Chapter Forty-Three
For a moment, I just stared, caught completely flat-footed, while shock reverberated through me. Cyrus was supposed to be at Wolf’s Head. He was supposed to be—
Safe.
But instead, he looked terrible, covered in blood and patches of fur that bloomed and then sank back into his skin because he was trying to Change, but something was preventing him.
But Cyrus, being Cyrus, wouldn’t accept that and was fighting his own body even as he threw his captors around the room, and tore at the chains they were trying to use to strap him to a wall.
That wasn’t going well, as even in human form, he was much stronger than they’d anticipated, but they had magic and—
They used it. One of them hit him with a spell that caused the chains to retract and slam him back against the wall, so hard that I was surprised he didn’t go through it. “Cyrus!”
I was shocked, terrified, and furious, and to my surprise, the mage wasn’t any happier. “Watch it, you idiots!” he snapped. “He’s no good to me dead!”
He only received a bunch of shouted profanity in return, maybe because Cyrus had shaken off the blow, jerked an arm off the wall, and wrapped the attached chain around one of his captor’s necks.
Who shortly thereafter ceased to be a captor or anything else.
But then the little I could see of the scene was obscured by a bunch of people rushing into the room, and Cyrus disappearing under the sheer weight of them.
I lunged for the mage, but he was shielded. “Let him go!”
“You can do that yourself,” he gasped, probably with the effort of reinforcing his shields, since the arm I’d used to grab at him belonged to my counterpart. And instead of sliding harmlessly off as my claws would have done, hers had sunk six inches into his smooth-as-glass protection.
Leaving him looking at them crosseyed from a few inches away for a startled second. Until he flexed his power and threw them out again, with enough force to reverberate all the way up my arm. “Don’t... test me!”
“Then let him go!” I snarled, my counterpart sending a truly seductive vision of the mage with a slashed throat, bleeding out on the floor. And if Cyrus’s life hadn’t been on the line...
But it was, and the rest of the dark mages didn’t seem so interested in keeping him alive.
As evidenced when they slammed him against the wall again, three men holding the arm with the broken chain attached to it, and still getting thrown across the room for their trouble.
But someone else got a warded band around that same arm a moment later, and it did what they couldn’t.
Cyrus was trapped now, writhing against the wall and cursing and kicking at anyone stupid enough to get close.
There weren’t many of those.
But that opened him up to any other spells they might throw, and I felt my fists curl. And the mage was just as furious, as he was yelling at his men. “Subdued! I want him subdued, not dead! He dies, and I will kill every mother’s son of you!”
That seemed to reassure my counterpart, who withdrew slightly, allowing my arm to return to its normal state—unlike my temper. “Release him!” I growled.
“You can do that easily enough!” he repeated. “And don’t look so tragic. He won’t be injured unless he does it himself, trying to escape. He’s had a drug to prevent him from Changing, but otherwise, he’s fine. And will remain that way as long as you give me what I want!”
“What you want?” I repeated, still trying to see something reassuring on the feed. But it was impossible, as the man with the other mirror had put it down for some reason, giving me only a skewed view of a rock-cut ceiling and part of a wall.
And then nothing when the leader put his own device away, probably so I’d pay attention.
“Come now,” he said, his voice more controlled. “You wouldn’t be here, and alone, if you didn’t intend to deal. I thought my men had grabbed your other half without anyone noticing, after he finally left that fortress of a house of yours, but I should have known.
“What was it? More of those Arnou guards skulking about, alerting you? Or is it true what they say, that mated pairs can almost read each other’s minds?
I hope, if the latter, that you were smart enough not to alert that bardric of yours before you came.
He will get... quite a reception... should he turn up here. ”
“No.” My voice was surprisingly steady.
“Good. Then let’s make a deal.”
“Possibly,” I said. “Except... I need to understand what happens when you get what you want.”
He sighed impatiently. “I release the Were—Cyrus, is it? And you both walk out of here. I don’t want your life, mage, or his. I want the damned potion!”
“And the rest?” I gestured at the savages who were still trying to leap up here. “What do they want? Because it looks like they want my blood!”
“Well, what did you expect, turning up like that? You’re lucky one of our patrols spotted you before they did. I was going to have you meet me somewhere in town for the handoff, had you given me a chance, but you don’t seem the patient type.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I pointed out grimly.
He sighed and sat back in his chair. “You’re not the only one with a replicator,” he said, echoing Caleb’s fears.
“So, once you have the potion, you’ll have enough for everyone in minutes. And an unstoppable army soon after that.”
“Something like that.”
“And you expect me to give it up? Even knowing the price?”
“I expect you to look to the future.” He leaned over the table again, looking earnest. “You and that freak show you’re running are going to be about as popular as we are after the war. Maybe less, as you tend to be a bit more... unrestrained. And my Circle is not your enemy—”
I laughed at that; I couldn’t help it. “Is that what you told the clans?”
“Yes, and it’s the truth. We made no move against you until you joined the other side in the war.
We experimented on a few Weres, but only the ones your clans had already thrown out like garbage.
We didn’t go up against your council, didn’t make war on you.
Sebastian made war on us by aligning with and helping our enemies, forcing us to act.
“And even then, we worked with those clans who disagreed with him, offering them shelter and sanctuary, and what they want even more—power. The power to choose their own lives, live by their own rules—the old rules that have governed Weres for centuries. And we’re offering you the same.”
He sat back, looking approachable, earnest, and exasperated. Like someone trying to help a stubborn friend who was on the verge of making a bad decision. I was beginning to understand why he was on their council.
“Look,” he told me. “Our Circle wants the clans out of the fight, and today, we’ll achieve that. If Sebastian’s army followed you, they’ll die here. Otherwise, they’ll die defending those compounds they’ve scattered about with their children—”
“What?” I sat up.
He nodded. “Yes, we know about those. I’d like the potion to cut down on our losses, but we’ll win either way. Sebastian will have to come out to defend his creches, and with my mages backing up the clans, his people don’t stand a chance.
“Although why you would care, I can’t imagine. They haven’t exactly been kind to your little group, have they? This might end up being a good thing for you.”
“Good?” It sounded strangled, even to me. I was pretty sure my face was under control, but my voice was betraying me. And my counterpart wasn’t helping.
I could feel her almost overwhelming desire to rip, tear, and lay waste, but for some reason, she was letting me handle this. She wasn’t fighting for control despite her thirst for blood. She wanted Bleddyn, wanted him badly, but she was controlling herself.
I know what it is to lose a mate, drifted through my mind, tightening my skin and clogging my throat.
Cyrus...
“Why not?” the mage said. “You want to remake the Were world, don’t you? Well, there will be a leadership vacancy shortly, probably a number of them. Perhaps you can fill the void. As long as you don’t place yourselves opposite us, we don’t care what you do. We could even work together—”
“And what does your partner think about that?” I broke in harshly.
“My... partner?”
There was no eye flicker that time, and I was looking for it. But the slight hesitation in his voice was enough to let me know I was right. Not that his actions hadn’t been doing that all week if I’d bothered to think about them, which I damned well should have!
“You raised something,” I said flatly. “To help you pit the Weres against each other—something that possessed Bleddyn. That’s your M.O.
—work through patsies so they take the risks instead of you.
And Bleddyn had a claim to the throne and a right to challenge that nobody could deny, but he wasn’t man enough to use it.
“You needed something to give him added courage, but those chindis you’ve been binding were too limited, weren’t they? So you went after something stronger, but that time, you lost control—”
“I don’t lose control of my creatures!” It was suddenly savage, a completely outsized response to a comment that shouldn’t have bothered him if I was wrong.
“—and I strongly suspect that the reason you want that potion so desperately isn’t just about an army. Your council wants that, sure, but you...”
I let it drag out as I sized him up. If he wasn’t careful, that so forgettable face of his was going to acquire some memorable lines. He already looked like he’d aged a decade since I last saw him.
“You want it for yourself,” I said. “Necromancers used to be stronger, too, didn’t they?
In the far distant past?” Jen’s situation had taught me that much, although I didn’t need it.
I’d seen a depiction of an ancient necro in Jenkins’ office once, and it had been terrifying.
“You’re hoping to up your game, in case this thing you’ve raised turns on you. You’re desperate—”
“I’m no such thing!”