Bind the Soul (8 page)

She ignored that last bit and scrunched her face. “You’re
never
going to stop?”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Can’t do it. Might as well ask me to stop breathing.”

“You cannot compare your sex drive to breathing—”

He rolled his eyes. “Piper, you’re so naïve sometimes.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” He lifted a finger. “Ash will always be a deadly predator, Miysis will always be a manipulative tyrant, and I will always crave sex with any moderately young, moderately attractive female I spot. It’s our natures.”

She blinked. Manipulative sounded exactly right, but . . . “Miysis is a tyrant?”

“All family heads are. He’ll be a warlord someday. Never forget that.”

“Actually,” Miysis said, reappearing in the doorway and looking as composed as ever, all signs of temper gone, “I won’t be the family head. My older sister will be.”

Lyre’s mouth popped open. “Really? Then why
are
you a tyrant?”

Miysis ignored him and gestured toward Piper. “The car is here. Let’s go.”

She hopped up and hurried to follow him, grinning when Lyre winked. Miysis had generously offered to drive her home. She suspected he was afraid that Raum would kidnap her before she made it back to the Consulate and all his effort to get her on the gala list would go to waste.

A sleek, black car idled outside the back doors. Of course Miysis had a luxury vehicle while any working automobile was hard to find. He held the door open for her. She waved goodbye to Lyre, who would follow on his borrowed motorbike, before sliding onto a cool leather seat. She tried hard not to look impressed. Stupid, wealthy daemon quasi-prince.

Zwi jumped in as Miysis shut the door and the car rolled into motion. Miysis didn’t say much during the drive. She wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed at having to get her into the gala, ticked at her for hiding things from him, or furious that Samael had the Sahar. Probably all of the above.

Leaning back in her seat, she admitted her secret relief. With Miysis beside her until she reached the Consulate, she was safe from a second kidnapping attempt by Raum. Once inside the Consulate, she would be safe. Even if Raum was willing to break into the Consulate, it would defeat the secret part of the “secretly kidnap the Consul’s daughter” plot. Samael never did anything
publicly
despicable that could tarnish his reputation.

Raum’s attack had frightened her.
Raum
frightened her. If Miysis hadn’t essentially been stalking her—which she would have been way madder about if he hadn’t saved her in the process—she would have been a prisoner far from her father’s, or anyone else’s, reach.

All her life, Piper had done everything she could to prove she was as good as a normal haemon. She didn’t have magic, but she was stronger and tougher and smarter than her peers. She was used to taking care of herself. She’d defeated daemons in one-on-one combat. After all the fights she’d come out of while on the run with the Sahar, she’d been feeling pretty confident.

Raum had shown her how big a fool she was.

If those five daemons had been trying to kill her, she’d be dead. If even one of them had been trying to kill her, she’d be dead. Raum had kidnapped her with laughable ease. His spell had rendered her helpless in two seconds flat. She’d been defenseless.

Magic was a nearly limitless tool. Used in the heat of combat, it was limited to simple expulsions of force, heat, or electricity. With the leisure to prep, a skilled magician could manipulate forces in far more complex ways—like restraining someone with invisible bonds, magically locking a door, or creating a light source made from heatless fire. But magic went beyond natural forces.

Raum had used some kind of spell to cloud her mind, leaving her physically incapable of moving. She’d seen Ash use a spell to put a man to sleep. Magic was imagination and mental alchemy put together. Embedded spells like the dampening collar stifling Miysis’s magic took months to make, with layers of spells woven into the metal over and over. Especially talented daemons could weave magic like that on the fly; that’s how Ash broke his dampening collars. Magic was a mystery to her. All she knew was that it was physically draining, took boatloads of concentration, and required a heck of a lot of knowledge for anything beyond the basics.

Being defeated so completely by magic made her feel chillingly vulnerable. Her only slight, twisted comfort was in knowing that having magic wouldn’t have saved her from Raum. No haemon could magically compete with a draconian.

She couldn’t let go of the idea her mother had suggested—the possibility of unlocking half her magic. She had it somewhere deep inside her, sealed out of reach. If part of it were freed . . .

Brooding silently, Piper was surprised when the car came to a gentle stop. The Consulate glowed welcomingly under the dark sky. Huh. That was fast.

Miysis pushed open his door. “6:45, sharp,” he said.

She followed him out of the car as Lyre roared up on his motorcycle. Damn, he looked good.

She quickly turned back to Miysis. “I’ll be ready. Just get me on that damn list.”

He smiled easily. “Don’t worry. I never disappoint a lady.”

She nodded politely, gritting her teeth. Was Miysis flirting with her too? She needed an “I don’t date daemons” button.

“Neither do I,” Lyre added suggestively, confirming her interpretation of Miysis’s remark. The incubus purposefully brushed against her as he passed. She sighed. A bright red button. In the shape of a stop sign.

Ever the gentlemen, Miysis escorted her to the front door. Not to be outdone, Lyre walked on her other side. She tried to ignore the coming-home-after-a-date feeling, which was made even weirder by having a guy on either side. She was dressed all wrong though, seeing as she’d never been on a date where a glittery sequined top was appropriate. Not that she’d been on many dates.

She stopped abruptly in front of the door. Panic whooshed through her belly as she realized the flaw in her gala plans. A huge flaw.

She spun to face Miysis, eyes wide. “What will I
wear
?” she gasped.

The gala was the most prestigious event of the year. Even the
doormen
wore silk and diamond cufflinks. They were daemon security guards and the diamonds were lodestones, but still. Diamonds!

Miysis tilted his head. “I guess—”

The front door swung open, flooding the front step with light. Piper looked around in surprise—and the blood drained from her face.

Her father stood in the threshold.

The light behind him cast sharp shadows over most of his face but there was no mistaking the fury hardening every line of his body. His glower took in her outfit with cutting precision, lingering on the bloody cuts from her collision with the cubicle. His glare then slid to Lyre and increased another ten degrees in unrestrained rage.

The incubus leaped back. “Um,” he croaked. “Sir.”

With an apologetic glance at Piper, he turned and rabbited down the steps to his bike.

Quinn turned his fury to Miysis. The Ra daemon stood his ground, meeting Quinn’s glower with cool indifference. He nodded calmly before walking away.

Piper didn’t move as Lyre’s bike rumbled to life and took off. A moment later, a car door slammed and the sound of gravel crunching under tires receded into the darkness. She licked her lips and tried to pretend she wasn’t almost as frightened of her father as she was of Raum. How could she have forgotten she’d snuck out? What was wrong with her, walking straight up to the front door?

Quinn said nothing. He stepped aside, holding the door open, the command clear.

Shoulders slumped and steps dragging, she slunk into the Consulate. Parental hell was about to be unleashed. Lectures and shouting and punishments were coming. But what really hurt was the overpowering urge to throw herself into her father’s arms and cry out the terror of Raum’s attack, and knowing she would never do it.

CHAPTER 5

“
P
IPER?”

She gripped the sponge tighter and dug it into the stubborn stain. Brown, soapy foam oozed between her fingers.

“Piper?”

Teeth gritted, she scrubbed harder, ignoring her uncle’s calls from somewhere upstairs. If she had to clean every damn toilet in the Consulate, she damn well wanted to get it over with. Interruptions were not welcome.

“Piper!”

“
What?
” She launched to her feet, throwing the sponge into the toilet bowl. Scuzzy water splattered the floor. Every daemon guest room had an adjacent bathroom, hotel style. That meant more toilets than she had bras—and she had a lot of bras.

Calder’s shout came from the top of the stairs. “Quinn wants to see you. Get your butt up here.”

She scowled at his tone. He was furious with her too. Last night, her father and uncle had noticed her absence shortly after she’d left and had spent the night worrying. Even if she’d remembered to sneak in through the back, it wouldn’t have mattered. But getting caught in the company of two daemons Quinn especially didn’t want her around had only made things worse. She would be scrubbing toilets for a long time.

She’d hoped their tempers would cool by morning but it was two in the afternoon with no signs of forgiveness on the horizon. Quinn was especially furious about Lyre. According to Lyre, Quinn had told the incubus in no uncertain terms to stay away from the Consulate when Piper was present—the same threat he’d given Miysis. In Quinn’s mind, Lyre was an extension of the trouble that was Ash. Miysis was a different kind of trouble, but one Quinn was equally determined to keep away from Piper.

She washed her hands. She’d handled Miysis fine, hadn’t she? He was extremely civilized for a daemon. Very aristocratic and proper. She had no idea what Quinn’s problem was. Her bigger concern was how she would get ready for the gala without Quinn or Calder noticing, especially when she was supposed to be doing chores nonstop for the next decade or two. It was too much to hope that they wouldn’t notice her locked in her bathroom for two or three hours straight.

She mulled over the problem as she stomped her way up the stairs. Quinn was waiting for her exactly where she’d expected: in his office. At his desk. The same place he sat when discussing business, coordinating all the Consulates under his authority, or handing out discipline to subordinates and rule-breakers. The work/family distinction was lost on her father.

Without a word, she thumped down in the seat across from him and waited. They shared a long look full of challenges and stubbornness. The white bandages wrapped across his face made him look vulnerable. The stony look in his one visible eye trumped that illusion.

He cleared his throat. “Your uncle and I have had some discussions over the last few days regarding the events of the past six weeks. Concerning last night in particular, we agree some decisions need to be made in regards to your future.”

Slow trepidation built up in her stomach. “What decisions?”

“I spoke to Mr. Young this morning.”

The name meant nothing to her. “Who?”

“He’s the Dean of Westwood.”

She stared blankly.

“Westwood Academy,” he clarified.

“Wait . . . you mean that private school for rich kids in Arlington?”

He nodded.

She squeezed her hands together between her knees. “Arlington is three hours away.”

He nodded again. “After recent events, I think it would be best if you finished the semester at Westwood.”

“But . . .” How would she get to school and back when it wasn’t even in the same city?

“The residences at Westwood are extremely generous,” Quinn continued brusquely. “You should be quite comfortable. Mr. Young and I have arranged everything. Calder will drive you on Monday morning. You’ll have the day to unpack and settle in before starting classes on Tuesday.”

Her whole body went cold. She said nothing.

“Westwood has far more elective options than your current school, as well as a variety of extracurricular activities. The classes will be more advanced, but I’m sure you’ll catch up.”

“But . . .” The word came out in a croak. “Westwood Academy is a humans-only school. I can’t go there.” Her current school was a community college that welcomed humans and haemons alike. Human-only schools had completely different attitudes toward haemons—mainly, that they were freaks not to be welcomed under any circumstances.

Quinn cleared his throat. “Mr. Young and I discussed your particular circumstances. He’s perfectly happy to make an exception for you.”

She gripped the seat of the chair so hard her fingers ached. “I can’t go to a human school.”

“Mr. Young is—”

“I can’t go to a human school,” she repeated, louder. “I’m a haemon. I don’t belong there.”

“Piperel, you—”

“I’m a haemon! You can’t send me to a human school.”

“After the events surrounding the Sahar, I think—”