GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  “A stalemate,” Ariyal mocked.

  Sergei took a cautious step forward, his gaze darting toward the crib.

  “If you’ve come for the child then you’re wasting your time,” he said. “You’ll die if you touch him.”

  Ariyal made a sound of disgust. “You think that I can’t break through your magic?”

  Sergei made a visible effort to gather his shaken courage. “I don’t doubt that you could shatter the protective shields around the cradle, but the spell I’ve placed on the child is specifically cast to harm those with fey blood.” He gave a tilt of his chin, covertly shifting another step into the room. “It was the only way to keep your friend Tearloch from taking off with my prize.”

  Jaelyn scented the mage’s sour desperation, and she shifted to block his path to the baby, a cold smile curving her lips.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He halted, his pale eyes narrowing with a barely concealed hatred.

  No love for vampires there.

  “Stay back, leech,” he hissed, holding the vial over his head.

  “You can’t win this game, mage,” Ariyal warned in lethal tones.

  “You think I don’t know that?” the man snapped. “I’m no longer playing to win, merely to survive.”

  “An unlikely outcome,” Ariyal drawled, deliberately drawing back the bowstring another fraction of an inch.

  “Wait,” the man breathed, sweat blooming on his forehead.

  “Why?” Ariyal demanded. “If you die the spell dies with you.”

  “Along with the child,” the mage blurted out.

  Jaelyn moved to place her hand on her companion’s arm. “Ariyal.”

  “You would, of course, claim that you’ve bound the child to you,” Ariyal mocked, not bothering to glance in her direction. “I’m familiar with your habit of telling the truth only when it’s convenient.”

  The pale eyes darkened with fear. “Do you want to risk killing the brat on the slim chance I’m lying?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Jaelyn interrupted, rolling her eyes at the typical male need to huff and puff at one another. Why actually communicate when it was so much more fun to bang on their chests? She turned to study to the mage, sensing that his terror went way beyond their own arrival in the townhouse. “What do you mean you’re merely trying to survive?”

  Sergei gave a restless shrug. “I’m not a lunatic. Marika convinced me that resurrecting the Dark Lord would bring us both the power we craved, but I’ve discovered that such powers come at a price I’m no longer willing to pay.”

  “Convenient,” Ariyal taunted.

  “Actually it couldn’t be more inconvenient,” the mage snapped.

  Ariyal didn’t hesitate. “Then give me the child and you won’t have to worry about the Dark Lord.”

  “Right. And how long do you think I would survive without the child as protection? If you didn’t kill me then Tearloch most certainly would.”

  “We could keep you alive,” Jaelyn smoothly offered, not at all surprised when Ariyal sent her a smoldering glare.

  “Speak for yourself,” he rasped. “I have no reason to keep this spineless coward from his long-overdue grave. In fact, I’ve waited a long time to rid the world of his infection.”

  “Ariyal ... shit.” Jaelyn moved with blinding speed toward the windows that overlooked the damp street, her senses on full alert. A swift glance was enough to discover the shadows that were moving through the front gate toward the portico. “It looks like your tribesman found reinforcements.”

  Ariyal cursed. “How many?”

  “I count six—no wait, seven Sylvermysts including Tearloch. And ...” Jaelyn gave a shake of her head as the shadows disappeared from view as they entered the townhouse.

  Even out of sight her Hunter instincts could detect the heat of their bodies as they silently moved through the bottom floors, clearly searching for intruders. She could smell the distinct scent of herbs that revealed they were Sylvermysts and the hormones that marked them as male. But there was a strange ... emptiness, was the only way she could explain it, that was swiftly traveling in their direction.

  “What?” Ariyal prompted.

  She turned back to the Sylvermyst, her hand reaching for her shotgun only to come up empty. Dammit. She was getting a new weapon and hell would freeze over before Ariyal would take it away again.

  “I don’t know what it is,” she admitted through clenched teeth.

  Ariyal paused, allowing his own powers to search the house. “Tearloch.” His face was grim as he met Jaelyn’s wary gaze. “He’s called a spirit.”

  “Can it hurt us?”

  “Tearloch has a talent for raising the most powerful souls.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she muttered, glancing back toward the window. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Not without the child.”

  “For God’s sake.” She turned back, not surprised to find his beautiful features set in stubborn lines. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘live to fight another day’?”

  “Have you ever heard of ‘not putting off ’til tomorrow what you can do today’?” he countered, giving a tiny wave of the bow. “Get the child, Sergei.”

  The mage shook his head, backing until he hit a cherry-wood armoire set in the corner of the nursery.

  “No, I can’t.”

  Ariyal shrugged. “Then I’ll kill you.”

  “Better an arrow through the heart than what the Dark Lord’s minions will do,” Sergei choked out.

  Ariyal hid a wry smile as he watched Jaelyn’s struggle against her desire to rip out his throat.

  Or maybe it was his heart.

  Whichever, she somehow managed to overcome her bloodlust. The question was ... why?

  He was powerful, but if she truly wanted him dead, or even captured and hauled to the Oracles, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her.

  Which only made him all the more curious what the hell she was doing there. And what she intended to do with him when she grew tired of her game.

  Worries for another day, he was forced to accept as a dark mist floated through the wall and moved to hover next to the crib.

  Lowering the bow that would be useless against the spirit, he watched as the mist solidified into the shape of a tall, sparse man with gaunt features and shaved head who appeared to be covered in a satin robe with a heavy silver pendant hung about his neck.

  The spirit reached a thin hand toward the sleeping child. “Ah, the anointed one.”

  His voice rumbled through the air, bringing with it the foul scent of the netherworld.

  Ariyal stepped forward, but he was abruptly distracted as the mage moved at the same time, his thin face hard with revulsion.

  “Rafael.” He breathed the name as if it was a curse.

  The spirit slowly lifted his head, glancing toward the mage. Amusement seemed to flutter over the gaunt features before his lips twisted into a sneer.

  “It is Master Rafael to you, mage.”

  “No wizard is my master,” Sergei hissed.

  Ariyal shifted to keep an eye on the two magical buffoons as well as Jaelyn, who was clearly unnerved by the sight of the spirit.

  “You two acquainted?” he drawled.

  “Our paths have crossed,” Sergei spat out, his gaze never leaving Rafael. “But while I am a true magic-user, he has given his soul to the Dark Lord.”

  Ariyal arched a brow. “And you?”

  The spirit released a low laugh that sent a shudder down Ariyal’s spine. Working with spirits had never been his talent and he rarely used his powers to draw the ghosts from the netherworld. Especially not one with the strength that he could sense pulsing about the dead wizard.

  “He pledges his loyalty to the highest bidder,” Rafael said, his hollow voice echoing eerily through the room. “A magical hack.”

  “Rafael.” The soft whisper came directly beside him and with a low curse he turned his head to
discover Jaelyn regarding the spirit with a sudden suspicion. Holy shit. He hadn’t seen her move. “I recognize the name,” she said, shifting her head to meet his startled gaze.

  “You know this spirit?”

  She shook her head. “No, but the Chicago vampire clan battled a dark wizard who was attempting to sacrifice the Chalice and open a pathway through the dimensions a few months ago.” She shuddered, her attention returning to the wizard. “They killed him.”

  Rafael pressed a hand to his pendant, his features twisting with fury.

  “I was surrounded by incompetent fools.” His gaze lowered to the babe who remained unnaturally still. “On this occasion I will have the means to restore my prince to his rightful place.”

  Ariyal glanced toward Jaelyn. “Prince?”

  She curled her lips in disgust. “A few of the more dedicated disciples have elevated themselves to the position of deities and the Dark Lord to their personal prince.”

  “I would have thought the deity theory might be reconsidered after he actually died,” he pointed out, allowing his words to carry toward the arrogant wizard. Spirit or not he was a nasty piece of goods. “That’s not very godlike.”

  “I knew it was only a matter of time before my master rescued me from the pits of hell,” the wizard snarled, a crazed light shimmering in his eyes. “Death has no hold over me.”

  “Obviously neither does sanity,” Jaelyn muttered.

  About to agree, Ariyal felt the familiar stir of air before a portal formed next to the wizard and Tearloch stepped into the room.

  Wearing traditional leather leggings and tunic with his copper hair pulled into a braid, the Sylvermyst looked painfully familiar.

  It was only when Ariyal met the fevered glitter in the silver eyes that he was forced to accept that this was no longer the friend and confidant whom he had depended upon for centuries.

  “Ariyal, I’m glad you’re here, my brother,” Tearloch said with a faint bow.

  Ariyal deliberately glanced toward the shimmering opening his tribesman had left open. Among Sylvermyst it was an insult to maintain a portal when in the company of friends. It implied a lack of trust.

  “Are you?”

  The slender fey glanced toward the nearby spirit before at last returning his attention to Ariyal.

  “It’s not too late to join me,” he said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Together we shall restore the Sylvermyst to their former glory.”

  Ariyal frowned, disturbed by Tearloch’s odd hesitation. It was almost as if he had been seeking approval from the spirit.

  “What former glory?” he demanded, keeping his voice soft, unthreatening. “There is nothing glorious about slavery.”

  Remembered pain flared over Tearloch’s thin face. “We were slaves to that bitch. The Dark Lord will set us free.”

  Ariyal spread his arms. “We are free, Tearloch. Just look around.”

  “No.” He shook his head in sharp denial. “Without the power of the master we will be at the mercy of the heathens who infest this world.”

  “Listen to me, my brother.” Ariyal took a cautious step forward. “That is the voice of madness whispering in your ear.”

  “Do not heed him.” The spirit abruptly spoke, shifting until he could place a gaunt hand on Tearloch’s shoulder. “Clearly he now intends to sacrifice you and your brothers to the vampires, just as he sacrificed you to Morgana le Fey.”

  A ball of sick dread lodged in the pit of Ariyal’s stomach. Bloody hell. What had Tearloch done?

  “You know he speaks lies,” he said, concentrating on the spirit who regarded him with a smug arrogance.

  “Do I?” the wizard mocked, maintaining his possessive grip on Tearloch. “You stand there with a vampire who is your obvious companion.” He glanced toward the silent Jaelyn. “Or is she your lover?”

  Instinctively he shifted to stand directly in front of Jaelyn, hiding her from the spirit’s dangerous gaze. For all her power, a vampire was always vulnerable to magic.

  Not that he knew why the hell he would bother. She was as likely to stab him in the back as to appreciate his efforts.

  For now, however, he was far more intent on his friend who was in obvious trouble.

  “Tearloch, look at me,” he commanded, the authority in his voice rippling the air and making his tribesman jerk in reaction.

  “Do not,” the wizard hissed, leaning down to whisper directly into Tearloch’s ear. “He is jealous of your powers and he knows you shall be rewarded above him once our master is returned.” His malevolent power swirled through the room with far too much force for a mere spirit, battering against Ariyal with a dangerous strength. “Why else would he be so eager to destroy the child and halt your efforts to resurrect your lord?”

  Ariyal lifted his hand, muttering a word of command in the harsh Sylvermyst language.

  A smile curved his lips as the wizard attempted to speak, his face twisting with fury when he realized that Ariyal had managed to silence him.

  “Much better,” Ariyal taunted.

  Something perilously close to fear tightened Tearloch’s expression.

  “What have you done?”

  “Brought a welcome end to the poison he is spewing.” Tearloch shifted in agitation. “Release him.”

  “Not until you have listened to sense.”

  Tearloch shook his head, moving closer to the spirit, who glared at Ariyal with a baleful intensity.

  “I listened to you once before,” the younger man breathed, “and see where that got us.”

  Ariyal flinched. Although it had been the previous prince’s decision to accept Morgana’s bargain, he’d offered his full support, which had swayed more than a few into agreeing to break ties with the Dark Lord.

  “You would prefer to have been banished with the others?” he asked.

  The younger Sylvermyst glanced toward the spirit, almost as if seeking the answer to Ariyal’s question.

  “We should have remained pure,” he at last muttered. Ariyal forced himself to crush the angry accusations that trembled on his lips. Tearloch was clinging to sanity by a thread.

  He didn’t intend to snap it.

  “Tearloch,” he said, his tone low and soothing, “when did you first call this particular spirit?”

  Tearloch blinked in bewilderment. “I don’t remember. What does it matter?”

  “You better than anyone understand the dangers of calling upon the same spirit too often,” Ariyal pointed out. Every Sylvermyst was taught to limit their contact with spirits. Not only was there a danger of becoming emotionally attached to the ghost, but there was always the nasty possibility that the spirit might manage to twist the relationship so that they became the master rather than the servant. “Especially such a powerful spirit.”

  “No, you’re just trying to deceive me.”

  “I’m not the one trying to deceive you, brother,” Ariyal murmured softly, inching closer. “But together we can make this right.”

  Tearloch blinked, his silver eyes focusing on his friend. “Ariyal?”

  “Yes, old friend, we have fought side by side. You know you can trust me.”

  “Yes ...” For a split second Ariyal thought he might actually have gotten through the fog that was obviously clouding his friend’s mind. The copper-haired Sylvermyst even took a half step toward him. Then the damned wizard squeezed his shoulder and Tearloch was once again under the sway of the bastard. With a faltering shake of his head, he came to an abrupt halt. “I mean no.”

  Ariyal leashed his frustration. As much as he might want to grab his friend and beat some sense into him, he knew it would be a waste of time so long as he was in the power of the spirit.

  And worse, he couldn’t return the wizard to the hell, where he belonged. He might be able to manipulate Rafael on a small scale, but only the actual summoner could dismiss him.

  He would have to somehow convince Tearloch to do the deed.

  Lifting a hand in a gesture of peace, Ariyal
took a step back, feeling Jaelyn punch him in the ribs as he stepped on her toe.

  “Fine, I’ll stay here, and we can just talk.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss.” Tearloch flicked a glance toward the hovering spirit, who reached into the crib and scooped the child into his arms. “I intend to resurrect the Dark Lord.”

  “Of course.” Sergei abruptly thrust his way into the conversation, licking his thin lips as he realized that he was about to be cut out of the deal. “We can begin preparing for the ceremony this very moment, if you wish.”

  Tearloch jerked his gaze toward the mage, his face hardening with disgust.

  “You had your opportunity, mage. I no longer trust your ... enthusiasm for returning our master.”

  Sergei stretched out his hands as he edged toward the cradle, ignoring the spirit of Rafael, who was furiously attempting to speak, no doubt hoping to cast a spell against his nemesis.

  “Don’t be a fool, Tearloch,” he chastised. “I have prepared for years for this moment. There is no other mage who could possible match my skills or my powers.”

  “You are the fool,” Tearloch snapped. “And now you will suffer for your lack of commitment.” His gaze shifted back to Ariyal. “You will all suffer.”

  Ariyal’s attention never shifted from the mage. He easily sensed Sergei’s rising desperation at the knowledge he was no longer needed by Tearloch. It wasn’t going to take much for him to do something stupid.

  Almost on cue, the idiot gave a muttered curse and rushed forward.

  “Stay back,” Ariyal commanded, not at all surprised when the mage continued his terrified charge. “Dammit, mage. What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m dead without that child,” Sergei hissed. “No one’s taking it away from me.”

  Ariyal watched the disaster unfold, already accepting there was no way he was going to halt Tearloch as the Sylvermyst pulled the spirit who still clutched the child in his arms into the waiting portal.

  The air shimmered as the portal began to close. Sergei screeched in frustrated horror, his hands lifting toward the disappearing Tearloch.

  At first, Ariyal assumed the mage was trying to reach the portal so he could enter before it closed. It wasn’t until he heard the low chanting that he realized the stupid bastard was intending to lob a spell at the opening.