by S A Archer
Spurred by the closeness of those disgusting tentacles of magic, Malcolm jammed an elbow back into the Changeling’s thigh as hard as he could. Then he shoved out his bound hands to hit Manannan in the center of his chest and knock him back.
Malcolm wouldn’t be able to teleport farther than he could see, but he could see the balcony outside. From there, he could get a good distance away.
Only, when he pressed to teleport, the slip didn’t come.
Manannan’s outstretched hand clutched at the air. And his will created a great hand of magic that gripped around Malcolm’s torso.
He struggled against it, but the magic slammed Malcolm down onto his back.
“Just couldn’t make this easy, could you?” Manannan bent over Malcolm. “Have they talked about leashing you, bloodhound? Let me educate you on what that means.”
Malcolm tried to shove away Manannan’s hands, but couldn’t stop him from plunging his fingers inside his chest. “No!” The fingers went inside his body, but didn’t tear the flesh. Instead it slipped between the threads of Malcolm’s being, the very magic that made up his body.
Malcolm had done this to others. He’d jammed his fingers into their threads and twisted. They would scream like it hurt like bloody hell, too. In a fight, it could stop a fey cold. But in the end, the threads weren’t really damaged or changed. It just hurt for a bit.
With the humans, though, pulling out all the threads of Sidhe magic inside them had killed them. They screamed a lot, too. Malcolm hadn’t given them any more thought than to notice it.
Now he screamed. He screamed like the fey had screamed. Screamed like the humans had.
Manannan didn’t snap the threads he caught. Didn’t rip them out.
Instead he looped them.
With fast, clever fingers he wove knots and patterns into the threads down the center line of Malcolm’s body from the top of his head to his groin.
It didn’t matter that Malcolm writhed. It didn’t matter that his fingernails dug into Manannan’s forearms. And it sure didn’t matter that he screamed.
Manannan even looped great tangles around the heart of Malcolm’s magic.
So long… It lasted so long…
Maybe only twenty minutes, but it felt like twenty years. Every tug brought a new agony. Every twist a new torment.
Malcolm stopped fighting somewhere along the way, his arms poised as if to grab, but uselessly trembling instead. Each breath whimpered in pain and realization of horrors.
Never… Never…
He’d never do this to anyone ever again.
The violation tore at the most essential core of his being.
“Stop!” Malcolm breathed, weak from the agony. “Stop this!”
“There is no mercy for bloodhounds. Hadn’t you heard?” Manannan didn’t even slow down. Instead he covered Malcolm’s eyes. “They don’t want you to see their secrets. But they can’t blind you to them, can they? You still see the truth of their magic.” Malcolm could see magic through his eyelids, but he couldn’t see Manannan at all, just as he couldn’t see any magic within himself. Instead, the silhouette of him loomed like a shadow against the magic behind him.
“I can’t see you,” Malcolm confessed.
“I am the void. All magic obeys my command.”
That didn’t even make sense. “What?”
“I am the god of magic. No one will deny my destiny.” He uncovered Malcolm’s eyes and where there had been the silhouette, now he saw the Seelie again. Insanity flickered within his eyes. Finally, he withdrew his fingers from the threads within Malcolm. He gripped his shirt and lifted him closer to his face. “Not even you.”
Malcolm shivered with the lingering pain firing along every nerve. “You’re a bloody nutter.”
Manannan laughed, and then tossed Malcolm back down. “Take him away.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Lugh bent to peer through the six-inch square window. His shoulder braced against the door as he considered the boy before him. This bloodhound who Donovan gathered under his wing and valued like a son.
The young man found no ease in the comforts of the suite provided for him. Like a feral madman, he crouched in the corner, facing the juncture of the walls. His fingers trembled with effort, straining to dig at his chest, but unable to force his hands closer than four inches from his body. Howls and growls of frustration slipped past the thickness of the oak door. In his torment, Malcolm banged the side of his head into the wall, cracking the plaster.
As Lugh observed the Unseelie, he became acutely aware of London watching him. She worried his charm between her fingers. As she witnessed the violation of Malcolm’s magic begin, Lugh had come up behind her in the crowd edging Manannan’s throne room. The light Touch he’d given her with a brush to her hand tempered her urge to intervene. Wait, was the only reassurance and instruction he’d given her. Now that they were alone in the depths of the mansion, Lugh considered all that London revealed about Manannan and his wizards. In his resonant whisper, he said, “No one disturbs us.”
London turned and leaned her back against the wall beside the door. Her thumbs hooked into the front pockets of her jeans, next to the handgun holstered at her hip.
Lugh tightened his fingers around the roll of parchment in his grip. Silently, he passed inside and secured the door behind him.
None of this the young man appeared to notice. Again, he slammed his head to the left, bashing it against the wall. The gasping, gnashing, anguished cries whispered from him. His curled fingertips twitched with effort against the unseen magic binding him.
So very Unseelie, struggling to the very end and beyond it. Madness claimed so many bloodhounds. Malcolm plummeted over that cliff, diving towards feral.
But not there yet.
Talented with magic though perceivers like Manannan and Malcolm were, there were subtleties that even they missed. Like the Touch, and all of its nuances.
“I… can’t…” Malcolm whimpered. “I… can’t…” Every muscle in his thin body trembled with the strain.
Lugh bent to one knee behind the young Unseelie. Drawing on his connection to the fey realm, Lugh gathered the essence that was Donovan. He filled his heart of magic with as much of the Unseelie’s signature as he could summon. Reaching out, Lugh cupped his hand across the bare skin at the back of Malcolm’s neck. The Touch which flowed forth from Lugh wasn’t purely his own, but the mingling of his power with the Unseelie Creator’s.
***
Malcolm had managed to untie the bandanna binding his wrists using his teeth. He couldn’t care less that his scarred wrists showed. Not now.
Crawling away hadn’t helped to escape from himself, but he’d done it anyway. Crawled as far as he could until the corner stopped him.
His hands trembled with effort and horror. The Seelie had done things to him. Terrible, terrible things.
Malcolm couldn’t see them, but he could feel them. Feel the wrongness within himself. Bindings. Knots upon knots. Twisting turns.
Only, his fingers couldn’t reach them.
That Seelie had made it so. He’d done that, too.
Malcolm couldn’t get his fingers to come close enough to his chest to catch even one loop. Even bracing his arms against the walls and pressing into them, he couldn’t push past the enchantment.
Fury and frustration mingled in his whimpering growls.
Manannan’s voice laughed inside his thoughts. Broken whispers, like snatches of conversation, replayed in his mind. Taliesin… Leashed… No mercy for bloodhounds…
Malcolm slammed his head again, jarring loose the echoes, silencing them, if only for a moment.
He had to… Had to reach inside… Had to undo the knots…
It was going to hurt like hell
.
“I… can’t… reach…” Malcolm gasped, then clenched his teeth and growled with another futile attempt.
The heat of a hand cupped around the back of his neck, stilling him with the surprise of it.
The flow of the Touch soothed through him, washing away the consuming torment like it had been nothing but a dream.
Malcolm slumped into the corner, panting as his tension drained away from him. Then, with shivering recognition, he turned. His eyes widened with sudden tears. “Donovan?”
“I am with you,” Donovan’s voice spoke both aloud and through the Touch.
Malcolm blinked away the tears, letting them dribble down his face so he could see.
Donovan knelt beside him, hand to the back of his neck, gripping him like he’d often done. His dark eyes seemed to see right into Malcolm, knowing without being told, all of his pain. His black hair reflected blue in the light. The expression was classic Donovan, serious but attentive. Commanding, yet compassionate.
“I thought you were gone!” Malcolm’s voice broke around the words as he flung his arms around Donovan’s neck. He buried his face to his shoulder, catching the familiar earthy scent of the Unseelie who’d saved him in so many ways.
“I am always with you.” Donovan embraced him back and let Malcolm cling to him as long as he needed.
Malcolm leaned to brace his back against the corner and scrubbed at his streaked face with his fingers. “I’m in trouble. That bloodhound messed up my magic.” He dug at the space before his body again. “I can’t reach it.”
“Manannan leashed your magic, but he didn’t take it from you.” Donovan’s calm voice reassured him as he kept one hand in contact with Malcolm’s neck, so his Touch flowed with continuous warmth. His other hand brushed away Malcolm’s. “There is a trick to the magicraft of a leash that prevents you from grasping it. Let me free you.”
Malcolm braced himself for the pain, but it didn’t come. Donovan passed his hand slowly over the centerline of Malcolm’s body. Every little bit, he flicked his thumb and forefinger like he unfastened unseen buttons. With each flick, the bindings wrapping Malcolm inside their torment released, until they were all gone.
He slumped down onto his bum and covered his face with his hands. “I won’t do that to anyone. Not ever. Not if I can help it.” He swore it within himself, where the horror of the leash lived in his memory. Right next to the other recent horrors of the humans he’d disenchanted and the child he’d…
Malcolm couldn’t even speak of it in his own mind.
The child’s eyes still haunted him. Looking at him now. All big and hurting.
“Malcolm.” Donovan’s voice jerked him back out of his dark remembering. His hand massaged the back of Malcolm’s neck so the Touch flowed with soothing magic, calming away the upset and refocusing him on the present. Then he rolled out the map he carried. “Do you see the enchantment woven here?”
Malcolm smoothed down the paper, examining it carefully. The map glowed with the magic. Lines of light rose up from the ground to feed into it. “Yes. There are threads going in and out of it, connecting to the ley lines.”
“Listen to me carefully, Malcolm.” Donovan spoke in a measured, careful tone that Malcolm knew meant business. “You must alter the magic such that it appears as if all of the portals have closed, except for the one on the Isle of Fey. Make the ley lines appear to carry nothing but the residual and fading magic from the other realms.” He paused, as if letting that part sink in, then added, “It must not appear to Manannan that you tampered with the enchantment. Leave no evidence that you could sense.”
“Right. I can do that. Easy.” Malcolm turned the map over to get at the knotwork on the back side. The weaving was elegant, sure, but so much so that tiny changes to the pattern wouldn’t be easy to spot. Behind each of the main lines Malcolm looped an extra knot and tightened it down, choking off the light passing through it like kinking a water hose. When he’d finished, Malcolm flipped the map back over to check his work. Pretty much, it looked exactly as Donovan wanted it to. The ley lines flickered with the decaying magic from the inactive portals. Only the clear blue power of the fey realm flowed unfettered into the earth realm.
“Have you finished?” Donovan glided his fingers over the altered map. “And there is no hint of tampering?”
“None.” Malcolm grinned.
Donovan gripped Malcolm’s neck a bit tighter in rough male-bonding fashion. “Good.” With one hand, Donovan rolled up the map. With his hand still Touching Malcolm’s flesh; he drew him to stand up with him. “I have a mission for you. No one will know that you aren’t still leashed, as long as Manannan doesn’t look at you. Let them keep thinking that you are. They plan to return you to the wizard’s stronghold tonight. I have compelled London, so you can trust her. When she gives you the signal,” Donovan paused, as if knowing Malcolm hung on every word, “burn the wizards and their stronghold to the ground.”
Malcolm breathed in Donovan’s Touch, feeling the command and conviction coloring it. “For you.”
“For the fey,” Donovan replied, then gave him an encouraging slap on the back before he left. It didn’t matter that he no longer Touched Malcolm. The magic of his Touch still lingered.
***
London couldn’t hear the conversation inside the suite, but the few times she sneaked a peek through the window, the two men appeared in close conversation. She couldn’t believe that Malcolm, as wild and Unseelie as he was, allowed Lugh to casually rest a hand upon him as they talked. The bloodhound gazed up at Lugh almost with reverence. Like he hung on every word.
When Lugh finally opened the door, London glanced back inside the suite at Malcolm. He stood there so calm she could hardly believe he was the same young man that acted so insane moments ago. She glanced up at Lugh, one questioning eyebrow raised. “You actually got him to listen to you?”
Lugh closed the door quietly, then smirked at her. “You doubted my Seelie abilities?”
“To manipulate?” She said it like a tease, although one laced with truth.
Lugh’s smile faltered and his eyes narrowed. “To influence.” He slipped his forefinger into her palm and Touched her. Through the magic, he spoke silently into her thoughts. End the wizards. Protect the Sidhe. Wait for my signal. Lugh’s Touch slipped from her flesh as he started back to the throne room, carrying Manannan’s map.
Chapter Forty-Six
Each of Lugh’s measured strides carried the weight of his conviction as he stormed into Manannan’s throne room. Between the time he crossed the threshold until he reached the table beneath the dais where Manannan and Rhiannon lounged, all eyes fixed on him. The wizards and Changelings, the foul courtiers of Manannan’s new kingdom, silenced with anticipation. Manannan himself only drew up straighter with interest. “What news have you, my Champion?”
Lugh slapped down the rolled parchment of the map. “It is done.”
That brought a light of excitement to the king’s handsome features. “Even the dragon realm?” He lowered himself from the dais to examine the map for himself. “Indeed, you have! But how?”
Rhiannon swayed her hips with feminine grace as she drew up next to Lugh. She collected a clear stemmed fluted glass and handed it to Lugh as she slipped her luscious body up against his. “We should celebrate.”
His arm circled her and tucked her close against him with possessiveness. He accepted the glass and tossed back the clear enchantment in a single swallow like a man in need of a strong drink. This wasn’t the dark enchantment, but it wasn’t without its effects. But they wouldn’t linger any longer than the alcohol, and wouldn’t control him, as others might assume. The connection to the new realm ensured that. Despite what anyone might believe, Lugh knew himself in full control of his own faculties.
What he did, all of it, w
as by his own conviction.
Lugh looked Manannan dead in the face and lied without the slightest hint of it. “It was as you said. The dragon Champion trusted me. Right up until the lance tore open his heart.” Lying to Manannan didn’t matter. Lugh had done it before and would do it again. Within his heart he made no Seelie attempt to justify his actions. The shadow of his beast that was now a part of him didn’t have any desire to bother with that self-delusion. He’d see Manannan in the center of the new realm, just as he vowed, and he hadn’t excessively compromised the fey to do it. What more elegant solution need he find? “Crushing the portal to the dragon realm wasn’t difficult with him out of the way.”
Manannan laughed, then clapped Lugh on the back. “Come and take your ease with us tonight then.” The king spoke louder, so that his minions could hear. “Tomorrow morning we take the Isle of Fey and conquer the new realm! Make ready!”
Activity sparked into life around the fringes of the room as the wizards and Changelings rushed to their duties. Lugh ignored them, depositing his glass on the table and turning his attention to the woman in his arms. Her supple form molded to his hard chest as he drew her tighter against him. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, although it was a promise more than an agreement with his king’s command. Rhia’s mouth softened under his kiss.
