Soulbound

by Kristen Callihan

  Adam lurched, as if he’d rise, and Eliza clutched his wrist. It gave her the distraction she needed. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his ear. “You cannot help him.” She mouthed the words for fear of being overheard. “You will merely make them all suffer.”

  He gave a jerky nod. In the dark, Eliza’s hand slid into Adam’s larger one. Their fingers intertwined. As if one, a tremor rippled through their bodies. An awareness, an acknowledgment. Of what, Eliza did not know, but she felt connected to him. That this broken, wounded man would keep her safe was ridiculous. They had never been in greater danger.

  “Don’t like what you see?” Mab said. “Then give the coward up to me. He is mine now. As is the girl. They are my property.”

  Another agonized cry rang out.

  Eliza’s chest quaked as she suppressed the horrible laughter that wanted to rise. Gods, but Mab was killing the poor GIM. Tears burned in Eliza’s eyes.

  Next to her, Adam sucked in a soft breath, as he too reacted to the sounds of the GIM’s torture. Sweat and blood soaked his shirt. He burned too hot, but he remained still as the sounds of a man being slowly, methodically tortured came from without. Grunts, muffled screams, the grumble of protests so obviously bitten back by the rest of the GIM, for they too must have known it was a lost cause to retaliate in the face of the fae queen.

  But for Adam, it was worse. On the next shout, he jerked against Eliza, trembling, not from fear but rage. He was close to cracking. Without hesitation, Eliza wrapped an arm about him and drew his head down to her shoulder. He let her gather him up, let her hold him tight, hold him back.

  With each shout and moan from the outer room, he flinched, his muscles twitching as if feeling the hits. And she could only close her eyes, rest her head against his, and pray that he did not move. Hot tears ran down Eliza’s cheeks, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs.

  The footsteps without stopped. Directly before their hiding spot. Silence.

  Adam’s grip upon her hand tightened. Eliza dared not breathe, but her heart pounded so loudly that she feared they would hear it. The brush of a large, male thumb against her knuckles was a small but needed comfort.

  “For the last time,” said Mab, as though she were speaking to recalcitrant children, “give me the coward Adam and his concubine.”

  More silence. Then the scuff of a shoe. “Madam,” said a woman softly, “we’ve nothing to reveal. Adam is not here. Nor is this girl of whom you speak.”

  “Well, then,” said Mab lightly, “I’ll leave you with this little reminder.” Her tone turned hard. “I shall check in regularly. I expect cooperation.”

  They did not hear Mab go, but Eliza could feel it. As if a dark weight had lifted from her shoulders, leaving behind a deep ache. Yet they remained silent and unmoving. Until finally, Adam let out a great, rasping breath. “Never again,” he whispered so softly that she could barely hear it. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Never again will I remain hiding while one of mine suffers.”

  Regret formed a lump in her throat. “No,” she croaked. “Never again.” With the very tips of her fingers, she touched his sweat-slicked hair, but did not stroke it. She didn’t have the right. And so her hand fell. “I’m sorry I made you do it. I was afraid.” The confession hurt her pride, but it had to be said.

  She felt him flinch and then lift his head. “No,” he said in a strangled voice. “No, you were in the right. I’ll not see your safety sacrificed for my pride.”

  Beneath her hand, his skin was clammy, his body leaning into hers. Slumping. Eliza had little further warning before he fell against her breast.

  Chapter Ten

  Sin sprinted into the house and took the stairs two at a time. His breath burned in his throat, not from exertion but from fear. No sooner had he reached the middle landing than a door crashed open. A blur of movement, a snarl, and then a claw-tipped hand had him by the throat and slammed him into the wall.

  Ian Ranulf, fangs extended, his human face stretching into lupine lines, snarled again as he squeezed Sin’s throat tighter. Shit and bloody, fucking hell. Ian was turning werewolf on him. Sin hung limp, trying not to fight back, trying to calm even as the walls began to rattle and his power surged under his skin. Another man burst from the room.

  “Ian,” Archer shouted, deep and powerful. “Stop. It is Sin.”

  Ian’s eyes, more animal than human, narrowed. A snort of hot breath hit Sin’s face. At his side, Archer eased closer, his expression stern. “He is your brother-in-law. Daisy’s brother.”

  At the sound of Daisy’s name, Ian winced, a forlorn sound escaping him.

  “Let him go, Ian.”

  Ian blinked. In an instant, his face rearranged into a fully human visage. A deep breath, a shocked look, and Ian abruptly let Sin go, stepping back as Sin staggered.

  “Apologies,” Ian bit out. Still pale with sweat darkening his long auburn hair, the man was a mess. “I reacted… badly.”

  Leaning against the wall, Sin rubbed at his neck until he could find his voice. “And mine,” he rasped. “I should not have charged in as I did.” No, it was never wise to rush into a lycan’s lair. Especially not the king of the lycans. And not now of all times.

  Ian nodded, a sharp, distracted gesture, and then looked away. His body was already turning back to the door from whence he’d sprung. A grim Archer gave Sin’s neck an assessing glance. “You’ll live.” His shoulders sagged. “Come along, then.”

  As if going to the gallows, the three of them entered the bedroom. The lights were turned low, and a fire crackled cheerily behind the grate. But an air of desperation and sadness filled up the space.

  Ian strode toward the bed, every line of his body tense and agitated. Sin did not want to look; a small, frightened part of him wanted to turn tail and run. But look he did. A lump filled his throat.

  Still as death and twice as pale, his once vibrant and happy sister Daisy lay upon the bed. He knew she was not dead, they’d have told him, but he could not make himself believe she was truly alive. Not when her breast lay unmoving. Not when her once-glowing skin had gone utterly dull.

  Christ.

  Ian knelt by his wife, taking her smaller hand in his. Slowly, Sin approached, the bed looming larger and his sister growing smaller. A rustle of skirts caught his attention. Miranda rose from a chair at the other side of the bed. Her green eyes were listless.

  “Sin.”

  “Miranda,” he got out. And then he was at the foot of the bed.

  Miranda came to stand next to him, and she caught up his hand with hers. He clenched her cold, damp fingers as if they were a lifeline. He’d just found his sisters, and they’d come to mean the world to him. He could not lose one now.

  “How… what…” He took a breath. “What is wrong with Daisy?”

  It was Archer who answered. “Her spirit is not here.”

  Daisy was a GIM, her spirit able to travel from her body at will. That she’d left her body should not have caused anyone concern. There had to be more. “For how long?” Sin asked.

  “Going on twenty-four hours now,” said Archer.

  Long but not exceedingly. Sin frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Miranda sighed. “She’s never been gone for this long, and when she left this time, she simply… collapsed.”

  A strangled sound came from deep within Ian’s chest, and he pressed his head against Daisy’s breast as if it might rouse her. The intimacy of it discomfited Sin, but he could not look away.

  Ian cleared his throat. “She’s been fatigued lately. Unable to stay awake.”

  Which was odd. Daisy was immortal, her body stronger than three men’s. Nor did she need to sleep for as long as a human.

  “The other night,” Ian went on in painful slowness, “she went milk-white, looked at me, and then…” He closed his eyes tight. “She was gone.”

  “Did you see her spirit?” Sin asked, cautious now because he did not want to aggravate Ian’s lycan side. W
hen a man was half wolf, his animal tended to lash out when threatened. But because Ian was a lycan, he was able to see spirits whereas the rest of Daisy’s family could not.

  Ian shook his head, sending the sweat-damp strands of his shoulder-length hair tumbling about his face. “Which is the most frightening. She was simply gone… Christ.” He curled over Daisy once more, murmuring something in her ear while smoothing her golden curls with a trembling hand.

  From below came the sound of the front door opening. Archer cocked his head and then sent Ian a look. “I believe it is Jack.” Not exactly subtle, his way of warning Ian not to attack, and Ian made a noise of annoyance.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I recognize his scent just fine, thank you.” He ought to; Jack was Ian’s foster son.

  A moment later, Jack entered the room, his eyes wide and worried, his massive frame taking up the whole of the doorway.

  “Piss and shit,” Jack whispered as he saw Daisy. But he did not rush in; he had his wife, Mary, at his side, and she clung to him with a pale hand. No, it was Jack who clung, slowly guiding her as if she were made of spun glass. It was then Sin noticed how unsteady Mary was, her grip knuckle-white on Jack’s massive forearm.

  “Let me have a look at her,” Mary said in a weak voice.

  Ian leapt up and stepped aside. “Do you know what has happened? Where she might have gone?” Like Daisy, Mary was a GIM.

  Mary settled on the bed beside Daisy and rested a hand directly over her heart. Daisy and Mary both had clockwork hearts made of gold. And in the tense silence of the room, it became exceedingly clear that one heart barely clicked away while the other worked hard and fast. Mary’s eyes closed, and she seemed to be gathering her strength, while Jack set a bracing hand on her shoulder. He looked as if he’d soon be ill.

  Sin’s insides plummeted.

  “Tell me, lass,” Ian snapped, his eyes wild.

  Mary flinched. “The GIM are dying.”

  It took the air out of the room.

  “The youngest,” she went on in a wooden voice. “The newly made. They’re simply vacating their bodies —”

  Ian howled then. The big lycan snatched his wife up and gathered her against his chest, her arms and head flopping sickly as he huddled down with her in a chair, his eyes going lupine and feral as he glared around at them, daring another to get closer.

  “Da,” Jack started, but Ian snarled.

  “Don’t,” he shouted. “Don’t tell me she’s dead. Her heart still beats. Her heart still beats!”

  Mary made a cooing sort of noise before speaking slow and steady. “Yes, it does.”

  Ian gave her a brusque nod, but he did not let Daisy go, only cupped her head to his shoulder.

  Jack ran a hand through his short hair. “Some are like Daisy. Their spirits are gone but their bodies remain as if waiting. And others…” He put his hands back on Mary’s shoulders, drawing her near.

  “Are weakening,” Mary said with a sad, wane look. “I… I am so very tired. Nor can I leave my body.”

  “And Lucien,” Ian asked. “What says he?” Lucien was the leader of the GIM in London.

  “He believes it has to do with Adam,” Jack said, and Sin’s insides lurched.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sin wanted to scream and feared he’d be sick on the carpet.

  “Adam has gone missing,” Jack was saying, his voice coming at Sin as though through water. “Lucien has been trying to contact him but he’s simply disappeared.”

  Sin ground his teeth together. More than anything, he wanted to tell his family of what he knew. That, acting under Mab’s orders, both he and Will Thorne had stolen Adam’s woman. That the demon Adam, creator of all GIM, was likely enraged and in some trouble with Mab – for Sin knew taking Eliza from Adam would somehow hurt the demon; otherwise Mab would not have bothered.

  God, but he wanted to tell them all. And yet he was blood bound by Mab. He literally could not speak a word of it to anyone. His mouth simply would not be able to move.

  Fucking hell. He did not deserve to be in this room. He was shite, a stain on a better man’s boot. Breathing between clenched teeth, he raked his nails along his scalp and fought the urge to simply run. A soft squeeze on his arm had him starting. He’d forgotten he held on to Miranda.

  Her fine green eyes, the same shade as his, looked up at him with gentle compassion. He looked away.

  “Poppy and Win are on their way home,” she told Jack. Poppy was the eldest sister and the leader of the SOS, a society who guarded the supernatural world. She and her husband, Winston, had been on holiday in Egypt.

  Ian snorted. “Not much they can do.”

  “No,” agreed Archer. “But Poppy wanted to be here…” He grimaced. In the event that Daisy died.

  Ian’s nostrils flared, but he looked to Jack and Mary. “I want you both living here until we understand what is happening. The lass needs rest and you” – Ian stared pointedly at Jack – “organize the lycan. They can see spirits, aye? Well, they can damn well search this bloody city for Daisy.”

  Jack nodded. “The SOS is doing all they can to get to the bottom of this.” Jack and Mary were directors in the SOS. “I’ve regulators working round the clock…” Jack trailed off, his expression frustrated. It was clear that all their efforts had been for naught.

  No one looked to Sin. Why should they? They believed him nothing more than a frivolous young man. They never entertained the idea that he was their greatest traitor.

  Eliza was not certain how she knew something had entered her room, but awareness stole over her skin like a hand slipping into a tight glove. All at once, her body tensed and her breathing grew short. The covers hissed over her frame as she abruptly sat up and took stock of the room Mr. Brown had provided her. Pale blue moonlight gave the room a ghostly glow, making what was once innocuous chairs and tables appear to be squat and sinister beasties.

  “Fluff and stuff,” she muttered, perspiration cooling her brow. But her pulse beat hard against her throat.

  And then she spotted it. A spirit. The lady moved from her perch upon Eliza’s writing chair and glided forward. She was a lovely creature, all rounded curves and winsome features. And though she was transparent, her golden curls and the deep green of her fashionable gown were easy to discern. The woman’s lips moved as she walked. She was talking to Eliza.

  Eliza held up a hand. “I cannot hear you.”

  At this, the woman’s wide blue eyes narrowed in both confusion and irritation. She made to talk again, this time moving her arms with emphatic motions.

  “I still cannot hear. I’m sorry.” Eliza frowned. The woman was familiar. Just the sight of her caused Eliza’s innards to lurch. And then she knew. “You… You’re one of the women who tried to save me.”

  Two women had appeared and fought off her killers with skill that she’d thought only men possessed. The blonde woman was named Daisy. She’d been the one to call forth Adam. And then it had all gone wrong.

  As though she were corporeal, Daisy settled herself at the end of the bed.

  “Why are you here?” Eliza asked, then flushed when Daisy scowled and gestured from her mouth to Eliza’s ear. Right, she couldn’t tell her. Eliza settled back against her pillows and regarded her guest. Perhaps she ought to resent Daisy. The woman had led her to Adam after all, but she had also tried to save her. Daisy had clearly been shocked by Adam’s treatment of her, that much Eliza had seen before he’d placed her in some odd sort of spiritual limbo. Daisy hadn’t been in contact with her until now.

  “Are you in need of something?”

  Daisy’s shoulders lifted on a silent sigh, and she nodded. Sadness seemed to weigh her down and darkened her spirit’s light, making the lines of her body fainter.

  Eliza worried the corner of her lower lip. “I can’t imagine what I could do for you. Why not seek me out tomorrow? You know, in the flesh?”

  Daisy made a face, and Eliza bit back a smile, but it faded as their gazes clashed and a realizati
on stole over Eliza. “You cannot use your body?”

  Slowly Daisy shook her head, fear and sorrow filling her lovely eyes, and her form faded even more. Eliza reached out, ready to hold her hand, when she remembered Daisy was a spirit. “Why come to me?” she asked her. “I cannot do anything to help. I’m not even a GIM.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Daisy leaned close and carefully enunciated one word: Adam. Eliza saw it clearly upon her lips, and she went cold.

  “Adam?” she repeated, just to be clear.

  Daisy nodded.

  “He’s asleep in the other room.” Guilt and shame hit Eliza anew as she remembered Adam toppling to the floor. What would Daisy think of Eliza’s part in her creator’s captivity? Or if she learned of what Mellan wanted Eliza to do? Then Eliza decided she did not care; she had her reasons. But Daisy was weakening by the second, her shape flickering in and out as though shadows moved through her body. Her round face scrunched up with concentration. Frantic now, the spirit shook her head, waving a hand over her eyes and ears and then pointing down to the ground.

  Following this strange pantomime, Eliza spoke slowly. “You’ve tried to… He doesn’t see you, does he?”

  One sharp, pained nod.

  Eliza slumped back. “He said he’d lost his power.”

  Daisy simply stared, her diaphanous body growing pale, whispery white. Her mouth worked more words: Help him.

  “I am.” As much as she could.

  Desperation and terror twisted Daisy’s pretty face into a macabre mask. And as she flickered out of existence, she said her last word. Please.

  Chapter Eleven

  As with every moment of his new and miserable life, pain coursed through Adam’s body, making it throb. Even in the dark, he recognized the pain, as if it had become an extension of himself. However, something was different. Softness cradled him, and warmth enveloped him. It felt so bloody good that he did not want to move for fear it was a dream. It had to be. Or perhaps one of Mab’s tricks, a new method of torture.