Incubus Bonded

by A. H. Lee

  Should I go through the gate to look for them?

  He’d almost decided to do that when the front door opened and Jessica called, “I’m home! Let’s go to a party!”

  Mal came swiftly back in from the garden. Jessica gave him a dazzling smile. Her eyes and lips had been accentuated with makeup, and her hair had been dressed—piled on top of her head beneath some kind of glittering, jeweled net. She must have fed, too, because her aura was snapping with magic.

  “Azrael and Lucy—” began Mal and then he heard them in the garden, their voices becoming audible in mid-conversation as they came through the gate.

  “I am not using it, Lucy.”

  “But you would make such an entrance, darling!”

  “And that would surely ingratiate me to a bunch of wizards who think I’m dangerous.”

  “What would make an entrance?” asked Mal as Azrael and Lucy came in through the kitchen. Azrael had points of color in his cheeks and snow in his hair. His eyes were bright. Lucy was a golden dragon, dusted with snow. They looked so relaxed and companionable. Mal stifled a surge of jealousy.

  Azrael pursed his lips. “Lucy made me a jump point into the middle of the courtroom.”

  Mal laughed in spite of himself.

  “We’re not using it,” said Azrael. “It’s a one-way jump. I made us a much more reasonable gate in an alley a few blocks away.”

  Lucy shrugged with her wings. “Well, at least consider it, my dear. If you’re running late.”

  “We will not be late,” said Azrael.

  “Then I hope you go to sleep at a reasonable hour,” said Lucy with a poisonous look at Mal. “I’m sure being late would be worse than making a dramatic entrance.”

  Mal did his best impression of bedroom eyes, which was surprisingly easy as a panther. “Oh, don’t worry, Lucy. He’ll sleep sooo well.”

  She curled her lip at him.

  Azrael looked over Mal’s head at Jessica. “Ready to put on something pretty?”

  Jessica clapped her hands. “Yes!”

  “Then let’s go to a ball.”

  Chapter 54

  Azrael

  Azrael took his turn in the washroom, bathing and shaving and putting on his tuxedo. As he dressed, he could not help thinking, Mal is going to take this off me.

  The idea made him shiver, and it did not feel like fear. It felt like anticipation. Have I become so inured to danger?

  But, whispered a voice in his head, is it really any different from what you’ve done already?

  A silly thought. Of course it was different. He was going to take down his wards. That moment in the club leapt vividly before his mind’s eye—when Mal had latched onto his wards and tried to tear them apart. Lucy was right about one thing. When Mal attacked, he was not subtle. He was a battering ram—a wild animal made of claws and teeth.

  Strangely, though, that idea did not frighten Azrael as much as he thought it should. Perhaps because he’d become convinced that Mal really did have excellent control of his own instincts. The incident in the club had been brief and not repeated—not even when Mal was hungry and Azrael was sitting in his lap letting him…

  Azrael realized he was leaning against the sink with his eyes shut and other people needed to use the washroom. He straightened, swallowed, took a deep breath.

  If Mal would not kill him by accident, that left only the danger that Mal would kill him on purpose, that Azrael’s defenses had been lulled away for no other reason. Azrael knew he should be worried about that. Textbooks said that demons behaved exactly so.

  But he could not convince himself it was true. Mal came back from the astral plane. He is beyond the scope of any textbook.

  At last, the three of them stood in the late afternoon sunlight of the garden, dressed far too warmly for the Provinces, with heavy coats over their fine clothes. Azrael had Lucy’s bottle in his pocket, but she was exhausted after the morning’s work, and he did not intend to bring her out barring dire emergency.

  “I will introduce you two as my associates,” said Azrael to Mal and Jessica. “That could mean anything. You could be magicians, courtiers, acolytes, servants, friends, or long lost family. I don’t intend to explain you, and I advise you not to explain yourselves. Watch the people around you, but speak to them as little as possible. Do not attempt to feed on anyone, not even indirectly.”

  Jessica was, of course, curious about the gate. However, actually passing through was anticlimactic. They walked single file, running the silver thread between their fingers, into the oval of Kotos’ wood. The passage was instant, as was the cold. “Brrrr!” said Jessica, hugging herself.

  Mal took a deep breath of the frosty air and closed his eyes. “Ahhh…”

  Azrael knew he wasn’t talking about the cold. He was talking about their proximity to the Shattered Sea. Azrael felt it too—his own magic expanding inside him. He could do more here with less. So could Mal.

  Azrael had hired horses earlier in the day and tethered them nearby. The three of them rode through the snowy wood to the nearest coach station and then on to the capital. The terrain was mountainous, the snowy woods beautiful and mysterious in the winter twilight. Jessica sat by the window, entranced. Azrael sat on the other end of the bench, gazing out his own window. Mal had sat down opposite them, he being the biggest person.

  However, after a few moments, he got up, turned, and plopped himself down between them. Azrael gave an irritated grunt as he was pressed against the side of the coach. “Well, this is unnecessarily cozy.”

  Mal smiled. He put an arm around Azrael’s waist. After a moment, his fingertips began to wander back and forth from the top of Azrael’s thigh, over the crease where his leg met his body. Azrael had never thought of this as a sensitive area. He’d never thought of his thighs much at all. Now, the fact that Mal’s fingers were a few inches from his groin was all-consuming.

  Azrael turned to say something angry, something like, “Can you not wait for two hours?” But Mal turned in the same instant, their faces very close in the dim coach. He looked so smug and so beautiful—his green eyes glittering behind his long lashes, white teeth flashing in his smile.

  Azrael glared at him, but he couldn’t get words out. He could feel the blush climbing his throat.

  Mal leaned close to his ear as he swallowed and whispered, “Tell me to stop.” His fingers began tracing the crease of Azrael’s thigh—back and forth, a little nearer to his cock each time.

  Azrael felt utterly helpless. He should smack Mal’s hand away. He should.

  Instead, he turned half around, put both hands on Mal’s shoulders and whispered against his neck. “Mal, please do not make me walk into a state function with an obvious erection. Please?” It came out more like a whimper than an order.

  Mal laughed—his real laugh, not his sensuous chuckle. His hand stopped moving and just hugged Azrael’s hip.

  Jessica spoke from around Mal. “For gods’ sakes, Mal, stop tormenting him.” To Azrael, she said, “I don’t know how you gentlemen handle it. If everyone could tell when I was feeling stimulated, life would be very embarrassing.”

  Azrael covered his face with both hands and laughed helplessly. His skin felt hot. Fuck. “I thought I’d learned how to handle it!”

  “I’m sorry,” Mal sounded genuinely apologetic. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I could fix it for you!”

  Azrael dropped his hands in exasperation. “Mal! This is not a long coach ride!”

  “I don’t a need a long—”

  “Mal!”

  “Alright, alright, sorry.”

  Azrael moved to the opposite bench, closed his eyes, and thought of snow and higher mathematics for the next twenty minutes until the coach reached the palace. It was a magnificent building with the curly-tipped roofs common in this part of the world, perched high on a rocky crag and blazing with lights. The coach had to wait in a line of others for them to disembark.

  Azrael wasn’t exactly sure what to expect at
the door. He’d brought the invitation with him, and it was accepted with the usual formalities of the southern kingdoms. They’d arrived half an hour early, but the palace was already swarming with people, some of them clearly magicians. Azrael could feel their proximity like an uncomfortable prickle against his skin.

  This close to the Shattered Sea, magic was more reliable than electricity. Spells powered nearly every mechanical process around them. Chandeliers floated above the foyer where servants took their coats. Braziers burned with mage-fire, providing pleasant warmth throughout the building. A floating platter casually offered them wine and refreshments.

  It was a wasteful excess of magic, but Azrael supposed that was to be expected at an inaugural ball. The clothes around them seemed a world away from the Provinces. The women’s skirts were voluminous. Azrael had thought Jessica’s skirt was full, but he hadn’t realized hoops were in style in Kotos.

  Ah, well. When Jessica shed her coat, her bare shoulders were all anyone could look at. Her skin was darker than Azrael’s, paler than Mal’s, and it seemed to glow in the low lights. The sapphire necklace flashed, catching the blue of her eyes, and the jewels in her hair glittered.

  “I almost forgot,” murmured Azrael, and fished in his coat pocket for the corsage—a delicate spray of red flowers that matched Mal’s waistcoat. He slid it onto Jessica’s wrist, and she kissed him on the cheek.

  Mal stood beside her in his red and black waistcoat and well-cut jacket, his curls only partially tamed, a short beard framing his mouth and jaw. He looked slightly too dashing for the venue and thoroughly dangerous. Well, I hope I get to watch them dance.

  Chapter 55

  Azrael

  Azrael did get to watch Mal and Jessica dance, although not for as long as he would have liked. He hadn’t been standing around the edges of the heavily painted, statue-encrusted ballroom for more than ten minutes before a page came hurrying up to deliver a note on a silver tray. Azrael took it, read the brief contents, and followed the servant through a gilded door, along a hallway, and into a small audience chamber.

  Azrael gave a little tug on Mal’s magic, just to see whether he had access to the collar. Of course he did. They were gloriously close to the Shattered Sea. Azrael would probably have had access from a mile away. He let his face relax into the mask of cool statesman as he bowed to the man who’d called him here.

  The soon-to-be King Gabriel was a short, balding person in his fifties. His father had been a quarrelsome traditionalist (tradition favoring constant disputes with their neighbors), but all the rumors said that Gabriel was as unlike his sire as any man could be. He bowed to Azrael—more deeply than was necessary—and said, “My lord, I am so pleased that you have come! When did you arrive? Are you staying in the city? Most of my out-of-town guests have been housed here in the palace, and I would be delighted to offer you a room…”

  Azrael smiled, enjoying his own mystery. “I have only come for the evening, Sire.”

  Gabriel stared at him. “But…”

  Azrael was certain that Gabriel’s own magicians had assured him that the Lord of the Shrouded Isle could not possibly attend, else they would have known about it by now. “I am here for the evening,” repeated Azrael gently. “I believe you had something to discuss with me.”

  “Yes.” Gabriel’s head bobbed nervously. “Yes, I know my father was not on good terms with the Shrouded Isle.” More quietly, he muttered. “He wasn’t on good terms with anyone.”

  “You would like to change that?”

  “I would.”

  They spoke for half an hour of the border and its many disputed regions, its population, their ethnic makeup, the issues created by the sundering, the endless raids and wars with Bethsaria. As they talked, Azrael examined Gabriel’s aura. It took more magic for him to do this himself than to simply have Mal do it, but sometimes he needed to see things firsthand.

  He was pleasantly surprised to find that, not only did the man have no trace of faery magic, he was absolutely genuine in his desire for peace with his neighbors. Azrael had expected more duplicity or at least greed.

  After they’d gone over the basics of Kotos’s situation, Azrael said, “I understand your concerns and your hopes, Your Majesty. I think I can help you achieve at least some of them. I will require a few courtiers from your kingdom, as I do of all those under my protection. My agent will put them through certain tests, and they will only be taken if they are willing. I also ask that you and Lord Carlisle of Bethsaria visit me soon on the Shrouded Isle to discuss the matter in more detail there. Will you agree to these things?”

  Gabriel inclined his head. “With gladness, my lord.”

  Azrael smiled—a genuine smile that trod perilously close to a grin. I am going to add Kotos to my collection. It’s going to benefit everyone.

  And, whispered a voice in the back of his mind, now we can leave…and do what comes next.

  Mal and Jessica were still dancing when he returned to the ballroom. Azrael approved. Dancing was a good way to avoid talking to anyone. He took a colorful drink from a tray and watched. He was about to try to get their attention, when a voice spoke softly beside him. “Malcharius Thardarian Vi’aesha Charn. Pretty creature.”

  Azrael’s head snapped around. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Someone knew Mal’s full name. Someone he didn’t even recognize.

  The man standing at his elbow had salt and pepper hair and a sharp, hawk-like face. He would have been handsome in his youth and he was still striking, with soulful, dark brown eyes. One glance at his aura told Azrael he was a magician—a skilled one. Azrael’s fingers itched for fire to burn this person to ash.

  “I wouldn’t attack, if I were you,” said the older man. “You’ll only draw attention to your failure.”

  Azrael’s lips pressed together in a bloodless line as he tried to make sense of the stranger’s complex aura. For an instant, he thought the stranger might be a demon, but no. He was fully human, just…unusual. The man was certainly well-warded. Azrael wasn’t sure who would win in a fight, but it would be long and messy. It should certainly not happen in a crowded ballroom where they might kill innocent bystanders. “Who are you?” he grated.

  The older man smiled, thin lips curling up from white teeth. “I could ask you the same thing, Lord Azrael. I know his name, but not yours. Strange, isn’t it?” Azrael opened his mouth again, but the stranger continued. “I didn’t get his name from a human, if that’s any consolation. I don’t think any human alive knows it.”

  “Demon hunter,” whispered Azrael. He was becoming increasingly certain that the man was a sorcerer. Azrael hadn’t met many other sorcerers. He wondered whether his own aura looked this much like a demon’s to other people. Azrael suspected that this sorcerer possessed almost as much innate capacity for magic as Azrael himself, but the man was far older and more experienced. Possible ways to neutralize him flicked through Azrael’s head like a carousel of death and destruction.

  “Before you do anything stupid,” continued the demon hunter, “know that I have no intention of banishing him tonight. I have been hired to evaluate him…and you. Evaluate. Not banish or kill, not yet.”

  “Who are you?” repeated Azrael.

  The man spread his long fingers. “I’m the best. And that means you’ve never heard of me.”

  Azrael wanted to hit him. Instead, he said, “Hired by whom?” Loudain’s words rang in his head: If you keep behaving like a law unto yourself, someone is going to deal with you.

  The demon hunter gave a shrug. “I wouldn’t be much of a professional if I gave out their names. I’m no assassin, though. I’ve agreed to evaluate you and I will. Then I will draw my own conclusions and act upon them.” He sipped his drink. “First, though, I wanted to talk to you.” He smiled. “Azrael of the Shroud…you’re who I wanted to be when I grew up.”

  “I’m sure I wasn’t around when you were growing up,” snapped Azrael.

  The man laughed. “I wanted to be someon
e like you.”

  “But you became a demon hunter instead?”

  The man sighed. “Call me Jacob.”

  Azrael wasn’t about to offer a more personal name himself. You are threatening my family. He was too distracted to consider what that meant. “You’re here to evaluate Mal and me?” Maybe he hasn’t noticed Jessica.

  Jacob waved his hand. “I’m not concerned about the fledgling. Not yet. She may or may not grow to be a problem.”

  Azrael watched him as he would a poisonous snake. “So you’re only threatening to kill Mal?”

  Jacob shook his head. “I don’t kill demons. I free them.”

  “Well, Mal is already free as anyone with your skill level can tell. He is not in need of your services.” Azrael was torn between the desire to flee and the desire to learn all he could about this dangerous man while he was in a chatty mood.

  Jacob frowned. “He probably doesn’t think he needs my services. I’m sure neither of you will thank me if I try to save you.”

  “We don’t need saving.”

  Jacob cocked his head. “Tell me, Azrael—one sorcerer to another—what exactly is a demon?”

  Azrael was in no mood to discuss semantics. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  Jacob refused to be annoyed. “Plenty of magicians would say they’re automata—complex magical machines without the capacity to act outside their algorithms. These machines are incapable of real suffering or true feelings.” He hesitated, watching Mal and Jessica. “But I don’t think you believe that.”

  “Good guess.”

  “I agree with you,” said Jacob. “Other magicians, especially those who favor religion, will tell you that demons are like human sociopaths—born without a conscience, without a soul, experiencing emotion of a sort, but incapable of empathy or love.”

  “If you think I haven’t read all this, you don’t know much about the size of my library,” retorted Azrael. “Make your point.”