by Gaja J. Kos
“As in drained of energy?”
Breccan’s voice was haunted as he said, “Drained of our souls.”
“Your souls?” My mind struggled to wrap around the concept, the leather too warm beneath my body.
You either had a soul or you didn’t. There was no in between.
Unless, of course, in the case of Upirs, the ancient species who had instigated the War. They had two of them, but that was beside the point. The choices were still either present or gone. End of discussion.
What Breccan was suggesting…
“How? How could your souls end up drained?”
“I only ever established two links.” His thumb drew circles across my skin. “Even when I was young, I was guarded. But my brother, he... He loved. Vastly and wildly. So he created numerous bonds, dozens of them, and with each one, he became weaker.
“He blamed his state on the changes in the world brought on by humankind as it evolved and gained numbers, as it influenced the fabric of reality with its growing existence. I tried to convince him to cease establishing links, but he wouldn’t listen. When he forged the final one with what little strength he had left, his life simply…faded. Like the last spill of light before night reigns, Valerys turned dark and disappeared.”
My lungs burned from holding my breath, fingers entwined with Breccan’s in a death grip. “The bond…”
“Gives away a piece of our soul, yes.”
Fuck. No wonder they wanted the ritual forgotten. It was ludicrous. And Breccan was proposing to do this with me?
I peeled myself off the leather and started backing away, but his arm slid around my waist, holding me still. “I’m not in any danger, Crina. The bonds I forged are long in the past, both bearers dead. My soul… It’s intact. Whole. If I offer a part of it to you, I will not suffer for it.”
He sounded so sure, but carrying something that was even more than just his essence…
Shit, even if he believed otherwise, it still felt like a fucking huge responsibility. I wasn’t worth it. The risk. Being the caretaker.
A thought slithered through my mind.
I covered our joined hands with my free one and met his gaze. “I’ll do it. Under one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Teach me the ritual. If you’re giving me a part of your soul, I want to give you mine.”
Chapter 24
Breccan looked ready to backpedal, only there was nowhere for him to go. I held on to him, letting him see that this wasn’t some decision I’d made on a whim. True, I might not have had time to ponder over it, but the instant the idea had flamed to life, I felt it in my bones that it was the right one.
The kind of gut feeling that went beyond mere instinct.
We could do this.
But only as equals.
“You don’t even—”
I shut him up with a kiss. The tension riding his body loosened under my caress, his tongue stroking mine as I crawled into his lap and straddled him.
My magic coiled and unspooled, wanting to play with his, but I reeled it back in its cage. I was having none of that.
Oddly, the energy obeyed.
“You weren’t lying,” Breccan whispered into my mouth.
I leaned back enough to study his handsome face. “About what?”
“Refusing the call of mates.”
Shrugging, I drew my hands down his chest, twisting open button after button as I said, “I don’t believe in happily ever afters. Not for assassins. We aren’t fueled by dreams, Breccan, or the uncertain futures that would sooner shatter than bloom.” I pressed my lips to his pulse, then slipped one hand inside his pants to rub the hard ridge of his cock. “We don’t live in the moment, but we do live in the present. And if we want to keep doing that, we have to have control. Take what we want as long as it doesn’t fuck us up.”
“A mating bond with me would fuck you up?” he asked, voice hoarse and carrying an edge of a growl.
I climbed off him and knelt between his widespread legs. With quick work of my fingers, I released his cock.
“Yearning for something that could never happen would definitely fuck me up. And, really”—I teased his tip with my tongue—“why would I want to get hooked up on utopian dreams when reality tastes so fucking good.”
With that, I wrapped my lips around his shaft and moved down just as Breccan’s hips thrust upwards. I deep-throated him until his entire body was jerking, then curled my fingers around his base, adding just that perfect amount of pressure that made him explode in my mouth.
When there was nothing left for me to swallow, I rose and trailed my tongue across his lips.
“This outlawed bond, audhos,” I said pointedly, “is something we can both have.”
I was barely able to walk after Breccan was done with me. But he agreed to the ritual. And the matching grins on our faces erased every last trace of unease he’d been unable to shake earlier.
“I’ll put the mark on you first. I’ll keep the process as transparent as possible so that you can replicate it later,” he said as we moved into the bedroom and crawled under the covers.
Good thing, too, since my clothes were in shreds and I really didn’t feel like rummaging around for a new outfit.
“Sure you’re not going to trick me and just do your part of the deal?” I raised my eyebrow.
Breccan laughed and brushed aside my hair. “You have my word, Crina.”
“All right, then.” I exhaled. “Let’s do this.”
Without fanfares or any sort of pretentious grandstanding, he placed his palm on my bare chest, just above the heart. Warmth and something else, something ancient and powerful, infused my skin, then seeped deeper into my flesh. Caught up in the sensation, I almost forgot to monitor the process.
I focused not so much on what was happening inside me—though I noted every nuance of it—but on the way Breccan was pushing the presence through the seam of our skin.
He hadn’t been lying.
He left himself wide open, his energy signature a book I could read with ease.
Tears welled in my eyes as I felt his soul, beautiful and gleaming, then the way his power seemed to scoop it up from the mass that held no form and gifted it to me. I sifted through the layers, not only understanding the transfer, but sensing it as if it had always been something that was within my right to do.
When the warmth receded, an inky black tattoo rested above my breast.
A crown. A crown of metal and thorns, a dead ringer for the one I’d seen him wear in my dreams.
“How…”
Breccan’s palm cupped my cheek.
“Are you all right?” His eyes were lined with concern, as was the tight set of his mouth.
I willed a smile to my lips, hoping it was answer enough as I said, “I’ve seen the symbol before. In my”—highly erotic, I added silently—“dreams. You had a crown like this in them.”
“When did this happen?”
Sinking into the pillow, I barked out a laugh. “So you’re saying you didn’t feed me an image of yourself when you broke into my apartment? The first time, I mean?”
“You reacted to my presence?” Something akin to surprise flashed across his face before his expression shuttered.
“Honestly”—I propped myself and gestured to his honed body—“did you expect anything else?”
The tension fled from his frame. He trailed a finger along the inky crown, then braced himself on one elbow. “Can you replicate the ritual?”
“Yes.” I nodded. Of that I was certain. “What about the mark? Do I have to envision a symbol, or will it just be the same as mine?”
“The mark will form itself,” Breccan said as he flattened his back against the mattress to expose the breadth of his glorious chest. “It will be unique to you. A kind of fingerprint.”
“Okay…” That sounded a bit out there, but given that Breccan had just placed a piece of his soul inside me, I wasn’t about to question the man.
/> I knelt beside him and lay my palm on his chest. His muscles flexed beneath my touch, but his expression was encouraging. Stunning in this vulnerability we were both caught up in.
With a shuddering exhale, I opened myself to him.
Never in my entire life had I dropped all of my guards. The sensation was frightening, yet utterly liberating at the same time. I could feel every nuance of my power, of myself, and beneath it all, was my soul.
A strange kind of disconnect gripped me, as if I were built of two entities that couldn’t be pulled apart.
Using gentle, loving movements, I channeled my energy along the blaze of my oddly tangible soul. The vine of power dipped under the surface, entwined itself around the light and guided it through me. My lips parted as I felt it leave my skin.
And nestle itself into Breccan.
I wanted to give him more. Merge our essences as they craved to be joined. But I resisted the pull.
We weren’t binding ourselves as mates.
As my determination anchored, the power, and my soul, settled. They seemed to accept this was all Breccan and I would share, and for that I was grateful. Holding myself as open as I was, with no walls or safety nets, it would have been all too easy to succumb to the longing for my other half.
Breccan’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, his eyes bearing the faintest traces of tears. “You did it, Crina.”
I looked down and gasped. Stretching across his heart was a pair of thorn-entwined daggers, their respective cross guards shaped like miniature wings. The sigil was beautiful, though I couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
Of course it was daggers.
“What’s with the thorns?” I asked as the design etched itself fully into his skin, then disappeared.
Breccan circled his thumb lazily around my nipple. “It’s either something generally demonic. Or a sign that you descent from an ancient, strong lineage.”
I snorted and traced my finger along the lines of the invisible design. “Vuyasin was hardly that.” Another curve where the mark lay. “Difficult to tell when no one is making these anymore, is it?”
The demon lord, however, wasn’t listening to me any longer. His hand moved from my nipple with a parting flick to roam my torso, then dipped between my legs.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered.
Like fuck I would. Actually, fuck sounded like exactly the kind of thing I would do right now.
I threw myself back as Breccan pushed himself on top of me and slid inside with a single, demanding thrust.
Really, what better way was there to celebrate a soul-link?
Breccan came to my chambers just as I was getting ready to crash a motherfucking party. His long hair was braided back, outfit regal—which indicated he must have been dealing with business the entire time he’d been away. ArcaneWings or demons, it didn’t really matter. Both jobs demanded his utmost attention.
But the proverbial leadership cloak seemed to slip from his shoulders when he sprawled atop my bed. He raked his gaze up and down my body with blatant appreciation as I stood in front of the mirror to pin my hair in place.
I grinned, tucked the last strand away, and wiggled my butt. “Like what you see?”
“That dress”—he motioned to the emerald thing that hugged my curves and flowed freely down my legs—“is something I wouldn’t mind fucking you in. Don’t get too much blood on it.”
“A little blood is okay though?” I arched an eyebrow.
He flashed me a smile that was dangerous and deliciously dark—and had me clenching my thighs in a heartbeat. “We’re both demonic warriors, amāyō. You know as well as I do that in the right amount, at the right time, violence is nothing short of a brutal aphrodisiac.”
Images of screwing him in the aftermath of a fight flashed through my mind. Crap. I couldn’t afford to have that stuck in my head. With the way my very power was reacting, Lebar’s party just might turn into an orgy if I didn’t pull myself together by then.
Perhaps not entirely a hindrance, now that I considered it, but I’d still rather stick to the original plan.
So I quickly busied myself with the jewelry to shove the visual away, but didn’t erase it completely. It would serve well for one of the nights Breccan didn’t grace my bed with his presence.
“Do you remember?” He tapped his chest where my mark lay, hidden beneath clothes and skin.
I rolled my eyes, then smiled. “How could I forget? My wish controls the impulse. A tug to alert you something’s wrong, a wrenching pull to get you the fuck over to my location.”
Apparently, the whole gifted soul thing came with a lovely, practical benefit. It was the reason why Breccan had decided on it in the first place, though he hadn’t told me that until after we were both sated in every possible way.
If I ever got into more trouble than I could handle, I could send out a metaphysical call, and the mark would transmit my location.
Since I performed the ritual as well, Breccan could do the same with me. To say I was relieved there was a way he could signal if he ever got into a jam would be a severe understatement.
I wanted to keep that pert ass of his safe.
He rose from the bed and moved behind me to close the clasp of the necklace I was struggling with.
“Have fun tonight, Crina.” He pressed a kiss to my neck as he released the chain. “No survivors.”
Chapter 25
My heels clicked against the polished stone as I walked up to the illuminated manor reigning atop the grassy hill. Night slowly curved around the tree-filled slopes just up ahead, turning the sky into a fiery canvas that offset the otherwise demure color palette of the sprawling estate.
I’d already passed three wards. Two when the limo driver Breccan had procured entered the premises, and another right on the seam between the parking lot and the short path connecting to the main entrance.
Throughout, I kept my power on a non-threatening level, just a gentle presence that marked me as a demonic supe—precisely what they were expecting, thanks to the invitation.
I pulled the slip of magic-laced paper from my lacquered black purse with a manicured hand as both guards—one werewolf, one warlock—fixed their attention on me. Though both men fit the overall aesthetic with their tuxes, the sharp, tailored clothes failed to diminish the effect of their bulky, muscular physique that all but screamed pro.
As did the slight bulges of the concealed weapons they carried.
From the looks of it, each one was equipped with a gun, and four blades.
David Lebar really liked his security tight. Magic and claws were usually more than enough to ensure an opponent ended up dead.
Voices rose from the path behind me. More partygoers. The werewolf’s nostrils flared as he took in their scents, but otherwise didn’t remove his unreadable, almost flat gaze from mine.
I flashed the two men a polite smile. Nothing too warm since the kind of crowd that gathered here wouldn’t pay a lot of attention to the staff, yet professional enough as to pass for common courtesy. We were supposed to be the elite, after all.
The warlock took the invitation from my hand. His face gave away nothing as he scanned the paper, but I felt the current of his power flow from him, examining the numerous entwined threads that would have been next to impossible to replicate as every magic wielder had their own signature. He handed the card back to me with a nod.
After I passed through the massive double-winged doors and the ward stretched between the frame, an opulent, yet utterly cold antechamber filled my vision. Tiles lined the floor, augmenting the click of my steel heels that were sharp enough to double as a weapon. As was my necklace. And my bracelet.
The former was something I picked up a couple of years back, the latter a recent present from Breccan. I had to hand it to him—the demon lord sure knew how to treat an assassin.
A human manning the marble-and-gold counter took the light coat I’d thrown over my ensemble. She handed me a gemstone-encrust
ed number in return that I slipped into one of the smaller inner pockets my purse had to offer. In case I had to make a hasty exit before I could retrieve my coat, the jewels adorning the silver tag would more than cover the cost.
Just as the next group entered behind me, I moved through another open set of doors into the central chamber. A clean-shaven waiter sought me out with a drink within seconds. I took the offered glass of champagne from the silver tray, then circled the room.
The frescoed ceiling loomed nearly three stories high, two rows of delicate iron railing lining the galleries above. Close to forty people already mingled inside, just a little under twenty left to come, if Breccan’s intel was correct. I moved through the space, pretending to observe the art displayed on the walls, and took everything in.
Much like the rest of the manor, the chamber was beautiful but impersonal. I didn’t recognize the artists behind the paintings—given the distinct differences in style, I suspected there were at last five of them—and in all honesty, I was a little surprised Lebar hadn’t cashed out on any of the more prominent, though available, classics.
Maybe his airline was losing too much money for him to indulge in a shopping spree. Although with the numerous residences he owned, the argument was weak at best. I narrowed my eyes at the upper floors. Statues dominated the second one, while the third possessed the distinct gleam of precious stones fracturing the light in their telltale way.
I huffed. At least now I knew what his preference was. Why waste money on paintings when there were such gorgeous shiny things to buy, right?
Sipping the champagne, I made my way around a cluster of people towards the refreshments. A familiar presence grazed the edges of my awareness. I froze mid-step, using the guests as cover while I peered in the general direction of the source.
Robert Ensar was leaning against one of the decorative pillars, dressed in a tux that gave him an even sharper edge of elegance than what I’d seen during the covert meeting at Sacred Skies’s HQ. Though, like then, his hands were jammed in his pockets, adding an air of casualness to his otherwise immaculate appearance. Three other men surrounded him in a half circle, one gesticulating wildly with his arms. But Ensar wasn’t paying attention.
