The Shifting Price of Prey [4]

by Suzanne McLeod

  My hand tightened around the knife. ‘You want me to bind Malik’s soul to your body?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your task is to do as I direct, not to ask questions.’

  ‘Fine.’ I jabbed at him with the knife. ‘But remember I’m new to all this, so don’t come crying to me if I get it wrong because there’s something you haven’t told me.’

  His left eyelid twitched with impatience. ‘Malik al-Khan is a true immortal. He cannot be killed. Whomsoever bears his soul also bears his immortality.’

  I rocked back on my heels. Wow! No wonder Malik’s soul was the hot ticket item. Vamps might not die of old age or natural causes but they could still be killed. Of course, the older a vamp is the harder it is to bring them true death; it usually takes the complete destruction of their physical bodies with their ashes scattered over running water before their souls are forced to move on to wherever (the general belief is hell). But once a vamp’s soul is gone, that’s it, they’ve had it; no chance of reincarnation, unlike humans, or rejoining the magic, unlike fae. So despite the Emperor being a millennium-and-a-half-years old (if he was the original Roman Emperor Romulus Augustus) and probably being harder to kill than most vamps, I could see the attraction of Malik’s true immortality.

  Only why had the Emperor waited till now to choose to steal Malik’s soul? It was a stupid question the moment I thought it. He’d waited because he needed someone who could do the soul transfer: an Anima Devoro, in other words— me.

  And no one, least of all me, had known I could consume souls until last Hallowe’en.

  Maybe I should be surprised it had taken him eight months to get here?

  Then again, maybe I should stop thinking everything was about me. No way was I the sole person who could play with souls (because – bad pun aside – someone had obviously transferred Malik’s soul to Bastien, at some point) so maybe I should be more surprised, astonished even, not that the Emperor had taken eight months to get here, but that it had taken him five centuries. The Emperor was the one who’d made Malik and despite siccing him with the revenant curse he evidently hadn’t known about the immortalising effects of bearing Malik’s soul. Which meant someone – Malik, or more likely Bastien – must have let the Emperor in on that little secret.

  My hand clenched around the knife as things suddenly clicked into place.

  I’d thought that Bastien was running scared of the Emperor, that the Emperor was muscling up to depose Bastien as the Autarch. When in fact Bastien was the one plotting in the corner of his sticky web to trap the Emperor. He’d used Malik’s soul, an Anima Devoro, a.k.a. me, and Janan, the soul-bonding knife, as his bait. And he’d teamed up with Viviane and her tarot cards to get me here. Not so I could make a choice to save him, but so I could do his dirty work. And kill the Emperor.

  So the real question was: what did Bastien gain from the Emperor’s death?

  More pertinent, if I did choose to kill the Emperor on Bastien’s behalf, how the hell was I supposed to do it?

  I narrowed my eyes at the imperial vamp. Despite his impatience he’d seemed happy to let me think things through, but then maybe he thought I was communing with Janan or something. Whatever.

  Another question struck me. If I was to shift Malik’s soul from Bastien to the Emperor then, apart from donating blood which might or might not be specific to the swapping souls bit, what the hell was Malik doing here?

  I asked.

  ‘That answer is not relevant.’

  I shrugged. ‘Told you, on your head be it, if this soul transfer thing doesn’t work.’

  The Emperor’s mouth thinned in irritation. ‘Once the current Autarch is vulnerable I will dispose of him publicly. I will become the new Autarch. The Oligarch has agreed to give me his Oath of Fealty. Once I have his Oath, the other blood families will accept me without any needless Challenges and bloodshed, which could raise irritating questions among the human authorities.’

  Malik was a willing part of Bastien’s plot. Or hey, since Malik was the Machiavellian one, this was Malik’s plot all along . . . which meant Malik was the one who’d set me up . . . nope, not going there. But there was one good thing in all this: the Emperor was going to kill Bastien. And Bastien dead was what I’d wanted since I was fourteen. All I had to do was choose to let this whole thing play out and the psycho would be out of my life for ever. I should be delirious with joy . . . except his replacement was treating me to his scary alien stare. And hell, the grass wasn’t looking any greener or more inviting on the Emperor’s side of the blood-fence.

  Letting Bastien live was a high price to pay to gain Katie’s, Freya’s and the rest of the coins’ victims’ freedom.

  ‘Okay, question time’s over.’ I tapped the knife against my thigh, mind processing everything. ‘So you want me to take two souls out of that body, separate them, put one back in, and bind the other to yours.’ I jutted my chin at the empty stone circle. ‘If you want to make yourself comfortable, we can get on with it.’

  The Emperor lifted his finger. ‘Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova. Your task is not successful unless you bind Bastien’s soul back into his body, before binding Malik al-Khan’s soul to mine. Do not think to confuse the issue by being less than specific, else I will consider your task a failure.’

  I grimaced. It was worth a try. Not that I thought he’d fall for it twice. ‘Fine. Bastien’s soul bound back to his body, and Malik’s soul bound to yours. Once that’s done, my task and our bargain are complete, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded, and two of the silent centurions rushed in through the tent entrance and started undressing him. As they finished and were dismissed, and I sincerely didn’t want to see him naked any more than I had to, I turned away and knelt down next to Bastien, wondering exactly how Janan the soul-bonding knife was supposed to work. After all, the only time I could see souls was when they were disembodied, like Viviane and Gold Cat.

  Turned out soul-bonding is instinctive and easy.

  You grip the hilt in your right hand, blade pointing down, lean over and stab it straight into the heart. It goes in like the proverbial hot knife through butter; little things like cutting flesh, cracking ribs and spurting blood don’t seem to happen at all. Which was a total tragedy when it came to stabbing Bastien.

  I narrowed my eyes at Janan, hilt deep in Bastien’s chest, waiting for the blow back, since magic is never that easy without a price, but all that happened was the knife’s handle warmed and the dragon’s tear on the end glowed with a soft amber light. Then silvery smoke, scented with cloves, spiralled up into a humanoid shape and a recognisable translucent figure formed within it, as if I’d uncorked a bottle and released a djinn. Bastien. He looked down at me, doe-brown eyes calm as if having his soul removed was an everyday occurrence. But then he’d been expecting this. Expecting me to ‘save’ him.

  I cut him a flat look. He was so dead if I had my way.

  He blinked, startled, his expression rapidly changing to an almost comical one of anger as he started patting himself as if to check he was actually there, his mouth spitting words I couldn’t hear. Evidently, unlike Gold Cat and Viviane, his soul couldn’t mind-talk to me. A minor upside to go with my impatience for Malik’s soul to put in an appearance.

  A few seconds later the heat from the handle began travelling up my arm. As the heat reached my elbow, burning pain flared over my hand and wrist, red blisters bubbling on my skin as if I’d stuck my hand in flame, the dragon’s tear turning bright amber, flashing like a warning light. Crap. I knew the knife went in too easy. There had to be some sort of time limit on using it. But there was still no sign of Malik’s soul—

  I shot a look up at Bastien, suddenly realising what his patting and silent words meant. He was wrapped in shimmering silvery smoke, like an aura. Had to be Malik’s soul. Only the dragon’s tear was a fiery ember and the knife’s handle was scorching hot. Holding it wasn’t going to be an option much longer. My gut told me I w
ouldn’t get another chance at this. Fuck. I didn’t know how to separate them. But I couldn’t fail. Not with everyone’s lives and Malik’s soul on the line. Heart pounding with panic, I did the one thing I knew I could. I focused on the cool silver aura, and absorbed it. It peeled away from Bastien like a banana skin, burning briefly as it sank through my skin and pooled inside me like a ball of moonlight. Bastien sagged, swaying as if blown by a strong wind, horror flashing in his eyes. I reached out and grabbed him, forcing him down through the knife and back into his body. As the last wisp of him disappeared, I yanked the knife out and let it fall.

  My palm was seared down to bone, the skin black and cauterised like I’d gripped a red-hot poker; my stomach heaved at the roast flesh smell.

  I hugged my arm close, jaw clenched to block the pain, and picked the knife up with my other hand.

  I swivelled on my knees, turning to face the Emperor now lying on the second stone circle, his skinny body nude apart from the golden laurel wreath still crowning his head.

  He smiled at me. A wide, fang-filled, eager beam. I froze. It was the most human thing he’d done, and it scared me more than any of his flat alien stares. He was a vamp. He was going to be the Autarch. Head Fang over all of Britain’s suckers. Malik was going to give him his Oath. And I was acknowledged as Malik’s blood-property. He would own Malik, and through him me, and none of those I loved would be safe.

  And he would be unkillable.

  I had to put Malik’s soul in him. That was my task. I’d made a bargain. I couldn’t not do it. But no way could I leave it in him. Bastien was a psycho, I still wanted him dead, but at least through whatever dysfunctional relationship they had, Malik could control him. I looked over at Malik trapped by magic on the third stone circle. Did his plan include a way to kill the Emperor once Bastien was dead? But then how could Malik kill the Emperor, if he still bore Malik’s soul? And hell, even if he didn’t, Malik had a ton of power, but the Emperor still had a good thousand years on him. Not to mention the Emperor had made Malik a vamp.

  Fuck. I had to stop this, but I couldn’t see how . . .

  I frowned back at the Emperor and the stone circle he lay on.

  I couldn’t see any magic.

  Of course—

  ‘Ready or not,’ I muttered grimly, then leaned over and plunged the knife into the Emperor’s chest. His eyes widened fractionally but he didn’t flinch. The dragon’s tear flashed to life and the handle heated. Smoke spiralled, bringing the Emperor’s soul with it. I gritted my teeth, called Malik’s soul from inside me and slapped it around the Emperor’s. He did flinch at that, face contorting with pain. Good. I grabbed both souls and forced them down the knife and into the Emperor’s body, then yanked the knife out, dropping it safely between my knees, shaking my hand to dispel the scalding pain.

  Nothing happened. The Emperor’s body was still and lifeless. Shit, had I done it too fast? Panic choked my throat—

  His eyes flickered open and he touched a tentative hand to his chest.

  Relief washed the panic away. Now for the next bit . . . ‘I’ve done all you directed,’ I said, surprised my voice came out calm. ‘So my task is complete. Agreed?’

  He squinted at me, deep lines bracketing his mouth, almost as if he were in agony.

  I leaned over, got right in his face. ‘Romulus Augustus, I have bonded Malik al-Khan’s soul to yours. Are we agreed that I have completed the task to your satisfaction?’

  My heart stuttered desperately as his frown deepened. C’mon, say it!

  ‘Agreed.’ His voice was faint and there was a thread of question in the word . . .

  A chime sounded.

  . . . but not enough to stop the magic.

  Bargain executed.

  I collapsed back on my arse, head bowed, hardly believing it had worked—

  It had fucking worked.

  Yes! Katie, Freya and the rest were almost safe. One more thing . . .

  Pulse pounding in my ears, I snatched the spells from the glyphs on Malik’s stone circle and slammed them into the glyphs carved around the outside of the stone where the Emperor lay. Hoisting him with his own magical petard.

  Grabbing up the knife I stabbed it back into his chest again— C’mon, c’mon . . .

  His soul appeared, face contorted with rage, mouth flapping silently like a landed fish.

  ‘Do not think to confuse the issue by being less than specific about exactly what you want me to do,’ I muttered, then smiled grimly, ripped Malik’s soul from around the Emperor’s, bundled it tight back inside me, then shoved the Emperor’s soul back, jerking the hot knife out with a pain-filled grunt, cradling my hand as I gagged on the reek of my own scorched flesh.

  I shot a glance at Bastien still trapped on his circle. Kill him before or after giving Malik his soul back? ‘Hell, you’re not going anywhere,’ I muttered, then trembling from adrenalin and expectant exhilaration, I half scrambled, half ran the few feet round to where Malik lay, and dropped to my knees next to him.

  Even without the magic holding him, he still showed no signs of reviving from whatever the bastards had done to him. But he was immortal. They could hurt him, but they couldn’t kill him. Not ever. Right?

  ‘I have your soul safe here,’ I murmured, taking his icy hand and pressing it to my chest. His soul moved inside me, enfolding my heart within its cool embrace, and a curious peace settled in me. I gently laid his hand down, touched my fingers to my lips then placed them over his own heart. ‘Now I give you back your soul, Malik al-Khan.’

  I gripped Janan, sent a prayer to any gods listening and sucked in a calming breath – need to do this right – then carefully leaned over and positioned the knife above Malik’s unbeating heart—

  A hand seized my wrist, jerking me up.

  A steel-hard arm pinioned me against a hard body.

  And a familiar voice said, ‘You really do not want to do that, my lovely sidhe princess.’

  I froze as my old panic and fear flashed through me. Then fury scoured it away. I was done being scared of him, done letting my teenage memories of him rule my life, done letting him play with me like I was some sort of sidhe doll to prod and poke and push around whenever he felt like it. The sadistic psycho was a vamp and without Malik’s soul he was mortal.

  He could die.

  Of course, the psycho would be easier to kill if he wasn’t hugging me like a slobbering bear.

  I released the knife as he wanted, then grabbed his arms where they banded beneath my breasts to stop him getting me in a choke-hold. Flexing my knees I dropped my body weight, shifting our joint centre of gravity forwards. Jerking my left leg up, I stomped hard on the bridge of his foot, hammering the heel of my boot down like a pile-driver, hearing his foot break with a happy crunching sound. The human foot has twenty-six bones – a quarter of all the bones in the body – thirty-three joints and more than a hundred muscles, tendons and ligaments. And even if the foot is no longer human but vamp, all those bones, joints and other things are still just as easily damaged. Stomping on anyone’s foot hurts.

  A surprised yell blasted my ear and his hold loosened.

  In one smooth move, I tightened my left hand on his arm, stepped into a spread-leg sumo-style stance, and double-hammered my elbow back into his groin, grim delight sparking as he let out a high-pitched squeal and started to double over. Sweeping my right leg behind him, I shoved it into the back of his thigh, further unbalancing him as I hooked my right hand under his leg, heaved him up, and threw him around my hips and down on to his back. He landed with a gratifyingly heavy thud, a startled pain-filled scream whooshing out of his mouth. I backed away, sucking in deep breaths to calm the adrenalin-shakes, working out my options.

  Bastien was huddled on the ground in front of the Emperor’s slab, hands cupping his Mr Very Unhappy and moaning for England. Vulnerable, if not totally defenceless. The Empress must’ve released him from his stone. Nice for the Big Girl’s Blouse to have his mother watching over him. At
least the Emperor was still lying on his stone circle, trapped by his own magic. Totally defenceless. Two vamps with one sword came to mind.

  Time for Ascalon.

  The ball of green dragonfire engulfed my hand, and grunt- ing through the searing pain from Janan’s burns on my palm, I gripped the blessed sword.

  I started towards them both.

  Mr Moany Bastien stopped his over-the-top whimpering and rose to his feet as if a puppet master had pulled his strings. Creepy.

  ‘Well, well, princess,’ he said, backing around the stone slab. ‘I see you have your sword again. I take it you intend to dispatch Romulus Augustus with it before he calls any of his minions to the scene. He is a much more dangerous threat than I, is he not?’

  I shot Supercilious Smiling Bastien a narrowed look. Killing the Emperor first was playing right into the pyscho’s hands. But, much as it irritated me, it was the way to go. ‘You’re right,’ I said coolly. ‘The Emperor needs dispatching. First.’

  Smiley Bastien inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I am glad we agree, princess. On that, at least.’

  Mentally I flipped him the bird and moved to the Emperor, positioning myself at the top of the stone circle. I looked into his flat alien eyes, then raised Ascalon two-handed over my head and brought the sword down. The blessed blade sliced through the Emperor’s neck with absolutely no resistance until it hit the sandstone. But unlike Janan, the sword cleaved cleanly through flesh, muscle, ligaments, tendons, blood vessels and bone, separating the Emperor’s laurel-wreathed head from his nude body. His eyes blinked, then his head slowly rolled to the side, stopping to glower at my feet as his crown lodged on the stone. Viscous claret-coloured blood seeped out of his severed neck and pooled beneath his head. I poked the head with the sword, moving it out of reach of the blood – better safe than sorry – then quickly changed my grip on the sword so the blade pointed downwards.

  ‘The heart, my bride,’ Eager Bastien urged. ‘Do not forget the heart.’