her expression shifts, eyes dropping from my gaze to my chest and brow furrowing. Following her line of sight, I see the result of our actions taking form. I rip my shirt open, hastily removing my holster and tossing it aside, dagger included.

The tattoos on my chest, back, and arms liquefy and drip down my skin like black oil. Drops fall onto the hardwood floor, sizzling away to nothing, leaving no trace behind.

The process is mesmerizing, and we watch in silent fascination.

Symbol by symbol, drop after drop, my tattoos leave me until finally my red skin is bare, void of any markings save for the ones I gave myself.

I don’t just see the difference—I feel it.

My magic expands beneath my skin, twisting and turning, no longer feeling constrained.

It’s as if a weight I didn’t know was resting on my shoulders has finally been lifted.

This is undeniable proof of the spell being successful.

We’re free.

I drag my gaze back up to her, baring my teeth in a predatory smile. “Elly.”

The nickname catches her off guard; her eyes widen briefly before a smile spreads across her face. “Mal.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

Hearing her call me that ignites something primal within me—something sinful.

Elly hesitates for a brief moment, as if unsure what to do, then leaps at me, wrapping her arms and legs around me.

“It worked.” Her voice trembles slightly as she buries her face in my neck. “It actually worked.”

“I never doubted it would, love,” I reply, steadying her by gripping her waist.

She snorts, an endearing and unladylike sound. “You didn’t doubt me with the time-stitching spell either, which ended up being a disaster.”

I laugh, and she responds with a yawn, which makes me chuckle again. Her exhaustion is a clear sign of all the energy she burned through, and I feel the last of my own leave me as well. My body feels about ready to give out on me, and I’d rather not have that happen with her in my arms.

“We’ll celebrate later.” I turn us toward the door as Elly clings to me, and I can’t say I mind. “Let’s get some rest first.”

I carry her upstairs to our bedroom. Once inside, Elly unwraps herself from me, undresses, and slips under the sheets, glancing back at me as if asking why I’m still standing there. Following her example, I strip off my clothes and join her, pulling the sheets up over us.

Elly presses as close to me as possible, and I drape my arms around her, pulling her flush against me. She exhales a breath filled with relief and looks up at me with a tired smile. “Welcome home.”

The words make me tense for a moment, and something constricts under my chest. It’s the first time someone has said that to me—it’s the first time I’ve had someone to come home to.

My body relaxes against Elly’s as I place a kiss on the top of her head. It’s so soft, so normal, I almost wonder if she realizes how unusual this is for me. How it means I’m already more attached to her than I’m ready to admit out loud.

As I hold her close, Elly’s breathing evens out. A few moments later, she’s fast asleep. Looking down at her, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and find my heart aching with the need to keep her close like this. It’s astounding how easily she’s managed to get under my skin.

Kissing her cheek I can’t help but wonder if I’m having the same effect on her.