GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  At the moment his head was bent over a mirror he clutched in his hands, indifferent to the danger that lurked just above him.

  “Damn,” she whispered.

  Levet pressed close to her side. “What is it?”

  “I’m searching for the witch who is controlling the zombies, not a damned dog.”

  The gargoyle sniffed the air. “The magic is coming from the cur.”

  She hissed in shock. “You’re certain?”

  “Ma enfant, did I not just prove my skills?”

  Jaelyn didn’t truly doubt him. It was growingly obvious the tiny gargoyle harbored unknown depths. But ... hell. This was a complication she didn’t need.

  “I’ve never heard of a dog being a magic-user,” she muttered.

  “It is rare,” Levet conceded. “They must be a powerful mage or witch before they are turned or their skills are lost during the transformation. And since most curs are terrified of magic they usually do their best to avoid them. Certainly they would never deliberately try to attack a magic-user.” He leaned forward to study the man below them. “I would guess this particular mage sought out a cur to transform him on purpose.”

  “Why?”

  Levet gave a lift of his hands. “It could be a desire for greater physical strength, or a longer life span, or perhaps he is mated with a cur.”

  Jaelyn regretfully glanced down at the shotgun she’d stolen in town. It was a fine gun, but it was made for humans and they had no need for silver bullets.

  “It looks like we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

  “Do not fear.” Levet squared his shoulders. “I have powerful magic of my own.”

  “No.” Jaelyn grabbed the gargoyle’s arm as he pointed it toward the cur. “I think it would be better if I take care of the mage.”

  “You doubt my abilities?” Levet asked, his wings drooping in a visible pout.

  “Of course not, but I was trained to kill in silence,” she smoothly assured him. “We don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. You keep an eye open for his companions.”

  The gray eyes widened. “Companions?”

  “Curs always travel in packs.”

  Levet made a sound of disgust, but even as Jaelyn judged the precise distance to the cur, he lightly touched her shoulder.

  “Be careful, ma enfant.”

  She stiffened at his soft words.

  Dammit. Why did he keep doing that?

  Surely by now the tiny gargoyle realized that demons weren’t supposed to offer her concern. She was a Hunter. An unfeeling weapon who had been taught that emotions were nothing more than a weakness that others could use to manipulate her.

  All this fussing around over her and her safety was ... unnerving.

  Levet lifted his heavy brows. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” With an effort she pulled her crap together. For God’s sake. Now wasn’t the time to get all sappy. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Before she could make a fool of herself, Jaelyn leaped through the air, landing on the cur with a lethal silence. The dog howled in pain as her fangs sliced through his neck, barely missing his jugular as he tumbled backward.

  Jaelyn cursed at having missed the killing blow, although she had at least made him drop the mirror he’d been holding. She assumed he used the thing to control the zombies, which meant that Ariyal, at least, should be safe.

  Which was more than she could say for herself. Possessing the strength of a cur and the magic of a witch, the man beneath her managed to toss her aside with a disturbing ease.

  They both rose to their feet, circling one another with the wary caution of trained warriors.

  “Who are you?” Jaelyn demanded, knowing it couldn’t have been sheer coincidence that brought the cur to this particular place at this particular time.

  The cur eyeballed her in annoyance, clearly more outraged at being taken by surprise than upset at the fact he was facing a pissed-off vampire.

  Of course, there was the very real possibility that he was too stupid to comprehend his danger.

  “Do you know how long it took me to prepare that spell, you stupid cunt?” he growled. “You’re going to pay for every minute.”

  Cunt?

  Oh, he didn’t just go there, did he?

  She smiled, running a tongue along her razor-sharp fang. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to do this the easy way. Now there’s only one way.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The hard way.”

  “Oh yeah? You and what army?”

  With a smirk, he reached toward the glowing crystal hung around his neck as he whispered words of magic.

  No doubt he was conjuring a nasty spell, depending on his magical skills to protect him. Unfortunately for him, he’d never encountered a Hunter’s speed and before he could finish his chanting, Jaelyn was moving forward to jerk his tongue from his mouth.

  The cur stood in frozen shock, his eyes shifting to the bloody length of flesh she held in her hands. Then with a mangled scream of horror he was spinning on his heels and attempting to flee. Jaelyn allowed him a few seconds of hope that he might actually escape before she slammed her foot into his retreating back and sent him flying into the nearest tree.

  He slid face-first to the ground, his arms and legs churning in a combination of pain and panic.

  She crouched at his side, her arms loosely wrapped around her bent knees.

  “I did warn you it would be the hard way,” she taunted, dropping his tongue near his head. Eventually he would heal, but for now his wounds had to be near unbearable. “Listen very carefully, I’m going to ask you a series of questions. You will nod your head for yes and shake it for no. All very simple. Oh—” She leaned down far enough he couldn’t miss her deadly fangs. “And for every lie I will rip off another body part. Got it?”

  He flattened himself against the underbrush, as if wishing he could sink through the hard ground. But his hasty nod assured her that he was ready to play nice.

  “Were you responsible for the zombies?” There was a faint hesitation before the cur was nodding. She patted his head. “Good boy. Are the rest of your pack nearby?” Another hesitation and another nod. “Are they all curs?” she demanded, certain she was sensing a presence at the edge of the woods, but unable to determine exactly what it was.

  Something that bothered her almost as much as a magic-using cur.

  Mysteries in the demon world were never good things. He started to shake his head, but before she could probe into the members of his crew, a gunshot echoed through the air.

  With a speed that defied physics, Jaelyn was able to dodge the projectile that was aimed at the center of her chest. Still, it managed to graze her shoulder with a searing pain that warned the bullet was made of silver.

  Shit.

  She could catch the scent of a nearby cur, no doubt the shooter, and moving closer was that oddly muted scent.

  For a second she debated taking the wounded cur as a hostage. She didn’t doubt with the proper encouragement, and perhaps a few more missing body parts, she could get all the information she needed out of him.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t be certain what was lurking in the dark. It could be a mere witch with an amulet, or something recently coughed out of the bowels of hell. And with Ariyal possibly injured ... well, she couldn’t take the risk.

  Time to get the hell outta Dodge.

  Tearloch felt the prickle of magic before he entered the cavern to discover Rafael standing over a shallow pool of water in the center of the floor.

  “Fools,” the spirit was muttering in disgust. “Why must they always call upon zombies?”

  Tearloch crossed to peer suspiciously at the images reflected in the water. So the wizard possessed enough power to scry. A handy trick, but one a mere spirit shouldn’t be able to manage.

  “What the hell is going on?” he rasped.

  Rafael pointed a skeletal finger toward the floor. “We have been foll
owed.”

  Putting aside his unease at Rafael’s powers, Tearloch leaned forward to study the scene that was unfolding in the water like a soggy movie.

  “Ariyal,” he muttered, easily recognizing his prince, as well as the fact that he was currently standing less than five miles from the entrance to the hidden caves.

  “Yes,” Rafael hissed. “Your prince is annoyingly persistent.”

  Tearloch abruptly leaned closer to the water, realizing that Ariyal wasn’t battling a group of humans as he’d first assumed. Or at least they weren’t human any longer.

  With a shudder he stepped away from the water, glaring at the spirit, who was watching the fight with a faint sneer.

  “Zombies are forbidden.”

  “Surely you must realize that we are now above the tedious laws of this world?” Rafael questioned before giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “Still, I do agree that such abominations are regrettable. They are far too unpredictable and attract precisely the sort of attention we had hoped to avoid.”

  “Then why did you call them?”

  “This is not of my doing.”

  Tearloch clenched his teeth. Was it possible for the spirit to lie to him?

  Just a few days ago he would have laughed at the mere possibility. A spirit was bound by the will of the summoner and utterly at his mercy.

  Now he wasn’t nearly so convinced.

  “They didn’t crawl out of their graves by themselves,” he accused in harsh tones.

  The spirit’s smug expression faltered as he belatedly sensed Tearloch’s annoyance.

  “No, this is the work of your new allies.”

  “Allies?” Tearloch growled in outrage. “What allies?”

  “Our master comprehends how truly important the child is to his future.” Rafael spoke slowly, as if considering his words with care. “He has called his followers to assist us in protecting the babe.”

  Tearloch felt his throat tighten and his head throb at the smooth explanation. Was it possible the Dark Lord now talked directly to the wizard? Or was this a trick?

  Either possibility was enough to make his stomach cramp with dread.

  “And so you plotted behind my back?”

  Rafael attempted to appear properly shocked at the allegation. “Certainly not.”

  “Then how did you know of these so-called allies while I was left in the dark?”

  “His Lordship finds it easier to communicate with those of us who have a direct connection to the underworld. He assured me that he would call upon his disciples to offer us whatever we might need to succeed.”

  Tearloch pressed his palms to his aching temples, pacing across the cavern.

  The fog in his mind made it difficult to think, but he knew he didn’t like the threat of unknown demons becoming involved in his business.

  Disciples of the Dark Lord were by nature untrustworthy creatures who had traded their souls to evil. They would betray and destroy Tearloch at the first opportunity.

  He turned back to glare at Rafael. “And you didn’t think it was necessary to share that information with me?”

  “There seemed no purpose in bothering you with the small details.”

  Tearloch lifted his hand, pointing it toward the spirit. Plainly, Rafael needed a reminder of who was in charge.

  “No purpose?”

  “You have more important matters to occupy your mind.” A smarmy smile curved the wizard’s lips. “It is best that you allow me to—”

  Tearloch clenched his hand and jerked it downward, the motion helping him focus on his intangible connection to the spirit.

  On cue Rafael was jerked to his knees, a satisfying fear twisting his too-thin face.

  “I will decide what’s best,” he snarled. “Or have you forgotten who is in command here, Rafael?”

  “No, Master.”

  He gave another twist of his hand, and the arrogant ass was pressing his forehead against the stone floor.

  “I think maybe you have. Which would be a lethal mistake.”

  “I merely wish to be of service.”

  Tearloch hissed in disgust. Gods, he hated the wizard. Almost as much as he hated the knowledge that he couldn’t return the sleazy worm back to hell where he belonged, no matter how much he might want to.

  Why had he ever started this madness?

  “You’re an arrogant prick who would betray me in a heartbeat if I was stupid enough to give you the opportunity,” he said between gritted teeth. “Which I thankfully am not.”

  Rafael’s fingers dug into the stone floor, but he was not stupid enough to make the move for an open revolt.

  At least not yet.

  “What do you want of me?”

  “Tell me of our new allies.”

  “I can show you.”

  Tearloch childishly continued to squash Rafael’s face into the floor. The spirit couldn’t be physically hurt, but he could be humiliated. Something far worse for a man with Rafael’s swollen pride.

  At last he unclenched his hand and stepped back. “Fine. Show me.”

  The wizard rose to his feet, his fingers twitching as if he was barely restraining the urge to launch a spell in Tearloch’s direction. Instead he wisely smoothed his rumpled robes and with rigid composure moved back to the shallow pool of water.

  He waved his hand, murmuring soft words. Then, lifting his head, he gestured for Tearloch to join him.

  “Our allies, as you commanded, Master.”

  Tearloch moved to peer in the water, not at all comforted by the vision of a tall, slender man with short black hair slicked from his lean face. Dressed in a designer suit and glossy wingtip shoes, he might have been a banker.

  But Tearloch didn’t miss the pale, too-perfect features and the dull, emptiness in the black eyes.

  Dead eyes.

  “A vampire?” he hissed.

  “Not only a vampire, but one that possesses skills beyond most,” Rafael corrected, as if the leech’s extra mojo would make him less offensive to Tearloch.

  “What does that mean?”

  “He is an Immortal One.”

  “I thought they were all immortal?”

  “There are a few vampires who left this world to form their own clan,” the wizard explained in overly patient tones. “They developed very unique talents that I believe will be of use to you.”

  “The talent to create zombies?”

  “No, he has two curs as companions, as well as a witch,” Rafael grudgingly confessed. “One of the curs is a magic-user.”

  A vampire with juiced powers, two curs (one of them a magic-user), and an extra witch tossed into the bargain?

  That was enough firepower to easily overwhelm his handful of Sylvermyst.

  “Damn you, this is a trap.”

  Rafael held up a soothing hand. “No, I swear.”

  “As if I would trust you.”

  “They were sent by our beloved master.”

  “I only have your word for that.” Tearloch gave a shake of his head, wishing the painful fog would clear. “I should have listened to Sergei.”

  Rafael cautiously moved forward, waving his hand as if casting a spell.

  “There is no need to upset yourself.”

  Tearloch swayed, the fog briefly clouding his mind to the point he could barely remember why he was standing in the cavern.

  Then, with a curse, he forced back the numbing cloud of confusion.

  “Can you communicate with the leech?” he rasped.

  Rafael’s thin lips nearly disappeared, but he gave a ready nod of his head.

  “I can.”

  “Then you warn him that if he or his trio of misfits attempts to enter these caves I will not only allow my Sylvermysts to slice and dice them into pieces so small their mothers won’t be able to recognize them, but you will be returned to the underworld and your name cursed so that you will never again be allowed to pass beyond the boundaries of Hell.”

  Tiny flames smoldered in the depths of the sp
irit’s eyes. “The master will not be pleased.”

  “Perhaps for now you should concern yourself with making certain I’m pleased,” Tearloch warned, turning to head for the entrance to the cavern.

  Gods. He needed air.

  Fresh air.

  “Yes ... for now,” whispered Rafael behind him.

  Chapter 11

  Ariyal stumbled backward in revulsion as the zombies began to literally drop like flies around him.

  Not that he objected to their stop, drop, and return-to-dead routine.

  A pile of rotting corpses was considerably better than a ravaging horde of rotting corpses. And more importantly, the sight of them assured him that Jaelyn had managed to overcome whoever was responsible for calling the abominations from their grave.

  Relief surged through him, along with a wry flare of humor.

  He didn’t know why he worried.

  Jaelyn was a female who could take care of herself. Hell, he’d bet good money that the powerful Hunter was in better shape than he was.

  Leaning against a tree, Ariyal glanced down at the numerous wounds that continued to seep blood. The zombies had been relentless in their single-minded devotion in ripping him to shreds and it had taken all his skill just to keep the damage to a minimum.

  Thankfully, none of the injuries were life threatening, but still they were sapping his energy. And worse, they hurt like a bitch.

  Cursing zombies and witches and every other minion of the Dark Lord who was probably lurking in the shadows, Ariyal lifted his head as the cool wash of power filled the air, watching as Jaelyn flowed toward him with a mesmerizing beauty.

  A slender, enticing female who was as gloriously lethal as she was beautiful.

  His entire body clenched in ... what?

  Recognition, he at last decided.

  There was simply no other word for it.

  But recognition of what?

  Desire? Need?

  Fate?

  The question went unanswered as she halted at his side, her hand reaching out to touch his bare chest before she was yanking it back as if she thought he might contaminate her.

  “How badly are you injured?” she asked, her voice cold.