Bind the Soul (31 page)

He pulled his hand out of her shirt and found the bottom of his where it had somehow been eluding her. He pulled it up. She instantly slid her hands under it and pressed her palms flat against his abs. Muscle flexed beneath her touch. He sent his hand back under her shirt, slid it up her back, and grabbed a handful of her borrowed sports bra. Its seams threatened to tear. His other hand was fisted in her hair.

She worked her hands up his abdomen to his chest, the motion hiking up his shirt. Eyes closed, she traced the silky skin and hard muscle under her hands, lost in the heat burning inside her, in the sensations of him, of his hands on her, his mouth on hers, those sinfully talented lips and tongue, his body under hers, arms holding her, crushing her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t breathe without her.

His mouth moved to her throat. Teeth grazed her pulse. He worked his way down the side of her neck with slow, deliberately teasing touches of lips and tongue until she was panting. He guided her farther back, supporting her with one arm as his mouth slid to her collarbone and drifted lower. Her hands tightened in his hair.

He stilled. She had only a moment to feel his tension before he pulled his legs under him and stood, lifting her with him. She barely had her feet on the floor when he stepped back.

A second later, Lyre and Seiya walked through the wide-open doorway. Ash casually tugged his shirt down where it belonged.

“Piper, are you—” Lyre came to a sudden stop, his gaze moving sharply from Piper to Ash and back again. His eyes narrowed, shadows sliding across them.

“Are you ready?” he asked, sounding calm and unconcerned despite his darkening eyes.

“Not quite,” she said, aiming for casual as she turned back to her closet before they could see her blushing. Her heart hammered in her chest, knees weak, lungs begging for a deeper breath. “I have to finish changing.”

“Come on, Ash,” Seiya said coolly. “We have more planning to do yet.”

Piper turned back to them. “What planning?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Seiya said, the coolness dropping toward ice.

Her brow furrowed. She looked at Ash. “What planning?”

“We need to develop our strategies,” he murmured, looking far more composed than Piper felt.

Ah. They didn’t want Samael to know about their plans for her rescue, which meant Piper couldn’t know either—not if she would be walking into the middle of the Hades army.

She swallowed hard. “Got it. Just don’t be late. Three hours.”

“Three hours,” he agreed.

She hoped she’d still be alive and capable of walking under her own power after three hours in Samael’s tender care. She turned back toward her closet and touched her lips with trembling fingers. Then again, Ash had given her one more extremely motivating reason to make it back.

CHAPTER 18

H
ER STOMACH
twisted and her heart pounded. Dizziness made her want to collapse but she didn’t dare.

Not while in the middle of a daemon army.

The scouts had found her barely twenty minutes after Zwi had dropped her off in a dark clearing in the forest near Samael’s army. The Hades soldiers hadn’t spoken since ordering her to stand still while they took her weapons. They’d led her back through the forest—and now she was suddenly in the camp. She hadn’t seen it in the dark and had almost missed the signs. The soldiers moved with silent efficiency, invisible in the ebony night. She hadn’t been sure it was the camp until they had passed the first tent.

They headed straight for the largest tent. Black-clad guards with red eyes and gold bands around their arms stood on either side of the entrance, dim lanterns hanging above their heads. They made no move to stop her as she approached on shaking legs and pulled the tent flap aside. Her heart slammed painfully into her ribs as she stepped into the warm yellow light of the interior.

At least six more guards were stationed around the tent’s inner walls but Piper barely noticed them. Her attention was sucked straight to the man sitting behind the simple metal desk at the center of the space. Terror tightened around her chest like steel bands.

Samael reclined in his chair. As his gaze settled on her, she wondered how she could have forgotten the weight of his midnight red stare, the way it came down on her with tangible weight, like a restless ocean churning all around her, crushing her. At the same time, it cut through her, slicing like the sharpest blade, tearing away her skin to leave her soul naked to his merciless regard.

She trembled, trying hard not to show it. She focused desperately on the smaller details: the way his pale hair was braided over one shoulder and the dark, silver-trimmed military garb he wore. But the petrifying magnetism of his stare was undeniable and once again, she found herself trapped by his eyes, drowning in their force.

“Piper,” he murmured, his deep voice coiling around her like chains. “Welcome back.”

She licked her lips. He didn’t look surprised to see her. He must have known about her almost as soon as the scouts had found her. Rising gracefully from his seat, he circled to the front of the desk and leaned casually against it.

“I am very curious as to what has returned you to me, Piper,” he said softly. “What is it you desire from me?”

She bit her lip. He was too calm. Even though he said he was curious, no sign of it touched his face or posture. He had to be angry. Not only had she almost killed him, she’d killed dozens of his guards, damaged multiple buildings, killed his chief torturer, stolen the Sahar right out from under him, saved Ash from certain death, freed Seiya, blown up the irreplaceable bridge into Asphodel, escaped with the two draconians, and then handed the Sahar over to the last person Samael would want to have it.

Come to think of it, Samael probably didn’t know about that last bit yet.

She slowly lifted one hand, aware of the guards watching her every move. She fumbled to remove her leather armguard, then turned her wrist upward and slid the sleeve of her shirt up until the Blood Kiss mark was clearly visible.

Samael glanced at the mark.

“Ah,” he said. “I see. Micah got carried away, did he?”

She nodded again and blindly put the armguard back on before her shaking hands could drop it.

“How long have you had the telltale?”

She swallowed twice to moisten her tongue. “Seven days.”

“Your face is flushed. Are you feverish?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She pressed her hand to her forehead, shocked to feel the heat radiating from her face. Her knees abruptly gave out. She sat hard on the mats lining the floor of the tent.

Samael didn’t move. He simply watched her. “You wish for me to save your life.”

“If you want to use the Sahar, you will,” she told him, her voice shaking. She touched her face again in disbelief of how hot it felt.

He made a thoughtful hum of sound. “I do not need you to use the Sahar, my dear. I see little reason to allow you to live.”

Cold seeped through her body, leaving her weak. Why didn’t he need her? He couldn’t possibly know the key to using the Sahar. He definitely hadn’t known before.

“And yet,” he continued, “recreating your unique bloodline or breaking an Overworld daemon’s will take time. Therefore, I will offer you one chance.”

She stared at him. He knew. He knew the secret to the Stone.
How?

He reached over the desk and pulled open a drawer. He lifted something out and tossed it onto her lap.

Shining gold formed a delicate torque, carved with a lovely swirling design. She held it in her hands, the magic in it sparking against her skin. It didn’t look anything like the magic-dampening collars the prefects used and even less like Eisheth’s torture collar. But it was a collar nonetheless, cleverly disguised as jewelry.

“Your life is worthless to me if you are not reliable. This collar will prevent any use of magic that I do not allow. If you wish to live, you will demonstrate your commitment to me by placing the collar around your neck.”

She looked at it, panic clawing at the corners of her mind. A collar. She had to wear a collar. Every particle of her being rebelled against it. She swallowed hard. It would prevent her from using magic, but she didn’t have any magic of her own. The collar would serve no purpose unless Samael managed to gain possession of the Sahar again. Wearing it wouldn’t kill her—she hoped—but putting it on would save her. If she wanted to live, she had no choice.

Hands shaking, she turned the collar over until she found the hinge. It popped open like a gaping, toothless mouth. It took a long moment for her to force herself to raise it to her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut as she closed it with a snap.

Magic flared, crackling through the metal. Then it burst into her. It tore through her like fire. She arched backward, mouth open in a silent scream as it burned through every nerve in her body. When the pain finally subsided, she found herself curled on her side on the floor. She sat up, wincing at the throbbing ache in every inch of her. Her arms and legs shook. Breathing hard, she steadied herself on the floor, wishing she had the strength to stand.

“Excellent,” Samael murmured. “The seal accepted your surrender.”

She closed her eyes again, hugging herself.

“How do you know about the Sahar?” she asked hoarsely. “You didn’t before.”

“Once I had the Sahar again, I of course took measures to ensure it would remain mine. My spells allow me to sense its location as well as listen through it as though I were standing in the Stone’s place. Any words spoken in the vicinity of the Sahar I can hear.”

No. Impossible. She’d never heard of such magic. If the Sahar held a spell like that, then every word she’d spoken while holding it, Samael had listened to. Every word spoken since she’d given the Sahar to Miysis, Samael had heard. Their entire conversation about the Stone’s secrets had travelled straight to his ears, as well as everything Miysis was planning in defense against Samael’s forces.

Sickening dread spread through her like venom. Samael would know exactly how many daemons were in the Consulate and how they planned to hold him off. He’d probably already arranged his own strategy to compensate. He would wipe them out.

Her head spun. How could she have been so naive? Miysis had been right: her escape from Samael had been too easy. He’d known all along she hadn’t thrown the Sahar into the canyon. He’d let her believe her ruse had worked.

“Why?” she choked. “Why did you let us escape in the first place?”

His attention settled on her again and she felt her shoulders bow under the weight of his gaze. “You carried the Sahar straight to the Ra and convinced him to reveal its secrets. I could not have hoped for more ideal results.”

No. All wrong. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Now, Piper,” he said. “The collar around your neck took over a year to create. It’s entirely unique with many interesting facets.”

Before fear could do more than spark in her belly, the collar heated against her skin, humming with a subtle vibration.

She stood—but she hadn’t decided to stand. Her hands rose and neatly folded across her chest as she bowed deeply to Samael. She felt herself do it, felt her muscles contract and release with the motion. She couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t control them.

Once she straightened, one of her arms lifted, palm raised toward the tent roof. She watched, silently horrified, as her other hand took a pinch of skin from the middle of her palm. And pinched. And pinched harder. Pain dug deep. Her fingernails cut in until blood ran and still her fingers squeezed harder. Squeezed until pain shot through the tendons in her hand.

She couldn’t even scream.

Blood pooled in her palm. Tears tracked down her face but no matter how she fought it, she couldn’t make a single muscle obey. Fire burned in her palm and arched through her hand. Her heart hammered with adrenaline. Her body continued to obey commands that weren’t her own.

Her hands dropped. The collar hummed against her neck.

“I have full control, Piper,” Samael told her, “over your body and, once the Sahar is returned to me, your magic. I can see and hear everything as you do.”

Sobs rose in her chest, burning her throat in a howl of despair she couldn’t release.

The hum of the collar changed pitch. It released her body and she collapsed to the floor, choking back tears. Samael may hear and see what she did, but he hadn’t mentioned feeling what she felt. Why would he want to feel the burn of the collar against her skin?

“You will find,” he informed her, “there are many actions the collar will not allow. You cannot remove it. You cannot attack anyone I consider an ally. You cannot harm yourself in any way. Anything I decide you should not do, the collar will prevent.”

The collar forced her sit up. She panted, trying to find some composure.

“Now let’s discuss your intent when you returned to me. What was your plan?”

She answered. She couldn’t stop herself. The collar burned against her neck, forcing the words out. She told him everything, every detail she and Ash had discussed. How he would be waiting for her in less than three hours. How he would try again when Samael attacked the Consulate if the first rescue attempt failed. How he would keep trying. How Lyre would tell Miysis where she was so the Ra could help with her rescue, if possible. Everything.