Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1)

by Bec McMaster

  Sebastian winced and went down on his hands and knees. His hair lifted, almost as if with static, and when he looked up, the expression on his face was murderous. "I will not let you do this."

  "This is a sudden change in demeanor. I thought we had discussed what would happen if you ever went up against me again. What has brought about this change?" And then Morgana's eyes widened. "Ah. Of course. How did I miss that? Oh, Miss Sinclair, well played."

  "Leave Miss Sinclair out of this." Sebastian straightened.

  "I should have seen that coming." Morgana tsked under her breath. "I thought it odd that you knocked her over in the garden. You've always had a weakness for those pathetic, innocent little creatures. Your poor blind wife... Of course she'd appeal. I just didn't think you'd already formed an attachment."

  "Leave... her out of this." Sebastian's power crackled around him.

  The attack was instant.

  Sparks flared into being around his body, forming thin golden lines between them that suddenly tightened, and sank through his clothes, into his flesh. Sebastian screamed, his fingers curling into whitened claws. He raged against the invisible net, fine white pressure lines forming all over his skin.

  "Stop fighting it!" Eleanor screamed, recognizing the effects of a Bathingway hex. "It intensifies if you fight it!"

  A flash of gray eyes, and then Sebastian forced himself to relax. The pain would remain, but at least now he had a chance. Looking up, he flung everything he had at his mother.

  Morgana staggered back, a deft flick of her hands deflecting the pure wave of force away from her. Eleanor's back slammed against the wall, her ears ringing as her head hit the stone. For a moment, she blinked, and it felt like time had slipped away from her. Then she found herself on her hands and knees amongst the rubble that was all that remained of the wall, with Henri and Philippe sprawled beside her. Blood trickled from both men's ears, the force crushing their brains instantly. The only reason she was still alive was because Morgana's wards stood directly between them.

  Eleanor barely had time to grasp what had happened before horror filled her. There was a terrible silence in her head, almost a ringing, as if she'd been standing inside a bell when Sebastian's power had struck it.

  Expression. And not just on the base level of the spectrum, but a wash of power so intense that she knew nothing would be able to stand in its way. Not even Drake. The type of power could bring London to its knees, if channeled correctly.

  "Sebastian," she gasped, or thought she did. It didn't sound right. Don't. Please don't! Her mouth wasn't working properly, one side of her face felt like it was drooping, and her head was throbbing now. Throbbing like her brains wanted to spill out of her ears. Gods. What was happening to her?

  "Aisle stop oo." Sebastian's voice sounded so far away. So distant. So strange. "No matter whar-muss do."

  Eleanor tasted blood.

  Energy welled into a crescendo. It spiraled around the room, drawn from every living thing within the nearby vicinity. It radiated toward him in ripples that worked in reverse, flooding him with power. No one human should be able to do this. No one man could contain all of that power.

  Eleanor realized what he was going to do. "Stop!" she screamed, or tried to. Somehow her chains were broken, the iron links seared away halfway down and dripping slag onto the floor. Her left hand wouldn't work. Numbness tingled through it, and she fell onto her face as the left side of her body gave way. It was like watching her own actions from outside her body.

  Sebastian. Drake. Had to... stop this.

  And then someone grabbed her by the hair and plunged the Blade into Eleanor's back in a hiss of burning pain that lit all her nerves on fire.

  And all she could do was scream.

  CHAPTER 29

  P OWER EXPLODED out through the walls of the house, flattening the rose bushes someone had lovingly tended. Ianthe threw herself at Lucien, flinging her gauntleted fist up in front of them. Her wards invoked themselves a split second before a wave of force smashed into the pair of them, sending them cartwheeling across the manicured lawns.

  When she came to, she was breathing heavily into Lucien's coat with his arms curled around her. Her entire body ached, like some enormous hand had just reached out and swatted her. All along the street, porches tumbled from their frames and tiles slid from rooves. Startled heads popped out of door and windows to see what was going on.

  "Are you all right?" Lucien demanded. She could feel his concern along the bond between them.

  "Ouch." She winced in reply. "What on earth was that?"

  Lucien helped her to sit up. "Expression."

  Of the group, only Drake was on his feet, staggering with his hands outspread as he dispersed the ripples of pure power and grounded them back into the earth. The ground stopped shaking and silence fell, as if everything nearby had felt it. A squirrel shot past, fleeing for the undergrowth.

  Adrian Bishop helped Lady Eberhardt to her feet, and the woman looked spitting mad as she pulled her skirts down over her stockinged legs. The stone lion she'd brought with her butted his head against her.

  "This," said Lady Eberhardt, throwing Drake a concerned look, "this is not good. Who could draw so much power? If Morgana has that on her side, then she might be well-nigh undefeatable."

  If Lady Eberhardt sounded worried... Ianthe looked to Lucien.

  "It's Morgana's son," Lucien said, helping her to her feet. He nodded toward Drake. "It's my brother, this Sebastian."

  "Three brothers," Lady Eberhardt muttered. "Three relics. This isn't going to end well."

  Drake gasped, lowering his hands as the last of the sorcery melted away.

  "Brother?" Bishop asked, shooting Lucien a hard look.

  "Surprise. There are three of us." Lucien shrugged. "It's always the youngest of the family who throws the biggest tantrums. Or so I've heard." Then he paused. "Or are you the youngest? I never did quite work out where you fit in the family."

  "Bishop's the youngest," Lady Eberhardt said. "His mother helped console Drake following the divorce."

  Bishop ignored the pair of them. "That was not a tantrum." One of his Sicarii blades formed in his hands.

  "Oh, he can get louder if he wants," Lucien replied. "Nearly buried us beneath half of Highgrove Cemetery last night."

  "Stop it," Ianthe said, seeing the flash of pain on Drake's face. "And put that away," she told Bishop. "You are not killing your brother."

  Bishop and Lucien traded glances that seemed to echo each other. Despite the physical differences between them, the resemblance was almost uncanny in that instant.

  "How do you plan to stop him?" Bishop asked. With a flick of his fingers, the knife vanished into thin air.

  Ianthe crossed to Drake's side, seeing the worry in his eyes. "Can you deflect Sebastian's power? Can you stop him from tearing the city apart?"

  "Maybe," he said.

  "If you had help?"

  Drake considered it, then looked toward Lucien. "If someone offered up their well of power, I might be able to contain him, or disperse his sorcery if it flares again."

  "It's going to flare," Lady Eberhardt said. "I can feel it building again."

  "You're potentially the strongest here," Drake said, looking directly at Lucien.

  Ianthe held her breath.

  "And I can barely manage to tie my own shoelaces with sorcery at the moment," Lucien said bitterly. He looked down at his feet with a frown, then sighed and slowly stretched out his hand. "Take what you need. Use me as your wellspring."

  A flood of heat and pride filled her. The man she'd first encountered—the bitter, vengeful duke—was slowly vanishing, leaving behind a man who weighed his sense of duty against his feelings of hate and did the right thing. Ianthe's heart clenched in her chest and her lungs seized. This was a man she could both admire and respect.

  As if sensing it, Lucien looked toward her sharply.

  "Thank you," she mouthed.

  "I would not be careless wit
h such an offer," Drake said, crossing to take his son's hand. As their palms clasped, a shudder went through Lucien and through their bond; Ianthe felt something settle over him and take hold.

  "We have company," Lady Eberhardt called, turning to face the back garden. A barrage of rampaging imps spilled out of the greenery like a flock of howling monkeys. They were followed by a tall figure in a black velvet coat with a froth of white lace at his throat. Two other sorcerers made their presence known, settling in behind him.

  "Tremayne," Lady Eberhardt spat.

  "Eberhardt," Tremayne replied. His eyes narrowed as he settled his hands around the hilt of an ebony cane, but he was smiling. "Fancy seeing all of you here."

  "Told you it was a trap," Lucien murmured.

  But Ianthe wasn't so certain.

  "Well, it looks like someone's been dabbling in areas he shouldn't have been," Lady Eberhardt said, stepping forward. "I was fairly certain you couldn't so much as ignite a fart in a teakettle with your sorcery restricted, Tremayne. What did it cost you to overcome the Council's restrictions? Your soul?"

  "Oh, Agatha, I always thought you said I didn't have one." Tremayne traced a circle on the lawn with the tip of his cane, pouring power through it. "But let's just say... I have friends in high places these days."

  "Low places, Tremayne. Not high. And I wouldn't trust a demon as far as I could throw him. He'll eat you alive. Eventually."

  "You never did have the guts to reach for power."

  "I prefer good, decent common sense." Lady Eberhardt grunted and used her finger to chisel a line in the turf with a lance of pure fire. "I must admit that hearing rumors about the Relics Infernal and then finding you involved is rather disappointing. I grow weary of always being right about people."

  Ianthe took a few steps backward. Nobody wanted to be caught between the conflagration of whatever was about to be thrown in this vicinity. "Do you need help?" she called, eyeing the imps. Lady Eberhardt's lion was pacing in front of her, keeping them at bay, but they were starting to grow bolder.

  "I've got this," Lady Eberhardt called, pushing up the black chiffon of her sleeves and facing the horde of imps. "Bishop, you can stay right here, you can. Drake, perhaps you'd better go see to that raging storm that's about to erupt inside. I can feel all of my neck hairs rising again. Quite gives an old woman the chills."

  "Stay here with Lady Eberhardt," Lucien insisted.

  Ianthe frowned, catching at his sleeve. "I don't think that wise."

  Lucien clasped her cheek, pressing a swift kiss to her forehead. "I need to stay with my father." His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes intense. "And I cannot protect you, not with my attention split."

  "I'm not quite certain when it was that I needed protection," she replied tartly.

  "You're Louisa's mother," he replied. "You should take care of yourself for that reason alone, if not for the fact that you're also my Anchor."

  Anchor.

  Her heart twisted. He would not say anymore. She knew it. Clenching her pride tightly in hand, she nodded, then took hold of his lapels. "And you're her father. Be careful." And then she reached up on her tiptoes, before her courage failed, and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "You're also the man I love. Be careful of my heart, Lucien Devereaux. I've only just given it to you, and it's quite precious to me."

  His eyes were wide, startled, as though he couldn't get used to such confessions. "Ianthe."

  Biting her lip, Ianthe stepped back. A violent explosion rocked the garden as Bishop flung a wall of shadow toward Tremayne in retaliation for the explosion. "Go," she mouthed, then turned her attention back to the fight. It didn't matter if he didn't feel the same way. He had given her enough of herself back. She felt more certain of herself than she ever had.

  The lion roared as it leapt toward an imp, its marble teeth crunching into the creature's bronze throat and slamming it to the ground. Lady Eberhardt's hands were moving in eerie patterns, scarlet battle globes circling her as Tremayne flung a set of his own.

  Ianthe snatched power into her body, fairly humming with it. The gauntlet tightened around her wrist as she activated it, and she flung a punch of pure power from its metal knuckles toward Tremayne's blue battle globes. The force as they met rocked her back, her skirts streaming behind her in the wind. Blue lightning spewed over the garden, earthing itself in sizzling spots on the lawn.

  Lady Eberhardt turned black eyes directly upon Ianthe, as Lucien and Drake strode toward the front door, snatching at her sleeve. "You'd better watch your young lad's back, my dear. I did a reading this morning."

  "What did it say?" Ianthe demanded, flinging another wave of power toward a pair of imps. It knocked them into the roses, and one hissed at her, crouching low behind a shrub.

  "Staying behind's all very noble, but you're not the one in danger, my dear."

  "Lucien?"

  Lady Eberhardt's eyes flickered to Lucien, then back again. "Just watch his back. You need to be by his side. I'll keep an eye on this brother, and Drake can handle the last." Her voice softened for Ianthe's ears alone. "The brothers are the key. Three relics, three brothers, three sacrifices."

  "What the hell do you mean by that?"

  "I saw two brothers enter that building," Lady Eberhardt replied. "Only one of them comes out whole."

  "Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you say something?"

  "What's meant to be, is meant to be. One doesn't mess with fate, besides..."

  An enormous whoosh of fire burned over their wards as Bishop and Tremayne faced off.

  "Besides?" Ianthe called.

  Lady Eberhardt hesitated. "I think this needs to happen, if we're to have any chance at defeating Morgana."

  Ianthe tore her arm free, leaving Tremayne and his pet sorcerers to Lady Eberhardt and Bishop, whom Lady Eberhardt had been quite intent upon seeing remain behind. Maybe she'd seen more in her cup of tea leaves than she'd mentioned?

  "Lucien!" Ianthe called, slamming the front door open. The house was immaculate. A bunch of the most beautiful roses filled a vase on a table in the hall, and black and white tiles stretched out into the distance. There was no sign of Drake or Lucien.

  She could feel them however, that tiny golden itch in the back of her mind causing her to lift her head. Upstairs. He was upstairs. And so too was the source of the hurricane brewing on the edges of her mind.

  Ianthe put a hand on the rail and took the first step. A faint tremble ran through her, the walls shaking. The pressure began to make her ears ring.

  "Lucien! Drake!" She hurried up the stairs.

  No guards. That was odd. Not even a ward or a whisper of a broken one...

  Ianthe's heart gave a dull thud in her chest as Drake's words played through her memory again. Lucien, I think you are a gateway for the demon now... And what was Morgana trying to do through the Relics Infernal? Raise a demon... No. No, it couldn't be. Could it?

  But the thought played out in eerie determination in her head. Lucien and his brothers were meant to be sacrifices; Lady Eberhardt kept saying it. And somewhere within her lover was the path to the Shadow Dimensions and the demon within. Lord Rathbourne had been Morgana's ally, after all. Perhaps, by forcing Lucien to summon the demon last year, he'd been trying to create a link for the demon to follow. That was what he'd meant in his diary!

  If Morgana played her cards right, she wouldn't need all three relics. She would only need one. The Blade. And a human vessel for the demon to occupy.

  A sacrifice. Lady Eberhardt was right. Ianthe wasn't in any danger, but Lucien was.

  Ianthe's blood ran cold. "Lucien!" she screamed, grabbing a fistful of her skirts as she began to run.

  You need to get out of here, right now!

  * * *

  YOU NEED to get out of here, right now!

  Lucien swayed as the force of the thought hit him. Ianthe. Her psychic touch felt like silk and roses, brushing against his senses through their bond. It had been strengthening every day as they grew physic
ally and intimately more involved, but this almost knocked him off his feet.

  Ahead of him, a door splintered out into the hallway as a pulse of power lashed out through the walls, splintering plaster and cracking the cornice. He pushed her out of his mind. Can't. Rather busy at the moment.

  The connection between them softened until he could only sense her remotely, the same way he always did.

  The Prime absorbed the impact, grounding it with a delicacy Lucien could only admire. Drake hadn't bothered to draw on the temporary wellspring bond between them, using his own power in deft weaves to divert whatever was happening in that room. Lucien was an adept of the seventh Order, but he couldn't even compare to this. His father was the composer of an entire symphony, whilst he himself was but a single cellist.

  "Are you ready?" Drake demanded.

  Sweat dripped down Lucien's throat, but there was no pain in his head. Only a feeling of intensity, as if something was watching him—something that felt like a predator. He nodded, ignoring it.

  Together, they linked hands. Lucien opened himself psychically, and his father's presence swept into his mind, usurping his power.

  Instinct wanted to cast Drake out. It felt alien to surrender to someone else's will, and though he'd been taught how, during his apprenticeship, no sorcerer truly enjoyed being used as a wellspring.

  Drake let go of his hand, now that the mental link was forged, and stepped through the door. Lucien followed and found himself in the remains of a cell. Part of the wall was blown out, revealing a terrace and glasshouse.

  An elegant woman in red stood within the whirlwind, her raven-dark hair whipping around her throat and her skirts lashing behind her. Threads of shimmering sorcery laced the air in front of her, faintly malevolent, as she bore down upon a man in the center of the devastation, a man on his hands and knees, screaming in pain...

  "Morgana," Drake called.

  She looked up, an expression of malicious delight fading swiftly, as she noticed the Prime. Then her gaze slid past Drake, toward Lucien. And she smiled. It was an expression that turned his blood to ice, for she was truly pleased to see him there, and he couldn't think why.