Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
The silence was the worst part.
No, the near silence. It was the little things I could hear that were the worst. I sat on the dirt floor, cold, dirty, and alone, in almost complete darkness, holding the heavy manacles in my lap, listening to the handful of shifters talk.
At first, it was useful. I learned that Connor was indeed on his way to the Woods to claim me, but he wasn’t in any hurry, so it might be hours before he got here. Days, even.
Then, the talk turned to what they might do if it was days. I might die of thirst, and they’d get in trouble. I might freeze to death, and they’d get in trouble. They argued about how long they’d leave me before checking to make sure I was still alive.
They settled on twelve hours. I was already thirsty.
After that, listening to them became worrying, then alarming, then… painful, when they started to talk about what might happen to me.
“He’s gotta break the old bond first. Crush it, then forge his own.”
Another slightly less rough voice sneered. “A third party can’t break a bond between two others. It has to be damaged first. Corrupted.”
“How’s he going to do that, then, Magnus?”
“With pain.” The voice was snooty. “He has the same face as the usurper, which makes it easier. I suppose he’ll torture her, rape her, so whenever she sees either face, she’ll think of the pain and degradation. It should damage her bond to the usurper enough that the King will be able to break it.
I ground my jaw.
“Maybe he’ll let us have a turn.” The voice thickened.
“Maybe. If we serve him well, we might be rewarded. I suppose it depends on how much she needs to be damaged before she will comply with his orders.”
My stomach lurched. Oh, God, I was going to vomit.
“Nevertheless, her old bond will eventually be broken. Then, he’ll forge his own.”
Another man piped up. “But he has the same face. How does that work, then?”
“It won’t be a love-bond, you moron. The prophecy didn’t specify what kind of bond it had to be, just that she will be bonded. A slave-master bond, probably.”
I’d already suspected all this. Hearing it out loud wasn’t any less of a shock. I put my head between my knees and inhaled deeply.
What the hell could I do?
The manacles were unmovable. I felt the subtle burn on my skin where the metal touched me. They weren’t coming off.
I was doomed.
Worse, I knew what Connor was doing would probably work.
It didn’t matter how much my rational brain knew the difference between the two, I knew if Connor hurt me, there would be a part of me that would scream whenever I saw anyone even slightly similar.
My bond with Donovan… that beautiful shining hard-steel connection between us… it would be damaged.
It was going to hurt so much.
The evil shifters outside kept talking. I tried to tune them out.
They talked with relish, discussing what they thought Connor might do to me, how he might make me bleed, how he would make me scream.
What might happen if he accidentally killed me, which, according to the oily-voiced shaman, was indeed a possibility but apparently wasn’t the end of the world if it did happen.
They talked about how they would do it if Connor let them have me. They talked about terrible things they’d done before.
Despair overwhelmed me; panic set in. I couldn’t think straight anymore. I started to cry. Desperate for comfort, I jammed my fingers in my ears, blocking out the shifter’s voices. It helped, just a little.
But only a tiny bit. The panic subsided. The despair remained.
It was so cold in here. So cold. I hugged my elbows close to my sides and huddled into a ball, trying to keep some of my body heat to myself. I needed to keep thinking, not panicking. Because if I could think, I could think of a way out of here.
I could feel the pit of magic swirling in my gut, a volcano of heat, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice.
In a bid to distract myself from the horrors that awaited me, I stoked the flames a little, sending pulses of magic through my limbs—not as far as my hands, though.
Every time I tried, the metal of my cuffs burned into my skin.
I thought of Donovan, desperately trying to break into the steakhouse.
He would have burst in and found Jared the mediator and poor befuddled Rufus Stonnington, unconscious at the table.
Jared wouldn’t know what had hit him. Rufus obviously knew the Andresanos were dirty, but he wouldn't be blabbing to any authorities.
Not when they obviously had their own dirt on him.
At least Donovan would find Cecil, asleep under the table. If I could be happy and grateful for anything, it was that he would survive this. I might not, but at least he would be?—
Oh, shit. We had a slave-master bond. If I died, he might die too.
It wasn’t a strong bond, though, because I’d refused to order him around.
An idea smacked into me so hard, it stole the breath from my lungs. I could order him to appear in front of me right now. He would come. He’d pop up right in front of me, like a genie.
He could save me.
That flare of hope died quickly. No, he couldn’t. There were a dozen evil shifters right outside. They’d hear him, they’d see his magic, and they’d charge in and rip him to pieces before he could style my manacles into something less binding or evil.
Cecil wasn’t a fighter. He couldn’t transform into anything more dangerous than a pit bull, and there were far more dangerous creatures than pit bulls right outside.
He couldn’t help me now. And calling him to appear in front of me, to pop in like a genie, would only solidify our bond, and make him less… him. Even if I called him and we survived, a piece of Cecil would die.
But if I died today, then he would, too.
Suddenly anxious, I sat up straighter, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and felt for the connection. My spirit cord. My connections.
I found Donovan’s first and savored it. I wondered if he could feel what I felt right now?
Part of me hoped that he couldn’t.
With a little difficulty, I forced myself to withdraw, to expand my sightless vision, to see if I could feel my other bonds. I hadn’t done this before, and it was hard, especially with the temptation I felt to sink into the feeling of Donavon’s bond.
Wait. There was something else there. Another bond, something different from Donovan’s—not passionate love, but the love was just as deep. Slowly, I made out the shape of it; it was round-ish, unyielding but flexible at the same time. Strong, but soft. Honey-colored. Beautiful.
I sent out all my senses, turning my magic within, and examined the bond carefully. It felt…familial. This bond felt like it was family. Someone fiercely loyal. Someone who had my back no matter what. Someone who loved me like a sister.
I smiled through my tears when I realized what it was. This was my bond with Bart, my very best friend.
Of course it was. We’d been through so much together. I’d defended his honor; he’d saved me from complete ruin. Out of everyone in my life, he’d been there for me when I needed someone, and I’d done the same for him.
He was my friend, my partner-in-crime. I loved him like a brother. So, like a little sister, I concentrated and gave the bond a quick cheeky tug, as if pulling on his ear. I wished I could talk to him. Hey, Bart. I’m in your home realm, bear boy. Come save me.
I heard nothing in return, but I didn’t expect to. It was a manifestation of our relationship, not a phone line.
The bond flowed with pure love, straight out of my heart chakra, and I basked in it for a while. Poor Bart wasn’t a fighter either, so I hoped he hadn’t got caught up in the hunt for me. I would hate to see him hurt.
Reluctantly, I abandoned that bond and concentrated on finding the one I was looking for. I knew it would be hard, because it was a bond I’d been resisting strengthening.
Cecil was more than what he was supposed to be, though.
He’d been given to me as a servant—a slave, if you wanted to get technical about it—but I never thought of him as one.
I shouldn't be looking for a slave-master bond, because even though that's what it started out as, it had morphed into something more.
Instead, he was more like… a terrible assistant. A sidekick. A bad influence.
He was my friend.
Oh! There it was—thin and tenuous, a little spiky—but it was there nevertheless, coming straight out of my third eye and swooping almost reluctantly through my throat chakra, but also, growing wider, like a tree root gets thicker closer to the trunk, smugly nestling into my heart chakra.
I smiled. My mind’s eye showed me how I imagined our bond to look like, and it looked so funny.
The forced bond—the master-slave portion, stuck firmly into my third eye—was more like one of the studded leather strands from that cat o’ nine tails he’d been flogging himself with when I got arrested.
That was obviously the slave part. But it morphed as it went on, changing as the bond became more attached, growing thicker at my throat, then thicker again, more natural, at the heart. I was so fond of Cecil.
Fond enough to let him go.
I was probably going to die here anyway; I didn’t want him to die too. Mentally, I gathered my magic, turned it into a blade, and aimed it at the skinniest part of the bond—right at my third eye, where it had been attached when he was gifted to me as a spoil of war by Donovan.
I sent up a prayer. Please let this work.
Centering myself, I hesitated, searching my heart. Was this the right thing to do?
Yes. It felt right.
I took a deep breath, visualizing the little hard leather cord in my mind’s eye and the razor-sharp magical blade in my head right above it.
Go, Cecil. Be free.
I slashed the bond.
Energy snapped me like a whip; I fell backwards in the dirt and let out a gasp of shock.
Whoa.
I hadn’t expected to feel it physically, but it had knocked me over. I panted softly, catching my breath, and pinched my eyes shut again, blocking out the sound of the shifter’s voices right outside. Concentrating, I turned inward again.
It was easier to find my bonds this time. My connection with Donovan shone like a beacon in the dark, blazing, mighty, and triumphant. There was Bart’s bond—thick, sturdy and comforting.
Wait.
Cecil’s bond was still there.
It felt like him. It looked different in my imagination though; no longer thin, spiky and whip-like at the third eye, it now flowed through my throat and into my heart, thicker and shiny like golden latex.
Maybe I’d just imagined cutting it. Maybe I was imagining all of this. It was understandable; this was quite a stressful experience.
And it was about to get much worse.
I beat the despair back and rolled onto my side. If this was the last time I’d ever feel anything good, I was going to make the most of it. It was too easy to find Donovan’s bond now. I sank into it, closed my eyes, and let myself drift on the tide of his love.