by Ella M. Lee
“I don’t know why you’re wasting all this time on convincing,” I said. “All you have to do is say, ‘Ari, I’m going to soul bond you’ and I wouldn’t be able to say no. What am I going to do? Try to open the front door and let your magic lock melt my face off?”
“Soul bonds are mutual,” he said. “The more mutual, the better. The more aligned we are, the easier and stronger it will be. That’s another reason it’s often done between mates.”
“Won’t these vampires be able to, I don’t know, sense a demon soul bond on me?”
“No,” he said. “Vampires don’t know much about demon magic, especially the kind that is personal and intimate. You’ll just seem like a normal human to them, as long as you keep my powers hidden under the surface, out of sight.”
“Have you ever done this before?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I’ve read about it, though. I know what to expect.”
“Will you tell me what to expect?” I asked.
“The soul bond is…like building a connection, a bridge between us,” he said, the words slow and considered. “Like a channel that flows between us, joining us. You will feel my emotions, and I will feel yours. You will have access to my knowledge, and I will have access to yours. You will have access to my power, although I don’t get anything in return since you are human. We will be aligned, attuned to one another. It isn’t something easily described. If you are hurt, I will hurt. If you are happy, I will be happy. If you cannot find a solution to something, I can. It is support. This sort of bond, it lifts you up, it strengthens you.”
“If you were allowed to, could you walk into Shaw’s estate and take the dagger?” I asked.
Ren’s eyes flickered with shadows. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders and subtle power ran through him. “I would need a minute. Just a single minute to kill every vampire in the house, find the dagger, and burn the whole thing to the ground on my way out.” He spit the words out, rough and determined, and I believed every word.
“What would happen if you did?” I asked.
“The magic would take its toll on me and my entire family, as punishment for breaking the truce. And then the vampires could make war on my kind. There would be devastation on all sides.”
“But you’re confident I can go in there instead?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “No matter how soul bonded we are, you are not a demon, nor are you a member of my family. The magic doesn’t care about the rest of it. Do you think I would do this with anything less than complete confidence? I’m the one who will pay a price, not you.”
“Can I go in and kill every vampire there?” I asked. “With your power?”
“No,” he said. “You will not have my full strength, nor will you have full, perfect access to my magic or knowledge. My power can help keep you alive and give you an edge, but you’re still a human, and they are still vampires. One-on-one with a weak vampire? You could handle yourself. Against several members of the royal family? Not likely.”
The disappointment that swept through me must’ve been apparent on my face, because the next thing he said was, “You want to kill vampires?”
“Vampires are awful,” I said, because I didn’t want to answer the question and reveal how hurt I really was.
Yes, I wanted to kill vampires. What human wouldn’t want that?
I wanted to wipe them off the Earth so that they could never hurt me or anyone else again. If anything in the world seemed like a worthwhile goal, that did. Ren studied me as though he could read my mind, and I was relieved to see his small smile because it told me he agreed.
Chapter 21
Ren was silent for a minute, but finally he said, “You could make it part of the trade, you know. Part of the contract of the conditional bond. You could ask me to kill vampires for you. Not royals, but others.”
I didn’t speak. His words sent a thrill through me. I did very much want to kill vampires, to watch them suffer. Watching him break Jenna’s arm had been frightening but also satisfying. To see fear from a vampire, to see one beg…
Like I’d been afraid, like I’d begged—so many times.
“Would you like me to hunt down and kill Franklin for you?” Ren asked.
Yes, the voice within me cried. Revenge. Closure.
“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” I said.
“What if I wanted to? For what he did to you?”
Those words—their sincerity, their protectiveness—broke me. Ren hated vampires like I did. Maybe not quite as much, but enough. Would it be so bad if we could do this as a team? If I could steal from them and maybe hurt them and then get out of it at the end?
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do this for you. If you’re going to free me afterward, I’ll find your dagger.”
Ren’s expression cleared, his eyes focusing on me, as intense as fresh-cut grass. He sat up, eager, his hands braced on his knees. “Excellent.”
“So…how… What now?” I asked.
“The conditional bond is fast and easy, especially with the simplicity of these requirements,” he said. “We can do that first. The soul bond is a longer process, and I’ll need to walk you through it.” He stood and beckoned for me to follow. “Take a seat.” He pointed to the kitchen island.
He gathered a black box from the bookshelves on the far wall. He also added two jars of powdered ingredients and brought them all to the island.
When he opened the box, it contained sheets of what looked like paper. They were a dusty, faded green color, rough, like they were made from tree pulp.
He handed me one of them, along with a charcoal pencil.
“You need to write your conditions of release on this, the things you want me to do for you in order to consider your requirements completed,” he said. “It can be multiple requests, but they should each be specific and discreet and possible, and they should represent the whole of your desires. I will do the same on another sheet. These represent our promise and our trade.”
“And then we each have to fulfill them?”
“Yes, or the magic takes its toll,” Ren said. “Depending on the degree of the unfulfillment or breach, it might cause pain, or injury, or death.”
“What happens if one of us can’t fulfill the requirements? We die?”
“Either person in a conditional bond can choose to absolve the other party of their requirements. You simply need to state that the bond is fulfilled, and the magic will accept that. There are cases where this might be necessary, or where the parties wish to change the requirements, so it’s perfectly acceptable.” Ren paused. “You’ll be able to feel the conditional bond. You’ll know if you get too close to breaking a requirement. It will warn you. And you’ll know when it’s completed and you’re free of it.”
“You’ve done this before?” I asked.
“Many, many times. I have several of them in place right now, for long-standing issues unrelated to my task here. It is my kind’s most basic trading style.”
I studied the blank page, not feeling very reassured despite Ren’s words. I was in way over my head, dealing with demon magic I hadn’t known existed a day ago, but I didn’t have another choice. I just needed to trek through this as best I could.
“Is this going to be one of those things where I write something, and you can interpret it any way you want in order to get out of the bargain? How many loopholes do I have to close? All of them?” I asked.
“I suppose you could write a novel of restrictions if you want,” he said, “but as long as the request is direct, it should cover any loopholes automatically. I’d advise sticking to firm statements like, ‘Ren will…’ You should also avoid putting in time limits. That will make the bond easier to handle.”
“Ren isn’t your real name. Does that matter?”
“No,” he said. “We will be sealing this bond with blood. That is what the magic will be keyed to.”
I wished I had time to think, to feel him out some more, but this was probabl
y as good as it was going to get.
I considered my words, writing each statement carefully, crafting it so that it sounded firm to me.
Ren will no longer own Ari.
Ren will free Ari from any debts or obligations to him.
Ren will not require Ari to stay near him.
Ren will not require Ari to listen to him.
Ren will provide Ari with knowledge and power to help her find the dagger and stay alive until he frees her.
Ren will not deliberately hurt Ari or kill Ari before he frees her.
I stared at the paper for several minutes while Ren fiddled with his powders and bowls and wrote his own conditions. Finally, I pushed the paper toward Ren. He studied it.
“These should all work,” he assured me.
In return, he pushed his paper toward me, and I stared down at his slanted handwriting.
Ari will enter Shaw’s estate.
Ari will find the Kallatric Dagger.
Ari will either take the Kallatric Dagger outside the boundaries of Shaw’s property to neutral ground and deliver it into Ren’s hands or she will destroy it herself.
Ari will make a reasonable effort not to reveal Ren’s name while on Shaw’s estate.
Ari will make a reasonable effort not to reveal the true purpose of her presence on Shaw’s estate.
“These sound okay,” I said.
There was obviously a little muddiness in them—what did “reasonable effort” really mean?—but Ren seemed to not find anything wrong with them. The conditional bond was a nice insurance policy, but I was also supposed to trust him. He was trusting me, too.
Ren brought out that tiny knife he’d crafted earlier. With practiced motions, he pricked the skin of his forearm—he could pierce it—and dipped his thumb in the tiny welling of blood. It was darker than mine, almost purple-ish black. He planted a thumbprint first on his paper and then on mine.
“Your turn,” he said.
I clumsily took the dagger and pressed it into my arm, cringing. Eventually, I managed to break the skin with a twinge of pain, and a little blood appeared. I dipped my thumb in it and placed the prints where he pointed.
He stacked the two pages together, tore them into thirds, and let them fall into a bowl. To the bowl, he added a dull gray powder, a black powder, and a bright turquoise powder.
“Iron, obsidian, and lapis lazuli,” he said, “For binding, truth, and honest communication.”
He touched the bowl, and with a flash, everything smoked and burned. What was left in the end was fine, powdered ash.
He took his shirt off, revealing those pale, muscled panes.
“Should I do that?” I asked tentatively.
He laughed. “No. Your shirt is low enough.” He pushed the bowl closer to me. “Dip your thumb in that.”
I followed his instructions, and the ash clung to my skin like it wanted to be close to me.
He pointed. “Press your thumb to my forehead.” I did. “Now my throat.” I did that, too. “Now here.” He pointed to a spot on his chest, just above his heart.
He did the same to me, pressing his thumb into my forehead, then the soft, sensitive skin of my throat, then between my breasts, at the collar of my low tank top.
We silently repeated this little ritual a few times each, until all the ash in the bowl was gone, pressed into our skin. With Ren’s final touches, I felt that pulsing power, sealing our words. I felt the weight of them in me, like threads wrapped around my chest, coiled over and over again, cinching me. I understood each one of his sentences as though it were etched on my heart.
He then pressed his fingers to the marks I’d made on him, magic tearing through him, and they faded, absorbed by his skin.
“There,” he said. “The conditional bond is in place. Once all my requirements and yours are fulfilled, it will break automatically.”
“Now what?” I asked.
He swept the bowl and ingredients aside and cleared space on the counter. “Soul bonding.”
Chapter 22
“Is this soul bonding difficult?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Will it hurt?” I asked.
He gave me an odd look. “No,” he said. “Did you forget? You specified that I not hurt you before I free you.”
“That applies now?” I asked.
“Certainly. I can feel it in me. I will not be able to deliberately hurt you while the bond is in place.” He pointed to the wide-open floor near the dining room table. “Go take a seat there.”
I did as he asked, seating myself cross-legged on the smooth wood between the dining room table and the kitchen island, following him with my eyes as he collected ingredients. He brought them to me one by one and arranged them on the floor. Bowls. Jars of powders. That ceramic jar from the fridge with the white substance. The small knife.
Finally, he sat across from me. He was still shirtless, and his muscles tensed and rippled as he moved, settling in. His eyes were bright and clear, and I preferred them without their shadows and shrouds right now because it was easier to read his expression.
“How long will we be bonded for?” I asked. “How long are you expecting this whole thing to take?”
He frowned. “A week or two? Much longer than that, and I’ll be nervous about our ability to succeed in time. We will need a few days here to set up, and then hopefully you won’t be with Shaw for more than a few more days. I need you to work fast.”
Soul bonded to him for two weeks. I could handle that. I could handle two weeks before freedom, even if they were terrible. I’d already handled a year. What was a little more?
Maybe Ren would let me kill a few vampires on the way out, before I had to let go of his power.
My eyes wandered out the window to the dark city. In two weeks, I could be out there. Alone. Free. Away from all of this forever.
“This will be intimate,” Ren said quietly, drawing my attention once again.
I swept my eyes down my body, startled, and then down his. Intimate?
“No,” he said, putting up a hand. “Not like that. I mean… I’ll need to put my hands on you, and you’ll need to do the same for me. We’ll both need to offer more blood. I’m going to create the base for the bond, and then we are going to paint it on each other’s skin.”
“Okay,” I said, choked.
I watched in silence as he went through the steps. He started with a huge scoop of the white substance.
“Will it distract you if I ask questions?” I said very quietly.
He glanced at me. “No.”
“What is that stuff?”
“Coconut oil,” he said. “Plant matter makes for a better mutable base than animal fat.”
“Do you just know these things by heart?” I asked. “You said you’ve never done a soul bond before. How do you know how to do it?”
“I know what the final physical matter in the spell needs to be, and I know how to get there from years of studying and training. The only other thing I had to do was memorize the patterns of words for the spell we’ll need to write on each other.”
I waited, watching him add powders to the bowl. Between the powders, he sent pulses of sweeping magic through the substances, and they rippled and changed. Every single motion was competent and deliberate. He certainly looked like he knew what he was doing. His eyes were focused and intense, occasionally clouding over with shadows as he worked.
He cut his skin with the small knife and flicked a few drops of his blood into the bowl.
He handed me the knife and made a gesture, asking me to do the same. I made the tiniest cut, reopening the prick I’d made earlier for the conditional bond, and added a couple of drops of my blood.
The last thing he did was cast a dusting of pure gold powder over the bowl. The magic he used this time was more than the previous times, and it rang in my bones, hanging invisibly in the air around me. I shivered.
The bowl was now filled with a glittery, viscous gold liquid.
He dipped his right index finger into the bowl and reached for me. I flinched.
“You can close your eyes, if you want,” he said.
“I’m okay,” I said. Closing my eyes would just make me more nervous.
He pressed his finger to my forehead first, a featherlight touch that he swept in lines and circles. The liquid was cold, and I trembled, frozen, watching his attractive features as they wrinkled in concentration. With more paint, he ran his finger over my nose and cheeks and chin and down each side of my neck.
Each of his touches was gentle, and the paint tingled as it dried on my skin. It felt almost nice.
He pushed aside the straps of my tank top in order to write on my shoulders. From there, he worked his way down each arm, painting beautiful interlocking designs on my skin, occasionally interrupted by circles of various sizes.
“These are words?” I asked. “In your language?”
“In Baphometic, yes,” he said.
“What do they say?”
“These are words of power, mostly. Ancient phrases that invoke changes in the qualities of living energy.”
“Are you alchemizing our souls?” I asked.
He smiled, his eyes meeting mine briefly. “Something like that.” He went back to his writing for a scant few moments before saying, “You should be able to read this, after we’re done.”
On my forearms, he painted large, empty circles, surrounded by words. He covered my arms all the way down over my palms and fingers and thumbs.
“Are you an artist at, um, home?” I asked, thinking of his art in the cave. But he’d also been in battles…
He shook his head. “No, but skills like this are required for my kind’s magic. We all learn writing, calligraphy, drawing, painting, carving…” His eyes met mine for another moment as he put the finishing touches on the back of my hands. “I like human art. It’s so varied. Art in my world isn’t like that. It’s all similar to what I showed you before. Realism.” He smiled wistfully. “Humans…you all paint emotions, and they are so singular.”
