Heart & Soul (My Demon Bound Book 2)

by Jade Bones

  I guess I’m still sore that Rachel swapped our beds when I wasn’t there, because when I see Aeden’s bed still alight, madness overtakes me. I rush at the fiery object and attempt to douse it with my hands. Beating back the flames works—for a few glorious seconds. The aggressive fire begins to fade, stuttering beneath my frantic movements. Someone grabs me by the shoulders, trying to pull me back, and I can hear the two demons yelling at each other. But I can't follow the sound, because everything is going to utter shit.

  A weird key is calling to me, I can only control my magic if I’m willing to sacrifice our bond to do it—and in a massive plot twist I never saw coming, my demon apparently hates me.

  My magic might have damaged our bond to make this happen, but he still chose to burn it all down.

  I struggle against the arms pulling me backwards, smacking at the wooden frame of the bed, and realize too late what that single action will do.

  Because fire doesn't only burn wood; it burns fabric too. Like the fabric of a glove.

  My hand connects with the frame, bare skin brushing against wood, and the irretrievable moves into reach: the spirit of the wood emerges.

  The shock of a transparent forest appearing in the center of the room does what Alaztair's magic fire extinguisher couldn't; Aeden's wild magic fizzles and dies. The last of the rain dripping from the ceiling douses the flames licking the furniture, and we all stare in horror at the trees sprouting around and through us. Their spiritual bodies don't touch us, green leaves swaying unbothered above our heads.

  I have to admit, even I have never resurrected the spirit of a tree. I can usually channel my power into the whole object rather than the material it’s made from, but I guess I’m too scattered. It catches me unaware, robbing me of any excuse or attempt to cover this magic as something that doesn't belong to me.

  Aeden and Alaztair turn to me, connecting the dots faster than Eaken ever could. Normally only I could see the spirits I draw free—and presumably Aeden, thanks to our bond. But this weird power boost is still running through me, even if I can no longer control it, and even Alaztair can see the spirit forms of the trees. There's no more hiding.

  "Power..." Aeden mutters nonsensically, face contorted into equal parts fear and anger.

  "What is this?" Alaztair asks, running a careful finger through the air above the closest branch. "This is well above anything I've seen before, sweetheart." His eyes narrow, and he turns to me sharply. "Could that mean you're a key?"

  I whip around to stare at Alaztair, my hand clutching the key around my neck. It burns red hot. I’ve no idea what the hell any of this means, and there’s no time to consider it because Aeden is looking at me like I single-handedly murdered Sassafras and stabbed him through his fiery heart.

  And somehow, that's more important to me.

  "Jesus," I mutter. "It's a tree. Haven't you seen one before?"

  Alaztair scoffs incredulously, eyes darting between Aeden and me. He does a double take, turning back to his roommate. "Whoa." He holds out a hand towards the other demon. "Settle down; there's no need to go jumping to any conclusions here, or whatever it is that whole thing means." Alaztair waves his hand around the area of Aeden's face.

  "I'm not jumping to conclusions," Aeden grits out.

  His face is shadowed, chiseled jaw sharp in the angle of darkness that hits it. I can't miss the way he's clenching his teeth, the flash of fury in his eyes. Without any control over it, I shrink in on myself, desperate to hide from whatever this expression means.

  Aeden has always been difficult to connect with, but I've never felt unsafe around him.

  But he's never lit a room on fire before.

  "What the hell, Aeden?" I snap, guilt making me harsher than I should be.

  But regardless of how guilty I feel, I’m still mad. Maybe he couldn’t control his magic, but it was still guided by his emotions. Why the hell did he react like that to my power?

  It’s not like he knows how unnatural it is.

  "Seriously?" Aeden shakes his head, eyes closing for a second like he's fighting for control. He clenches the door-frame, knuckles whitening. "How long have you been keeping this from me?"

  My stomach sinks as he stares at one of the trees. Okay, maybe he does know how unnatural it is. "Keeping what from you?" I stand taller, stepping in close so I can glare through the smoke and transparent leaves. Until he says it out loud, I won’t admit to anything.

  I don’t know what the academy would do to me if I did.

  Aeden doesn't move, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest gives away how close he still is to the edge.

  Even through the dark fabric, a flicker of light shines outward—his flaming heart, protected by very little other than his steel-like ribcage. I've never seen a demon with features like his before, and certainly never one that wouldn't or couldn't conceal them. From the uneasy looks he gets whenever people catch sight of his affliction, I'd say Aeden doesn't have a choice in the matter.

  I mean, who would choose to have their heart out on display like that? Out in public where anyone could...

  Anyway. Now is not the time to be distracted by Aeden's heart, particularly not when he's glaring down at me like this—all six foot five of him, arms crossed and muscled legs planted wide like an immovable mountain. His brown eyes flash, long black hair shining in the occasional flicker of light from the dying fire around us. Through the sheen of smoke that wafts across his hulking body, backlit against the bathroom, he looks like a creature of the night.

  I guess that's because he is.

  Aeden's eyes flick to the embers of his destruction, then to the trees. "I've never seen magic like this," he growls, swiping a hand through the closest tree. "What is this illusion, anyway? Is it because of the key?"

  Part of me relaxes, ever so slightly. He’s focused on the key’s power, not on whatever it is about me that allowed this to happen.

  "What key?" Alaztair's voice is low, urgent. "Has she spoken to you, too?"

  "Wait, what?" The key around my neck begins to hum, so much so that I almost don't notice the way Aeden goes pale and freezes.

  As my eyes cut to his, he sucks in a breath, pacing towards me so menacingly Alaztair actually holds out a hand in between us.

  "Steady on there," he says quietly to Aeden, eyes searching for his. "Let's not say anything we'll regret."

  A shiver of fear runs down my spine.

  "Whose magic is it?" Aeden hisses, stopping when his chest brushes Alaztair's palm but making no move to step backwards. "Does she speak to you too?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" I snap, stepping forwards. "Use your big boy words, for fuck's sake."

  Aeden moves closer, ignoring Alaztair's second attempt to stop him, and glares down at me. He's so close, his breath ruffles my hair. "What are you hiding?"

  He reaches for my hand, presumably to inspect it for signs of a secret potion or something, but my glove is torn and the thought of accidentally sending Aeden's spirit out of his body terrifies me so completely I act without thinking. Stumbling backwards with my palm clutched to my chest—but being careful not to touch my own skin—solidifies my apparent guilt.

  Aeden's face falls, and I don't understand the grief I see there. It floors me.

  But then the key's humming grows so loud, the others hear it too. Alaztair's eyes widen, and he speaks urgently. "Don't trust the king."

  What?

  "And look for an engraving of a key!" He adds, scanning the room and backing up towards the opposite wall, like he expects the floor to cave in. "You can reach us through that. The magic allows that much, even though it's summoning you like a lamb to a bloody slaughter. We think that's part of their twisted trials. Like we have to prove ourselves to them before they trust us, but you get to phone a friend."

  "Alaztair," Aeden says lowly. "What the hell are you dribbling about?"

  But Alaztair only grins, wild and a little manic. "It’s show time, darlings." The key glows blindi
ngly. "Good luck."

  My hand falls to the brick wall behind me, clutching for something solid, but of course my glove is still torn.

  The spirit of a rock has got to just be a rock, right? Harmless.

  When everything begins to shake, I realize how wrong that was. The room, Alaztair, even the trees quiver and distend, growing further and further away until only Aeden and I are within sight. Everything else is a blur.

  As suddenly as it began, it settles, but now there’s nothing but trees—real trees—around us.

  I have no idea where we are.

  FOUR

  Aeden

  At first, I think the forest Mal created has taken over my room. Then I realize my room no longer exists.

  Darkened pathways lead off in several directions, so narrow they can't be anything but animal trails. Something has dropped us in the middle of a forest so untouched even the rangers haven't trekked it. And the air... there's a scent I don't recognize, clean and light but with no visible flowers or running water or any obvious source like the kind you might expect with a smell like that.

  Mal turns in a slow circle, peering into the forest, along each path. I'm not any more helpful. There's still too much adrenaline surging through my veins for me to assess this one calmly.

  "What have you done now?" There isn't even any anger in my voice anymore; I'm just stunned. "Did you transport us here?"

  "I didn't do this," Mal insists, which would be laughable after everything we've seen, but I’m not in the mood for laughing. "And the key is gone." She searches inside her shirt, but finds nothing.

  "Try harder. That excuse only works when you're three."

  Mal rounds on me, stalking over with her fists clenched by her sides. "My power doesn't do this, and if you'd stopped for five seconds to talk to me instead of setting everything on fire and making me panic, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

  My eyebrows shoot up. "Your power?"

  She clams up, and I mentally file that one away to pluck at later. Witches don't have power of their own, so if Mal has some secretive power source tucked away...

  It's everything I feared. Everything that strange lady warned me about.

  And also a problem for later.

  "Okay," I grit out slowly, folding my arms across my chest. “So you didn't do this.” Admittedly, Alaztair seemed to know what was happening, which suggests this is bigger than Mal, even if his ramblings made no sense. “Can you get us back?"

  "I don't even know where we are."

  I sigh, my anger dissolving into nothing. "Then that's our first problem."

  She falls into step beside me as I pick one of the paths at random. There's very little magic between us at the moment, her energy firmly fixed upon anger and indignation—neither of which I feed on. I filter what I can as she casts a basic direction spell, seeking cleared land, and keep the rest in reserve since I've no idea what we're likely to face out here.

  The forest swallows all sounds, eerie and unpleasant. And yet, it's familiar, too. Ravens flit from tree to tree, just like the ones at Dremen, and the leaf litter beneath our feet reminds me of the nature trails there. If the trees were denser and we could find an artificial trail wide enough for three abreast, I'd almost say this was Dremen Forest. But the trees are far too young, and despite the similarities I can find nothing I truly recognize.

  "Hold this." I snap a forked branch off a withered tree and hand it to her, forcing myself not to laugh at the way she stumbles beneath the weight. "Can you divine a direction with it?"

  I focus on feeding her a steady stream of the energy I drew on earlier. There's still some of it left, despite the flames.

  I still don't know where they came from. A demon my age should never suffer such wild magic spewing forth, but it was as though something drew it out of me. Like something wanted me to lose control.

  Mal closes her eyes and murmurs an incantation, the stem of the branch planted firmly before her. A shimmering trail of magic appears around the moss-covered fork and disappears ahead of us, down the path. It flickers in the light, straining against its distant other end, and I wonder how far we've teleported. The spell should take us back to my dorm no matter where we are, but I've never seen it struggle so much. It looks on the verge of snapping.

  I'd have done it myself of course, but as previously demonstrated, without a witch, demons struggle to focus our magic into anything beyond...

  Well. Flames.

  Without us they have no power, and without them we have no discipline. The symbiotic relationship of demon to witch would be perfect but for that one fatal flaw. The flaw whispered to me for as long as I can remember.

  "Let's go," Mal hefts the stick beneath her arm, holding it strangely—like she doesn't want to touch it properly.

  Frowning, I follow a couple of paces behind, trying to work out what I'm witnessing. It doesn't take long. "Your glove is torn," I point out as though this were idle conversation.

  She stiffens, palms subconsciously flexing into fists. Then she shrugs—too little, too late.

  "Why do you always wear gloves?" Why have I never thought to ask this? It seemed like a style choice, or perhaps a compensation for poor blood flow, but I've never seen her without them.

  Did the key give her strange power, or did it boost something that was already there?

  "Don't think now is really the time for fashion conversations," Mal throws over her shoulder, striding in the direction of the spell. "Come on, we should hurry."

  Spurred on by something I can't name, I cross the distance between us in three short strides and grab hold of her forearm. "This hidden power source," I mutter. "Is it these?" Turning her palm over in my hand, I inspect the gloves she seems to be trying so hard to keep from catching on the splintered wood.

  But before I can study them properly, she snatches her hand into her chest and backs away from me. The branch falls to the ground.

  This is it—the answer to everything Mal has been hiding from me. What I didn't even know was concealed. "Tell me," I growl.

  Mal doesn't tell me; her brow furrows in confusion and pain, and she runs.

  Forgotten instincts ignite within me, and suddenly I'm chasing her. Forest debris scatters beneath my feet, branches snapping as I crash through the undergrowth to capture my prey. Mal's frantic heartbeat echoes in my mind, magnified by some strange magic, and every drop of my awareness narrows in on the sound. My footsteps fade, the forest fades, there is only her.

  She disappears from my sight long enough to make me pause, braced against a tree as I close my eyes and lean into her scent on the wind.

  Behind the cypress.

  Stalking quietly, I close the gap between us, wait a few moments to relish the sound of her heartbeat climbing, and pounce.

  "What the fuck?!" she snaps at me, twisting away as I pin her to the tree. "Aeden, get off me!" She breaks free long enough to fall backwards, unwitting pulling me down on top of her so we're both writhing in the dirt.

  "Or what?" I smile down at her, unbothered by her attempts to free herself from the cage of my arms. She's trapped, and I won't let her go until I'm satisfied.

  Look but don't touch. Sometimes, it's harder than it should be.

  "Or I'll kick you in the nuts, you smug piece of crap."

  Grinning wider, I shift my legs, caging her in more effectively, and wait. After a charged few seconds, she droops against the ground.

  "What do you want?" she hisses.

  "Tell me what power you’re hiding."

  She grins, oddly feral. "And what would you do if I did?"

  My lip twitches, eyes fixed on hers as I answer. “If it’s dangerous? Lock you away of course.”

  The feral look stays, but the grin disappears. My witch is giving me nothing but steel coated in anger.

  "Who gave you the gloves?" I demand.

  "No— what?" She frowns, and the honesty in her expression catches me off guard. Maybe her gloves aren't the source of her power.

&
nbsp; I pull away enough for her to slide free, although she doesn't move. Instead, she props herself onto her elbows and regards me silently. "What's gotten into you?" she says finally. "It's like we aren't even on the same team today."

  I don't know the answer, and for the first time something like shame kindles in my stomach, the golden reflection of my heart's flame flickering across Mal's face even through my shirt.

  "Are we ever?" I ask without thinking, her vulnerability drawing forth some of my own, and back away.

  After a beat, she jogs to catch up, but fortunately doesn't speak. Our spell guide is gone, dropped in the forest before I gave chase, and so we have no choice but to find our way out of here and hope we recognize our location. I don't have enough energy to fuel that spell a second time, particularly not with how much it strained against its anchor.

  An anomaly that still worries me, if I'm honest.

  We trek onwards in silence, the sun too obscured to give any indication how long we've been at this and how much longer until night falls. Now and then I'll catch a glimpse of light above us, but it appears so much lower on the horizon than it should be for summer. Yet another red flag. Have we teleported across the globe? Is that even possible?

  Dim light appears through the trees ahead of us, and my heart lifts: a clearing. Perhaps we've reached the end of the forest. We both speed up, and I'm more relieved than I care to admit when I see the familiar spirals of Dremen Academy appear through the gap. This section of the forest must simply be newer growth, nothing like the ancient trees I'm used to, and I didn't recognize it.

  But then Mal's breath hitches, and I realize what it is that doesn't look right about the academy. There are five towers, when there should only be four, the fifth tower crumbling to ruin over a century ago in strange circumstances. A celebration gone wrong—that’s all they ever told us.

  It looks newly built. And I don't care how long we've been wandering that forest, it isn't long enough for them to rebuild.

  "What the—" Mal breathes, coming to a halt at the line of the forest.