He couldn’t die. No, not if she were going to have his children. He had to help. He’d only just told her he loved her. This couldn’t be the end.
The elements, always so overwhelming, roiled under her skin. Instead of pushing them out to the atmosphere, Laurie poured them all into the bond she had with Mikhail. The energy flowed outward, dragging her with it. She gave him everything she had.
Agony from the magic and pressure around him from the binding spell made her gasp. The energy of the elements filled him; he was the glass, and it wasn’t big enough.
She must’ve screamed. The last thing she saw were Nicki and Rachel standing over her and the feeling of profound emptiness.
Her vision darkened, and there was nothing.
Mikhail lay unmoving. Was he dead?
Xander didn’t focus on him, too worried about the bastard in front of him. He wouldn’t glance at his father.
“See? Now there is a Board position open for you,” Leonid said, his voice brisk as he addressed Xander.
He didn’t seem to notice Xander’s lack of enthusiasm. Xander had wanted to kill Cazacul, but the Dark lord was not near the monster the Chairman was.
“I’m a man who likes to get things done,” Leonid continued. “Now I don’t have to worry about Petrov and his bond, or Voda and his morals. It’s time we take back our power, Xander. Don’t you agree?” He wanted Xander to say yes, how amusing.
Out of the corner of Xander’s eye, the Dark lord gave him an imperceptible nod. Xander didn’t question it.
“I don’t agree you sick bastard,” Xander said in his firm business voice. Then, like cracking open an egg, he released the spell he’d formed.
Rousseau leaped to intercept, but it hit the Chairman square in the torso, throwing him back into the wall, breaking into the drywall with a loud crunch.
“I quit,” Xander spat as the binding spell fell from him like cellophane noodles, coiling on the floor and then dissolving into the carpet. That’s going to leave a stain.
Quitting wasn’t really an option, but it felt fabulous to say it.
The Chairman’s security, positioned at the door, poured in with guns raised. They’d be fools to shoot in here, even as Rousseau lobbed a spell at him.
The savage, violent side of him reared to life. Xander met the rush of combatants with a fierce joy. He’d exact retribution for all those murdered by this bastard.
The room went black, even as a rush of wind roared through the room. The rumble of thunder vibrated the floor beneath him. Xander realized with relief the power moving the elements came from Mikhail, his energy somehow restored. A sliver of satisfaction flickered through Xander’s consciousness, because this gave them better odds, even if the outcome was still in question.
“I’ve had enough of rude guests. Get out, Leonid,” Mikhail shouted. “Cazacul, turn on the lights.”
The room lightened to reveal monsters grappling with Mages, ignoring him.
“No one but me kills my brother,” Cazacul bellowed, and chaos reigned.
Debris littered the air from the ferocious wind ripping through the room. The windows exploded outward. Xander slipped onto one knee as a figure flew over him; another hit him square in the chest. The primal part of him surfaced. As he embraced the fierce, visceral side of himself, he understood blood, pain, and darkness. He didn’t think twice when his thumbs gauged into the other man’s eyes; there wasn’t time for niceties. It didn’t sicken him to feel the slick wetness or hear the scream.
He had to get to Mina.
A body hurtled through the open window, and something sharp ripped along his side. He twisted in time to see Rousseau’s Cheshire smile. Bastard. The burning words of a spell formed in his mouth. Something heavy slammed into his ribs—a part of a chair. He felt the crack of ribs and clamped his teeth shut, trying to keep the spell contained. The non-descript man disappeared. Damn it.
The heavy forms of Cazacul and the Chairman wrestled with each other. The first spell Xander uttered should’ve incapacitated Leonid, but whatever arcane horror he’d imbibed in made him resilient to the magic Xander used.
Mikhail was keeping some of the security Mages at bay using fire and water. The elements twisted around the jack-booted thugs, some drowning where they stood, others being burned alive, proving a few of them hadn’t learned their protective incantations. Fools.
“Traitors aren’t tolerated,” hissed Rousseau’s sibilant voice next to Xander’s ear.
This time it wasn’t magic ripping along his forearm, but iron. He’d managed to jerk his arm forward in time to protect his abdomen. The knife had been aimed for Xander’s gut, but the spell he’d prepared never left his mouth because the security Mage’s head exploded in front of him. Bits of thick red clumps covered Xander as Rousseau’s colorless body slid to the floor at his feet, blending into the floor even in death. He jerked his head to see his father next to him.
“Go.” Stieg’s voice was low and strained as he roughly shoved Xander toward the door. Blood stained his face.
When two long-limbed Darks leapt for his father, instinct had him release the spell he still held, pushing back the clawed arms, the magic lacerating their bodies.
“There’s not much time. Go.” His father’s voice wavered as he repeated the command.
With one long, last look at the man who’d raised and betrayed him, Xander couldn’t help the fissure of unease, a knowing which made him pause. With a nod to Stieg, he stepped toward a small space momentarily cleared from fighting. There must’ve been something in his eyes, because his father’s expression relaxed a fraction. Something akin to relief flitted across his face.
Not bothering to find out, Xander called up a transportation spell. The last thing he saw was his father picking up Rousseau’s discarded knife before the magic consumed him and whisked him away.
He prayed he wasn’t too late.
It was all a little too late.
Stieg knew this as he fingered the knife, pouring into the metal spells he didn’t think Leonid was aware he knew. He emptied what was left of any ability he had into the object as he maneuvered his way toward the struggling juggernauts of the Dark and Mage world. He kept only one spell back, and it lay heavily on his tongue.
A growl to his left had him leaping backward. The sharp sting of something cleaving into his side made his leg numb, but he didn’t pause, throwing a piece from the broken chair at the thing lunging toward him. Bits of glass and wood buffeted him from the wind.
He couldn’t stop now.
Using the last bit of energy he possessed, Stieg murmured a misdirection spell around the heavier incantation he saved. This pushed back against the Dark things rushing toward him. The Elementals were more challenging, but his goal was the Chairman.
Apologies were empty words. He’d allowed his eldest son, Willem, to die so Xander, the stronger of the two boys, would live. He’d told himself it was for the betterment of the Mage race. The truth was more shallow and horrifying—power. His own greed blinded him to the horrors his own race perpetuated, no, on what he did. There was no pass on these actions.
Forgiveness would have to come in blood.
He couldn’t undo what he’d done, but he could make sure Xander didn’t follow in his footsteps. Mina, the one he’d thought a dangerous distraction, was the moral center for his son. She was the reason Xander wasn’t a murderous sociopath like the Chairman.
The opening, when it came, was sudden. Leonid’s broad back was before him as he grasped Cazacul in a headlock. Twisted spells rolled out of the Chairman’s mouth, making Stieg’s skin crawl. Desperation and adrenaline drove him to grab the other Mage’s neck and slammed the knife into his back, the metal ripping through the skin wards.
Leonid hadn’t expected betrayal. Not from an old friend using a blade. Stieg knew this as the body he clutched stiffened, giving a gurgled gasp of surprise as the sharp edge cut through bone and flesh like butter, severing the spinal cord, tearing through lungs. The
magic he’d infused the knife with worsened the damage, making it impossible for organs or bones to regenerate or heal, and death for this large man was painful and sudden. His body sagged and fell onto him. Weakened, Stieg found himself trapped under the Chairman’s considerable weight. He was forced to lay there as thick, hot blood and other vial secretions poured over him.
“No,” Stefan Cazacul growled, the sound so low it vibrated through the room. He staggered as his brother collapsed. The room fell to abrupt silence as Mage, Dark, and Elemental stopped. It was as if an invisible switch had been thrown, immobilizing everyone.
“You didn’t want his blood on your hands,” Stieg gasped through what was left of his energy. The one weakness Stefan had was the same Mikhail held—an abiding connection to family. If he’d killed his brother, the guilt would consume and further corrupt the Dark leader. Stieg should know. He killed his own son.
“That wasn’t your call, Mage,” Stefan snarled as jerked the body off of him.
There wasn’t any relief of pressure; it only increased in his chest. Vision graying, Stieg wondered about his wife, Marika. He had no doubt that, no matter how angry Xander was, he’d take care of her. It was all he wanted.
“You don’t get to die yet.”
Too late.
Stieg uttered the last spell he’d kept in reserve.
He executed himself.
Knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, Mina sat in the brightly lit cell. There was no shadow in the white lights set into the ceiling and wall. The magic of the wards made her skin tingle with the power behind them.
No Shadows. No magic.
It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything left of her.
Inside her lay pieces, like a glass thermos when dropped; the inward part would shatter while the outside remained whole. Her body was here, but nothing else was. Broken. Color, images, words rolled through her and out, unable to stay. She had nothing to catch them with.
Grief was a weight bowing her shoulders, forcing her head to her knees, but no matter how her eyes ached or her throat throbbed, she couldn’t cry.
Xander didn’t choose her.
How she wished she could scrub the memory of his skin, his hands on hers, his mouth, his tongue. Erase the sensations still echoing inside, driving the shards of pain deeper, harder, and fracturing her heart.
She thought he loved her. Even the concept of it made her moan. How she wished she could turn off her emotions, give them away, anything. Her fingers dug into her arms, sharp nails biting into her skin, bringing needle-sharp tingles of pain. This she understood. This she knew.
Elspeth hurt, the betrayal of the only mother she knew.
This wasn’t hurt; it was the gutting of herself. Now she knew why death was an option. The relief from this sort of agony was a temptation.
She loved him.
It was as if she were lost and her lodestone, her morning star, faded from the heavens, leaving only darkness of the soul.
Cold. Ice traveled her veins, nerve endings, enveloping her in its embrace, but it didn’t take away the ache.
She waited. She hoped.
No one came.
Truth wasn’t what she’d wanted, after all. What she wanted were lies. She wanted the love of a man who couldn’t be with her because he was afraid to go against what was expected of him by a people who didn’t understand him. There was no one for her. She was alone.
It was the ache of the unyielding rock at her back and bottom pushing her to stand up. Mina wanted the pain, but after a while, she needed to move. She called up a spell, only to have the wards react violently, pushing her to the floor, lancing her with invisible jabs of power.
She didn’t even whimper.
The smooth stone floor under her cheek leached the warmth from her as she stared sightlessly over her hands, looking at the cell door. Freedom was two footsteps away, and she was unable to do anything about it.
Her eyes zeroes in on the leather on her right wrist, clarifying every scratch and nick on the supple wristband.
The lock-pick kit Lev gave her so long ago.
Forcing her body to sit, she pulled out some of those instruments. She could hear his rich voice telling her that there were times when magic couldn’t help, but ingenuity and tenacity would. Could it be this easy?
She moved toward the door, staring at the lock. It wasn’t the modern type with thumbprints or swipes, but an old-fashioned one.
Did she want to do this? Was she ready to die? To finally pay for her stupidity? She knew the Chairman was going to kill her. But was she going to let him?
No. Not yet.
No one was here to save her, but she’d save herself. In the end, that’s all anyone can do.
Carefully she inserted the slim rod, maneuvering the tools to try to catch the lock mechanism. It didn’t work right away, but all she had was time. At least until the Chairman came.
She heard the distinctive click, snick. The tumbler turned, and the door unlocked. A thud outside made her pause. Squaring her shoulders, Mina lifted her chin.
She deserved to live. She deserved someone who loved her.
There may be enemies out there, but there were also shadows, and she’d escape. Her father trained her well, and her brother gave her freedom.
But her heart still hurt, like some useless piece of rock. Time, her brother told her once, will soften the edge. Calev’s death did this. Her heartache would fade in time.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door, the door to a new life.
A torn and bleeding Xander leaned on the doorjamb. One eye swollen shut, a gash in his forehead, shirt torn, his knuckles bruised.
Mina’s eyes blinked. She couldn’t see him because the tears she couldn’t shed poured out of her like a sieve. Her body moved before she was conscious of it, and he wrapped his arms around her so tight she couldn’t breathe.
He whispered in ear, his own salty tears mingling with hers. It was promise and a vow. “I will never leave you.”
Epilogue
“YES, YOU HAVE TO WEAR THE BLINDFOLD.” Xander kept his voice firm, trying to hide the twitch of his lips.
Mina smiled impishly up at him, her large eyes sparkling with joy. She’d replaced her piercings, hiding the scars, and he found he liked them.
“Only if I can do the same to you.”
“Later, maybe,” he hedged, trying to suppress the surge of lust coming with it. “Come now.” With a deft movement, he spun her around and placed the red bandanna across her eyes, tying it at the back of her head and then making sure she couldn’t peek. “Hold my hand.”
She giggled, a sound light and carefree.
As long as he breathed, she wouldn’t cry again because of him. The memory of her wan, heartbroken face when he’d found her in the cell remained stamped permanently in his brain. Never again.
She allowed him to lead her to the room in the house Mikhail had given them, not far from his residence. They’d been allowed carte blanche on decorating, which they’d done in abandon. Using rich colors and murals, they’d created a place of warmth and creativity. If it wasn’t painted, braided, or made, it was because it would take too much time and resources to do so.
Xander kept one room for last—his personal project and gift for Mina. It had frustrated her to be denied entrance as he worked on it, but he wanted to make this room special. He’d even set up a series of tricky wards to prevent her sneaking ways.
It worked. She hadn’t appreciated the loud clanging bells, but it kept her out.
“Can you give me a hint?”
“That would be cheating,” he told her, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. He opened the door, shutting it behind them. He tugged her to the center of the room.
He made sure he stood in front of her. He wanted to see her face when she opened her eyes.
“Close your eyes so I can remove the blindfold.”
He deliberately took his time undoing the knot at the back, pre
ssing her against him. Her hands slid along his sides. Perhaps they could stay this way for a while…He shook himself mentally. First things first.
“Eyes shut?”
“Yes, Xander. You’re driving me crazy,” she said, exasperated.
“Perfect.” He removed the blindfold and stepped back. “Okay. You can look now.”
Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open as she took in the sight before her. At her first motion, the flock of paper cranes he’d painstakingly folded of varying colors, from tiny to the size of his hand, flittered around her. He’d filled the room with them.
“Oh, Xander…” she whispered, clapping her hands. The origami birds scattered, revealing the room. There were floor to ceiling windows draped with lilac gauze. One was a set of French doors leading out to a covered and screened-in terrace. The walls he painted in varying shades of purple, from light to dark. He’d deliberately left the walls bare.
“The walls are yours to decorate.”
He’d found a futon he’d covered in purple and some bookshelves. She gazed around at the room. Instead of a door on the closet, there was a hanging braided curtain he’d done himself of more purple. He’d been afraid it was too much, but the effect was light and airy.
Mina’s mouth hung open, and she continued to stare, but her eyes always returned to the paper birds.
He grabbed her hand. “Come. One last thing.”
She didn’t resist him when he brought her out onto the terrace. Here he’d set up all of her art supplies. An easel with a large, blank canvas waited for her in the right corner. A tall table with paint and brushes was laid out neatly. In the left corner was a place for her to paint smaller objects, with a light. There was even a place for her to thread beads. He’d installed a sink and cabinets along one wall. He hadn’t put in glass because she liked feeling the air, or so she told him. She could use a space heater in the winter. Or maybe he’d open a hole in the center of the terrace and make her an open fire place.
Illumination Page 31
