The ferret-faced Mage flipped open a huge, heavy book on his desk, and Lucas watched Devlin smear the blood from his knuckles onto the open page. “For your records, First High Mage,” Devlin said with a sneer as a golden light rose from the open book.
The title was a mockery, and everyone in the room knew it. A shadow of a smile tugged at Devlin’s mouth, and his expression grew thoughtful as the light brightened, turned as bright as a phosphorus burn, then faded. “It’s confirmed—this is Kieran Greycloak,” Worton said, his tone sullen. “But it was me who caught him. Put that in your damned record book.”
Devlin ignored Worton, wholly focused on Lucas. “Now that we’re sure it’s you, Greycloak, we will proceed. This time I’ll get back what you took from me, including every last drop of my power. When I’m finished with you, I’m going to New York City and stamping out that nest of vipers, including your brother. Once they’re all dead, your little New York cadre will be no more.”
He looked over Lucas’s head. “I suppose I should credit the person who captured you. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” The swish of the man’s long robe against the carpet hissed as he circled behind. It took everything in Lucas not to turn and lunge for the man as he heard Devlin tell Victoria, “You really are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Lust coated the man’s every word, and something inside Lucas snapped. Just the thought of Devlin touching Victoria sent him into a rage.
Ancient.
That’s how old Devlin was. The man was one of the oldest creatures in the universe, and a monster. A patricidal maniac, with an especially cruel streak that made him unpredictable and dangerous.
It had been a long while since Lucas and Kieran had run across the man, and when they had, once they realized what Devlin was capable of—and what he was planning to do on his home planet—Kieran stole the Worldwalker’s magic. Despite his best efforts, Kieran hadn’t managed to kill the bastard, but he took enough power that Devlin was stranded on Earth, practically a mortal, with only a residue of his world-walking magic left. Once his ability to travel between worlds was taken away, Devlin became unbalanced, and was obviously still holding one hell of a grudge.
Right now, Devlin’s involvement changed the entire game. Even deprived of his primary magic, the bastard was a mean, crafty son of a bitch.
The small, helpless sound Victoria let out made Lucas turn, even though he knew it was a mistake, even though he knew the action would cost him.
Devlin had Victoria’s neck clamped in his meaty hand, fingers digging in deeply. She sobbed softly, held immobile, while the guards and Worton watched, their eyes gleaming in anticipation. As if Devlin knew exactly what he was doing—as if he knew precisely how much fury was churning inside Lucas—he locked eyes with Lucas. And then he smiled.
Lucas erupted. But not toward Devlin.
Toward Worton.
Lucas surged over the enormous desk and tackled the Mage to the floor. Once Lucas had the arrogant cocksucker pinned to the thick carpet, flames sprang from his hands, from his body—from everywhere. Worton writhed helplessly, then turned into a roiling ball of fire, as the stench of charred flesh filled the room. Rising, Lucas turned his attention to the shouting guards, and flames filled the room again, curling against the books, turning the fine mahogany black. As soon as the guards joined Worton in screaming agony, with smoke filling the room, Lucas turned to Victoria, intent on getting her out of there. But Devlin held the Tracker tightly in front of him—a living, breathing shield.
Gripping her head in an iron hold, Devlin yelled into her face, “Wrong brother. You picked the wrong one. I need the other one in order to get my power back.” While he screamed furiously, Lucas looked for a way to free the girl without hurting her, some way to break Devlin’s hold on her. Noting Lucas’s intense stare, Devlin yanked her closer, as if taunting Luc, as if he knew Luc was going crazy seeing her manhandled.
Victoria fought, she kicked and she bit and she writhed, but Devlin held her firm, his hand digging into her flesh so deeply that Lucas feared he’d snap her neck. Her eyes widened with terror. He sent out a flare of fire, but it was rebuffed by a dark wind. Lucas lunged for her and was met by a solid, impenetrable wall of power. One so thick with dark magic he was hurled backward, against the desk.
Lucas tried again, encouraged by the slightest rise of her chest, and again, the Worldwalker’s magic hit him, a hammer fall of power that knocked him back. Again. And again.
“I’ll kill her, Greycloak, I swear to Christ. I’ll rip her head right off while you watch.” As if to demonstrate, Devlin yanked her head back, and Victoria’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain. Her eyes met Luc’s, and he saw the unspoken demand in them.
Go.
Shaking his head, he charged. And was pushed back once again as Devlin’s eyes turned black.
Devlin bent Victoria backward, his hand wound in her hair, one around her neck, and again Victoria met his eyes, tears spilling down her face.
Please, her eyes begged Lucas. Go now.
Dense smoke filled the room, turning the air suffocating, and a blast of Devlin’s dark power parted the billowing cloud, shooting straight for Lucas. He raced for the door and finally turned the knob. When he burst out of the office, thick smoke already filled the soaring, brightly lit foyer, and Luc barreled unchecked past the stunned guards. Confused by the smoke, the horrid smell and Devlin’s panicked shouting, they didn’t move until Luc had reached the doors, and by then, it was too late. He reached the alley, then tore straight out into the main road.
Lucas didn’t stop running until he reached the little green park, two blocks away, jumped the low wall and fought his way through the hedges until his brother’s arms went around him and he collapsed.
He’d left Victoria. He’d left her behind in that hideous place with Devlin.
He’d utterly failed.
15
There was a throbbing in her head.
So deep and so painful that Victoria thought she was dying.
All she smelled was fire. Combined with the stench of burning flesh, the odor choked her. She couldn’t get it out of her nose. Out of her head. As if the horrible stench was inside her, somehow. Half-awake, she surfaced from darkness, consciousness slowly rippling through her—the realization she was alive, breathing and in pain hitting her all at the same time.
It took her a moment to realize she was still lying on the floor of Worton’s office. Most of the smoke had dissipated, but—oh God—not the smell. Turning her head painfully, she stared straight into the desiccated, still-smoldering face of one of the guards. Bile rose in her throat, and she curled in on herself before vomiting.
“I thought a Tracker might have a stronger constitution.” Devlin’s greasy voice cut through her misery. “But I suppose we can’t have everything. Stand up, Victoria. Lovely name, Victoria, very English. It reminds me of tea parties and carriage rides.”
Swaying, Victoria rose, not quite daring to meet his gaze.
Devlin the Devourer. Devlin, the monster who lurked in the shadows. Devlin, who took captives to the dungeons, where they were never seen again. And she was alone in a room with him. The only one left alive, besides him. Except for Lucas, of course, who had somehow managed to burn everyone else to a crisp.
She’d seen Bloodbane once before, about a year ago. She’d sampled his power. As well as his darkness. Victoria shook her head, she sharp stab of pain in her temple making her sick to her stomach. There was something else about him she knew—a secret—hovering just on the edge of her consciousness, but she was damned if she could focus long enough to figure it out.
“Worton bought you, correct?” His gaze slipped down to the iron bands around her wrists. She managed the slightest nod. “Lucky man. I’ll assume he never took full advantage of his privilege, did he? Desiccated old fool. Well, my darling Victoria, your life has just changed drastically.” Now she did look in his eyes, if only because she was so horrified that she couldn’t help herself. “I�
��m your new master, so get yourself cleaned up, come down to the catacombs and allow me to explain how things will be from now on.”
He turned away and left her, alone with the steaming, burned corpses, alone in the room where everything had gone so wrong. Victoria glared at Worton’s black, smoking body on her way out. Even such a horrible death wasn’t gruesome enough for him.
Victoria usually made it a point to avoid the “locker room” they’d set aside for her kind. Trackers were a wary, unpredictable bunch, and interacting with them was a dicey proposition. Slaves had little hope in improving their circumstances, so all too often, they turned their anger on each other. A long time ago, she’d vowed to change this. Once, she’d hoped to set them all free. To burn down this entire institution and never look back.
But that day had never arrived.
The second she stepped inside the run-down locker room, the other Trackers made it a point to avoid her. She realized the scent of burning flesh still clung to her, but more than that, her reputation preceded her. She’d failed, which made her an instant outcast.
Never mind there’d been two of the Circle’s best soldiers present, and the First High Mage—it was squarely on her shoulders that the blame would fall, and it would fall hard. She peeled off her shirt then strode to the bank of white porcelain sinks as the others scrambled out of her way. She rinsed the shirt, then her body, as best she could—she let the water stream through her hair, over her face, as cold as she could make it, the icy bite not making her feel any better. She submerged her head into the water, shutting out the sounds around her, immersing herself in cold, blissful silence.
There was no way out of this.
She knew what Devlin would want once she reached his chambers.
The same thing all other men wanted. Sometimes, the very thing they got.
Which was exactly why Victoria avoided men whenever she could. She didn’t depend on them, and she never, ever trusted them. But she’d been here before—trapped, powerless, out of options—and she hated it. And with Devlin…this was the worst spot she’d ever been in. Somehow, she doubted she’d come out of this alive. She’d been a fool to help Lucas, but despite that, she was glad he’d escaped. At least one of them was free.
He’d trusted her enough to come here. And despite her current predicament, Lucas had done what he promised. Worton was dead. It wasn’t Lucas’s fault that her circumstances had changed.
A wrench was thrown into her life when Devlin appeared. She’d heard his name before, but she’d never actually seen him. Why he was here now had something…everything to do with Lucas.
She might have pondered that question longer, but she had somewhere to be.
Without bothering to wipe her face, Victoria took a good look at herself. She knew full well what others saw. She knew she was considered beautiful. Her skin, the fish-underbelly-pale skin she’d been born with, was perfect and blemish-free; her hair, every bit as light as her flesh, was fine, long, as straight as an arrow. Her expressive eyes were huge, the grey-green of the bottommost depths of the sea.
But what mortals saw and what she was were two completely different things.
Her skin blended in with the reflections of the water, making her invisible to predators below. Her fine hair provided little resistance as she swam. Her eyes allowed her to see every detail in those murky depths. A small smile revealed white, slightly pointed teeth. All the better to rip a head from its body.
And then she leaned forward. Sighed.
That was in her watery world. But she was stuck here, on land, and banded by iron to ensure she remained here. Where men held all the power, and she had none at all. After sliding the wet shirt back on, she wrung her hair out and walked back past the gaping faces, through the blinding light, made for the door that led to the dungeons then strode past those, down into the catacombs.
Winding past the cells of screaming prisoners, Victoria passed the lower levels, where no one screamed at all, until she reached the sticky, moist depths of the catacombs. Where the stone walls dripped from the everlasting damp and the very rock was permeated with the brimstone stench of ancient magical wards.
God, she hated this place. Used every excuse, every little trick to avoid coming down here. Yet here she was—and not only was she here, she was seconds away from being stuck down here with the most monstrous…
“Miss Monroe…Victoria…I’m waiting. Come in.”
Devlin gave her an audible sniff as she squeezed past him, forced to press against his body as she passed through the doorway, forced to endure his dark chuckle while she made her way to the chair in front of his desk.
Whatever this awful, pitiful existence of hers was about to become, Victoria was quite sure she would want to be sitting when the Devourer explained what he wanted from her.
She had no illusions, not after eighteen years of living in the Mage Circle’s shadow.
He took his time, gathering his silken black robes, rounding the desk, settling in. While he did, she distracted herself from the coming horror by scanning the books behind him. Rotting, moldy books, most with brown, peeling labels. Finished Cases. Prisoner Records. Summoning Spells. Liber de Mundos. Trackers. Her gaze caught on that one; she knew her name was written in there somewhere. And what would it tell her, exactly? That she was special? Worth every penny of the ten thousand pounds they’d paid for her?
Her gaze wandered higher, even as she felt the weight of Devlin’s gaze fall upon her. She looked up and up and up, as if she might fly away, escape this place. The History of Druids, Stonehenge, Binding Spells, Wards and Codes…
“You don’t remember me, but we’ve met before.” Again, that sudden stabbing pain ripped through her skull. “I knew you’d come in handy, someday.” She waited for him to continue, not sure where this was going, or even how he remembered her from their one-time chance meeting.
“I own you.”
Victoria dropped her eyes to Devlin’s and found them staring right back. Their sharp, cutting gleam had nothing to do with cleverness, or wisdom, and everything to do with wickedness.
“You failed Worton by bringing in the wrong brother. Which means you failed the Circle. And, worst of all, you failed me. There’s no need to explain to you who I am—what I’m capable of—I can see it in your face that you already know. So let’s get to it. I’m your master now, and unlike Worton, I expect to enjoy everything you have to offer. Including your body, your mind and your various talents.” As if to accentuate his threat, the door slammed shut behind her.
Victoria quaked with fear, real fear, when he leaned close enough for her to see the depthless hatred burning in those black, ungodly eyes of his. He shrugged off his robe; he was older than any of the Mages, but muscled, stocky, and her heart quailed as she realized that here, on land, she was as helpless as a fish out of water, doomed to flop helplessly while she gasped her last, dying breaths.
16
Lucas prowled the edge of the park, Kieran’s eyes following every step he took. He was engaged in an internal war—why he’d left Victoria behind, and what he was going to do about it.
“I cannot believe you left her in there.”
Disapproval coated Kieran’s words, only adding to Lucas’s inner struggle. Why had he left her? He never should have listened to her, despite the situation. He was a soldier, for Christ’s sake—he should have figured out a way to get her safely out of there. He didn’t understand why he felt so much responsibility for Victoria. But he did.
“You didn’t see the situation,” Lucas said. “I had no choice.” The words sounded like a lie.
“You never should have left her. You should have figured out a way to get her out of there, goddamn it.”
“Devlin had his hands around her throat. He was seconds away from snapping her neck.” That action, alone, spelled trouble. It meant Devlin knew there was enough between the two of them that her death would mean something to Lucas. Knew enough to use Victoria as leverage.
&nb
sp; “I have to get her out of that building, Kieran. I know how, but you can’t get in my way. And the others”—Lucas slid his gaze over to the waiting patrol—“they’ll have to stand down. No matter what happens, no matter how far sideways this goes.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “You tell me what you’re planning, and maybe then I’ll decide if I’m going to stay out of it. But if she’s with Devlin—”
“This has to be done quickly, before he has time to take his revenge out on her. And I’ll only get one shot at this. Walk me through the layout of the city, quickly. I need the fastest route back to the arch.”
“You’re thinking of luring them back to New York?”
“You have a better idea? At least there we have tech and ammo, and it’s our territory. Plus, we have Rhiannon.” Kieran paused. “It should work. But she’ll still be inside that building. And we have no way of getting her out. Devlin will send her after us. Trust me, he’s going to want to exercise his power over her, if only to have her hunting me again. I saw his eyes—he was desperate to capture you before, and he’s twice as desperate now.”
Lucas rose, walked to the short wall lining the street and placed his hand on it. “Stay out of my way,” he told his brother quietly as he vaulted over it. “And get the rest of them home.”
There was a checklist Victoria went through each and every time.
A closing off of her very self. As if shutting herself down, one piece at a time, might make her forget what was happening to her. It wasn’t working.
Devlin had her pressed against the desk, his lips roving over her throat, tender from where his fingers had dug in, one hand pinning her wrist to the wood, the other lifting her dampened shirt as Victoria forced herself to not feel. Not think. Not move. I’m invisible. I do not exist. This will be over soon. She repeated the words over and over, hoping that if she closed her eyes tight enough, she might disappear completely.
Seacursed: The Mage Circle Trilogy: 1 Page 7
