Bewitched & Betrayed rb-4

by Lisa Shearin

  I pretended to ignore him. Truth was, I didn’t trust myself to look at that dark shape floating in the shadows and not scream my head off. I kept my eyes on Markus and tried to keep my voice steady. “Markus, you’ve looked better.”

  The elven duke’s lips twisted in a brief smile. “You, my dear, are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

  “Only because I’ve come to save your ass.”

  “That, too.”

  Markus Sevelien was as lean as whipcord and just as tough, with dark hair swept back from a high and pale forehead. Dressed entirely in his customary black, the wiry elf sat utterly still, though it wasn’t like he had a choice with Ghalfari’s blade at his throat. Markus’s only movement was the tapping of one long, tapered finger against the arm of the chair to which he was tied—wisely the one without the grenade. Markus knew a lot of codes, but this was one I knew as well. His finger repeatedly tapped out a two- word message to me.

  Kill them.

  Markus was a realist; he knew he’d be dead right along with them. He didn’t care.

  Kill them.

  I could wipe the floor with every goblin in the room, but if I let the Saghred off its leash, I didn’t know if I could get it back under control—and considering who I’d be wiping out, I didn’t think I’d want to stop. The Saghred’s full power was terrifying, overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating. And deep down, some dark part of me wanted to do it again. It’d kill every goblin in the room, but it could just as easily do the same to me and Mychael.

  I was in the same room with a pair of monsters and the scent of death was so thick in the air that it was all I could do not to gag. I was scared. More than scared, I was literally shaking in my boots. Though I didn’t know who scared me more: Sarad Nukpana, his death-loving uncle . . .

  . . . or myself.

  The goblin drifted out of the shadows.

  My breath stopped and my heart tried to do the same thing.

  Sarad Nukpana wasn’t solid, nor was he a formless specter. His feet were on the floor, but I don’t think he was using them to move. He’d retained every bit of his dark beauty. His angular face was flawlessly beautiful without sacrificing one bit of masculinity. His ethereal body drifted ever so slightly. Back and forth, back and forth, hypnotic, mesmerizing as a cobra, silent and beautiful—and just as deadly.

  Nukpana smiled slowly. “Yes, my body remains the same. I have no interest in possessing others. Why would I want another body? I have always been most satisfied with my own.” He glanced at Markus. “Though it might be amusing to possess the duke’s body and pretend to be him for a day. Any longer and I’d be an elf permanently. Such a fate would almost be worse than being trapped inside the Saghred.” His eyes glittered like the black of a bottomless pool in a haunted forest. “But the feeling of my soul violating the body of another, pushing their soul aside, taking them completely.” He exhaled on a sigh that could only be described as pure bliss. “I have heard it said that the victim remains aware through all of it—the taking, the possession—and is helpless to stop anything I want their body to do.”

  He wasn’t talking about Markus anymore.

  My throat threatened to close up. “Then you’d be an elf and a woman,” I managed. “You couldn’t handle the pressure.”

  “You’re right. The alternative would be so much more pleasurable.” Sarad Nukpana’s voice dropped to a sibilant whisper. “The cha’nescu—the soul kiss. Feeling your soul fighting me will be so much sweeter. Once I’ve taken you, I will control the Saghred as well.” He flashed a smile revealing fangs that looked all too solid. “It is as you would say, a win-win situation.”

  I felt rather than saw Mychael move to step in front of me. I held out a hand to stop him, never taking my eyes from Sarad Nukpana.

  “He fears for you and for good reason,” Nukpana purred. “The Saghred is even hungrier than I am. You can feel it, can’t you? I’ll take your silence as a yes. I fed earlier this evening; why shouldn’t you?”

  “Who?” Mychael growled.

  Nukpana dismissively waved a pale hand. “No one you knew. Don’t worry; there will be no corpses turning up in inconvenient places. My remaining two allies from inside the Saghred have finally served their purpose. I chose them specifically for their age and power.” The goblin’s smile was like the cat that ate the canary. “You might say that they gave their all for my cause.”

  “You ate them.” Mychael was holding his power in check, but just barely.

  “ ‘Ate’ would be an overstatement.” He laughed softly. “Considering there really wasn’t much to them to begin with. More like a refreshing drink complete with memories, skills, and power.” He stretched luxuriously and appeared to become more solid. “Yes, I’m feeling most refreshed.”

  Those were the last two sorcerers, the ones we hadn’t found yet. Now we didn’t need to; they were here inside of Sarad Nukpana. Two of the most brutal and insane sorcerers in recorded history, and the goblin floating not ten feet in front of me had all that brute strength at his beck and call—at least, he would when he’d fully digested them.

  And I had the Saghred at mine. My chest warmed, the power pulsing beneath the surface in time with my heart, the combined beat throbbing, a nearly deafening drum in my ears.

  Sarad Nukpana knew. Whether he heard it or sensed it, he knew. “The Saghred grows tired of you.”

  I forced myself to breathe around the urges the Saghred sent through my mind, images of sacrifice and blood, torture, and death. And feeding, always starving, never satisfied.

  “The feeling’s mutual.” My voice was tight. It was all I could do to hold the rock back. “I’m sick and tired of it.”

  “It desires someone of a like mind, someone who will use it. It desires a partner. You fear me, but most of all you fear yourself.” Sarad Nukpana’s voice was the barest whisper, coaxing, seductive. “You want to give in to me, to the Saghred’s hunger. But what you fear most is the certain knowledge that you will enjoy it. You’ve tasted its power before and your deepest desire is to taste that power again.”

  Raw need swept over me, the need to take, to possess, to exult in the magic, the power. Sarad Nukpana was right, and I hated him even more for it. The rock was starving.

  And so was I.

  “Come to me, little seeker. Let us feed on each other.”

  Sarad Nukpana was mine for the taking.

  Mine. I could take him first, end this now, here in this room. Destroy the evil before it killed again.

  And I would destroy myself if I killed. Once I started using the Saghred to take souls into myself, once I started killing, I would become the evil I had struggled against.

  Once I crossed that line there would be no turning back.

  My breath shook as I let it out, pushed down the hunger, the desire to possess. I stood there trembling with the effort.

  “You can continue to defy us,” Janos Ghalfari told me. “But you cannot deny what you are—and what you are becoming.” He glanced at Mychael. “Why leave with only one meal when we could take two?” Something dark and ugly glittered in the goblin’s black eyes, and I felt the air tighten with the beginnings of black magic. “Or perhaps three.”

  Mychael stalked slowly to the right, away from me, and toward Ghalfari. I agreed with him moving away from me. Hell, I wanted to get away from me, too.

  “Step away from the duke,” Mychael said smoothly. “And we can discuss it.”

  The goblin nachtmagus smiled. “Why should I open myself to attack when you will surrender rather than see his life-blood spilled out? Come with us now and you will preserve the duke’s life for a while longer. I’m certain you will find another opportunity to attempt to escape. Which is it, Paladin Eiliesor? Surrender and attempt a rescue and escape later, or don’t surrender and ensure the duke’s death?”

  The flames in the fireplace popped and snapped at a sudden shift in the air. Cold air moved the heavy drapes on the window. I knew that paralyzing cold didn�
��t come from outside. A wave of goose bumps ran up my arms and down my body. Janos Ghalfari stiffened, his magic probing the air around him, then his lips pulled back from his fangs in an enraged snarl.

  Oh hell.

  Reapers.

  Sarad Nukpana was nearly dead. His uncle played with the dead. I was linked to a rock that was filled with thousands of unclaimed souls.

  Guess who the Reapers came after first?

  Chapter 14

  “Run!” Mychael screamed at me.

  I wanted nothing more, but running was easier screamed than done.

  I dodged one filmy appendage and almost ran smack-dab into another one. The damned things had floated in through the walls. Right now I didn’t care if the Reapers had followed me or Nukpana. I just wanted to survive the next few seconds.

  There were enough Reapers to go around, so while I was the odds-on favorite, Nukpana and his uncle still had their hands full. Reapers were flowing around the Khrynsani mages, ignoring them completely. The mages started hissing some sort of spell that had absolutely no effect on them.

  I’d seen fear in Sarad Nukpana’s black eyes once before—right before the Saghred took him. He knew he was screwed then, and he knew the same thing now. He’s wasn’t wholly spirit, but he wasn’t solid enough to put up any kind of physical fight, either.

  And I couldn’t reach the bastard. He’d never be more vulnerable than he was right now, and I couldn’t get anywhere near him.

  Janos Ghalfari put himself between the Reapers and his nephew; the black magic he’d been gathering to use against me and Mychael was now turned to repelling Reapers. The fireplace was the room’s only source of light and it dimmed more with every poisonous word that came from between the goblin’s lips. The air tightened and a stench like brimstone came from the corner of the room that Ghalfari was defending. He jerked back the heavy drapes, revealing barred windows. He screamed in rage and frustration.

  The Reapers had no interest in Markus, and at the moment, neither did the goblins. Markus didn’t have a blade to his throat but was still tied to a chair with a grenade lashed to his arm.

  I had to reach him.

  The space separating us wasn’t the problem; the Reaper floating between us was. All of its attention was on me. Markus wasn’t the one linked to thousands of imprisoned souls.

  I had a worthless kitchen knife in my hand, and my eyes on the Reaper who was floating just out of reach. I didn’t know if the thing was being cautious, prudent, or freaking polite—it was a feeding machine; it didn’t think. I was in the same room with the goblin who’d framed me, threatened me, and promised to kill me. Then there was Markus. I had no proof of what he’d done, but if he died, I’d never know anything. I wanted to get my hands on both of them, but standing in my way was a nightmare that’d nearly killed me.

  I’d barely lived through my last Reaper encounter. Now I had to get past one to reach my former boss, who was going to go “kablowie” if one of those Khrynsani knocked his chair over. I just wanted to cut the grenade off of Markus, cut my losses, and get the hell out of here. I knew I’d get another shot at Sarad Nukpana because he wanted another shot at me.

  I drew on my power, not the Saghred’s. It wanted no part of this fight. It had coiled down tight, protecting itself, and to hell with me. I gathered my power into a white-hot ball of rage and sent it into the palm of my hand, curling my fingers around it in a glowing fist. It seethed and quivered in anticipation of getting to do something, anything, just as long as it was violent. I didn’t think what would be the wisest use of what I’d summoned. I just punched the Reaper where its face should have been, slamming my fist and my power into that gelatinous body. The impact was so satisfying that I hit it again, adding an enraged scream for good measure.

  The Reaper glowed incandescently—and got bigger. A lot bigger.

  Oh crap.

  And it vanished in a wink of light.

  What the hell?

  No time to ponder what I’d done, what had happened, or why. The hand that had punched the Reaper hung limply by my side, numb and tingling, and I was panting like I’d run a mile uphill. I didn’t think about the why or how of that, either. There was nothing but open space between me and Markus, and I closed that distance. I had a kitchen knife in my good hand, and no doubt I looked like a woman with a purpose. A murderous purpose.

  Markus’s only reaction was a slight raising of one dark and perfectly arched eyebrow. I guess it took more than one exhausted and pissed-off elf to scare Markus Sevelien. Later, when I got my wind back, I could always punch him, if either of us lived that long.

  A tendril from another Reaper lashed between us and I instinctively slashed it with my knife. The blade went straight through, the tendril instantly retracting back into the Reaper’s body, emerging to try again.

  Suddenly Mychael was there, shielding me and Markus, his entire body blazing with white light, driving that Reaper and all the others back from us, herding them toward the goblins. I knelt to cut the cord that tied the keg to Markus, but I could barely feel my left hand. That meant I had one hand to cut the cord holding the keg and catch it. I wasn’t that good on my best day, and if I tried it, today would be my last.

  “Dammit!” I snarled.

  I glared up into Markus’s dark eyes and sliced through the ropes binding his left wrist to the chair. When his hand was free, I gave him the knife.

  “I’ll hold the grenade; you cut the cord. If you try anything else, you’re a dead man.”

  Markus’s brows knit together in a puzzled frown. “We need to talk about that.”

  “Count on it,” I snarled.

  I could easily wrap my hands around a grenade, but one hand would only clutch the thing. And I wasn’t about to trust my clutching skills right now. I took the grenade in my good hand and clutched it against my chest, tight but not too tight. If it got stabbed, sprung a leak, or just decided to break in half, I’d be covered in Nebian black powder and in ten seconds I’d blow up.

  That would really piss me off.

  Markus had the knife under the cord. “Ready?”

  “Do it,” I growled.

  He cut the cord, I held the grenade, and no one went boom—at least not yet.

  I shot a glance at the knife in his hand. “Finish yourself.” As far as I was concerned, Markus could take that any way he wanted to.

  “Bravo, Raine.” Markus quickly bent and sliced through the ropes binding his ankles.

  A couple of days ago, Sarad Nukpana had said much the same thing. I’d rather hear it from Markus.

  I think.

  Mychael’s charged glow was keeping the Reapers at bay, though now they actually seemed to find the goblins more interesting. At this point, I’d take any speck of good luck I could get.

  Even though the Reapers had found someone more fun to play with didn’t mean they couldn’t change their minds, or whatever it was they had. I risked a glance over my shoulder. Nothing between us and the front door and freedom but blessedly empty space.

  When we got there, the door was locked, bolted, and for all I knew nailed shut.

  Mychael’s hands glowed blindingly white. “I’ll get this.” He saw my left hand hanging limp. “Your hand?”

  “Being lazy.” I carefully pulled the grenade away from my chest. I had it in a firm grip, perfect for throwing. “But this hand’s still good.”

  Mychael put his hands to the door and nothing happened. “Level Twelve wards?” He didn’t bother to hide his anger and disbelief.

  “I had them put there,” Markus said. “Damned things only activated after the goblins broke in.”

  Mychael glared at the elven duke and I swear I saw murder flash in those blue eyes, or at least extreme violence. Nice to know I wasn’t the only one fighting those urges.

  I didn’t take my eyes off of the Reapers. “Can you get through?”

  “Yes,” he snarled.

  Janos Ghalfari’s chants reached a crescendo, and my skin tried to cra
wl somewhere and hide. With his words came the smell of death, bloated and decaying. My stomach threatened to heave. I had no idea what his spell would do, but I knew we didn’t want to be here when he released it.

  I tried breathing through my mouth. “Can you get through faster?”

  “No!”

  Ghalfari was facing the Reapers, keeping them at bay, his features a contorted mask of pain and effort. Nukpana was protectively surrounded by Khrynsani mages, and the door to the left of the fireplace glowed red hot with their efforts. They were going to get away. Dammit. I couldn’t get to them, but if they escaped, we’d just be doing this again at a new place and time.

  “Are any of your people still in here?” I asked Markus. “Alive?”

  “Any elves in this house aren’t mine.”

  I jerked my head toward the door the goblins were burning their way through. “Where does that go?”

  “Servants’ quarters.” Markus’s smile was chilling. “It’s a maze back there.”

  Just what I wanted to hear.

  I felt a whoosh of outside air behind us and Mychael kicked a Level Twelve ward’s ass and blew through the door in one fell swoop.

  Janos Ghalfari gave a shout as their escape door disintegrated in a cloud of charred wood and ash. The Reapers turned and rushed toward us.

  I hurled the grenade into the room and into the Reapers.

  Mychael grabbed my arm and all but threw me through the door.

  I didn’t know if Reapers could be blown up, but when you’re scared shitless, desperate, and fresh out of nonsuicidal ideas, you’d try anything. If I couldn’t take out the goblins, I’d take out the house they were running through.

  We ran like hell and then some.

  Until I saw the eight-foot-high stone wall and massive iron gate, both crackling with protective wards. They were meant to keep intruders out, now they were keeping escaping elves in.

  Mychael kept running and held his hand back to me. “Grenade!”