Bound by Shadow (5 page)

Riana nodded her agreement and saw Merilee begin to move toward the alley on the left of their brownstone. Riana signaled her to stop, to take up watch in the tree directly across the street, just inside the park’s wall. Merilee changed course immediately, darted unseen through moving cars, and catlike climbed into the tree’s waiting branches.

Air-lovers fought best from aboveground, and archers had the best chance of taking down a foe with a single shot. They usually led battles—or swept up the mess. Riana couldn’t risk any messes, so she left Merilee—the triad’s broom—there in the tree, in that last protective position.

Cynda, giving off a subtle but definite smoke, led the charge into the alley. She moved so fast Riana had difficulty catching up, but she managed to pace her after a few running steps.

The alley, long and dark, had a few dumpsters and a handful of fire escapes. Otherwise, it was a collection of service tunnels joined by smooth, black pavement. Two service lights illuminated either end, leaving the center shadowed.

After a quick gesture to indicate her plan, Cynda pulled down the lower steps of a fire escape, climbed up, then pulled up the steps while Riana pushed them from the ground. Nimble as always, Cynda hopped from iron staircase to iron staircase, until she reached the center of the alley. Riana stayed where she was and faded behind one of the dumpsters to wait for warning of the Asmodai’s approach.

She didn’t have to wait long.

The service lights at the far end of the alley flared, then went out.

Riana narrowed her eyes and allowed her trained perceptions to take over, sifting through the darkness, through the suddenly distant sounds of the city, until she found…

There.

A scrape. An off-kilter rustling. Sounds that didn’t quite belong, that felt wrong to her powerful instincts.

The faint smell of sulfur drifted through the alley.

Goddess. It’s made of fire.

A soft, low “Shit,” from Cynda, somewhere above, confirmed that perception.

At that instant, a blue-black jet of fire erupted from below Cynda’s fire escape.

It struck the metal, heating it to red almost instantly.

The bottom stairs pinched off like wet clay and sizzled onto the alley pavement.

Riana barely had time to register Cynda swinging desperately up, up, to get out of range before a hot jet struck the other side of the dumpster.

Riana propelled herself headfirst away from the melting metal, flipped, rolled to her feet, and drew her daggers. Heart pounding, she called on the trapped fire inside the weapons, and both daggers blazed in response. Fire ran along the iron, outlining the wicked curve of the blades.

The light cast by the burning daggers illuminated a man standing, arms raised, dead center in the otherwise dark alley. A normal-looking man in a normal-looking black overcoat, nice slacks, a silk shirt, decent tie, and polished shoes—except this man’s body seemed to shift in and out of different features. One second a thin, tall being. The next shorter, fatter. The next, more feminine. Riana knew if she got close enough to see its face, she would want to scream. Human, yet not human. Purposeful, yet utterly slack and vacant. And the eyes. If she looked into the eyes of a fire Asmodai, she would find only burning hollows.

When the creature fixed on Riana, black fire shot from its hands.

She ducked and let the heat slam against the bricks behind her.

The gut-punch sound of cracking stone made her wince.

Son of a bitch.

This thing
had
been sent to destroy them. If it had been on some other mission, it would have ignored them even as they destroyed it. Somewhere on its person, then, would be things the triad had touched, along with the talisman left by the creature’s maker to keep it under control. If it completed its task without being destroyed, it would use that talisman to return to its maker.

More fire shot in her direction.

She feinted left and the fire slammed into the melted remnants of the dumpster.

Cynda picked that moment to leap down behind the Asmodai. Her sword blazed with brilliant orange flames, the height and intensity of the fire outlining her body.

So much for another leather jumper.

“Hey, hell-breath!” Cynda yelled.

The Asmodai whirled at the sound of another one of its targets.

Riana charged up behind it as Cynda parried a blast of fire with her long double-edged sword.

Deflected flame cracked another chunk of bricks, and a few loose pieces rained down on the Asmodai.

It covered its head.

Riana reached it and rammed one of her daggers deep in its back.

A little to the right. Missed the heart!

She jerked it out and jammed the second blade home just as the Asmodai started to turn.

Her second dagger struck the man-thing full in the ribs.

The hot impact of her dagger against a fire Asmodai blazed up her left arm and she had to let go of the dagger hilt.

The creature struck at her and she barely got her remaining dagger up in time to absorb some of the blow. Heat coursed over her bodysuit, melting layers of protections into so much twisted, lumpy char. Another couple of hits and it would cook her like bacon.

Cynda had taken her stance. Riana saw and dropped low to give her triad sister a clear shot at the Asmodai’s head.

Riana also reached within herself, to that core of power and connection to the earth, to her legacy. Her awareness of her feet on the ground, of the stones and dirt all around her doubled, tripled. Cautiously but deliberately, she loosed a controlled fragment of her own earth power, rattling the ground beneath the creature.

It stumbled. Fell to its knees.

Cynda’s strike would be easier than a practice-hack.

At that second, something slammed into Riana and knocked her down. Her dagger went flying. Pain ricocheted through her hands, wrists, and knees as she fell hard on the asphalt. Her control slipped. The ground rattled hard, then rumbled and bucked.

What the hell?

A second Asmodai?

A human helper?

Why hadn’t her instincts warned her?

A full-blown earthquake built under New York’s Upper East Side.

“No, no, no!” Wheezing from the shock and strain, Riana fought to focus, to calm her mind and fold the energy back under her conscious control.

She was dimly aware of a large, dark shape grappling with the Asmodai. The damn Asmodai still had its head. Cynda hadn’t been able to take her swing.

And Cynda—where was she?

Screaming and swearing, that much Riana could hear.

Good. At least she was still alive.

A few seconds later, Riana managed to quell the tremors in the earth, to pull back the power she had accidentally released. The sensation almost suffocated her, but she did it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cynda yelled. “You can’t just punch the thing in its nose, asshole!”

Fire cracked brick.

More fire turned a piece of fire escape into a molten puddle.

The air smelled like sulfur and burned hair.

Riana lunged forward, grabbed her dagger and renewed its flames, then staggered to her feet just in time to see Cynda kick the hell out of something and send it slamming against a hot, chipped brick wall.

Then she found herself almost nose to chest with the Asmodai.

It raised both hands to crush her skull and burn her to death at the same time.

“Not happening.” Hand shaking, she drove her dagger up, up into its chest cavity. She felt the blade strike the drumming center, the heart, right where she had intended.

At that same second, the flaming tip of a whistling arrow drove between the creature’s eyes.

Riana had only a moment to process this before Cynda yelled, “Fore!” and the thing’s head went flying off.

Instantly, the mass of the creature evaporated. Merilee’s arrow and Riana’s trapped dagger clattered to the alley pavement, but she kept hold of the other dagger in her hand.

The thing’s clothing—some pieces of it draped over Riana’s arm from the instant the thing vanished—caught fire.

“Bastard!” She yanked her arm back and sent a rush of earthy energy over the sizzling spots, with immediate effects.

She pulled up her leather face mask as the rest of the clothing, some of it no doubt the talisman used by the creature’s master to control it, burned in seconds. Little blue-black flames danced until there was nothing left except her dagger, the arrow—and a slightly charred soda can.

She kicked the dagger and arrow to the side, bathed the curved blade on the ground with a little cooling earth energy, then tended to the dagger in her hand. When she finished, she sheathed both weapons.

Cynda pulled off her nearly ruined face mask. Freckled skin peeking through the holes burned in her bodysuit, she leaned down and tapped the blackened soda can with her still-glowing sword. “Diet, with lipstick on the rim.” She looked up at Riana. “It’s yours. Motherfucking Legion gave the Asmodai our
trash
to target us? Come on. That’s cheating.”

Merilee, face mask dangling from one hand, came running up chanting, “My kill, my kill, my kill.”

“Excuse me?” Riana turned on Merilee as Merilee retrieved her arrow. “I got it first.”

Cynda said, “You’re both dreaming. That was my kill.”

Something groaned.

Riana and Merilee turned toward the alley wall.

“Oh, yeah.” Cynda pointed her cooling blade toward a dark shape lying on the ground. “That freak charged in here and tried to fistfight the Asmodai, if you can believe that. Help me get him inside.”

“No rest for the weary,” Merilee muttered.

Riana’s heart gave a strange buck, not unlike the ground she had accidentally rattled too hard.

She knew that black hair, that leather blazer. She’d been thinking about them all day long.

Creed Lowell stirred and let out another groan, this one louder than the first.

Cynda nudged her shoulder. “Come on, fearless leader. You can moon over the cute demon-man’s eyes
after
we tie him up.”

4

Creed dreamed that he was standing naked in a forest. Standing on some sort of smooth, polished wood. His knees gave, and he stumbled forward. A warm wind caught him, caressed him like dozens of fingers, gentle enough to make him groan, yet firm enough to hold him upright. A soft, teasing breeze lifted his cock oh-so-slowly—

Knock it off, Merilee.

But it’s got to be eight inches, Cynda. Eight inches and he’s not even aroused.
Look
at it.

Don’t make me burn your hair again.

Confused, Creed twisted away from the breeze as best he could. He didn’t like the touch. It wasn’t…right. Not the right scent, either.

The breeze dropped Creed’s cock and grew stronger, lifting his arms high above his head and crossing them.

Metal cuffs snapped shut around his wrists.

Handcuffs.

His
handcuffs?

His ring started to vibrate. The wind stopped.

He fell forward and jerked against the cuffs, but his arms stayed in place. When he tried to open his eyes, his head throbbed. Were his lids glued shut? He moved his thick tongue against the grit in his mouth. He felt like he had eaten a brick whole, only bothering to chew the bigger bits.

Roots and vines—no—colder—harder—chains? Chains snaked around his ankles and pulled his feet sideways, in opposite directions. This time when he lost his balance, Creed barely moved. He was standing in some weird parade-rest position, hands high, and he couldn’t open his eyes.

What the hell?

Unbearably warm sunlight licked across his back and his ass.

Cynda. You’ll hurt him.

So? I swear you’ve gone soft, Riana.

Whatever he is
—

It. We don’t know that it’s human.

Fine. Whatever
it
is, don’t cause him—it—pain for no reason. Get off the table. I’ll handle him myself.

I bet you will.

Creed’s ass quit burning. The pounding in his head doubled. God, he wanted some water. Better yet, a cold beer. Two or three of them.

Hands prodded his neck, his chest, his arms, lingering on the thick scar that ran from his left shoulder to his left elbow.

Creed’s skin started to burn again, but this time the fire came from inside.

These
were the right hands. Yes.

Fingers brushed his scar again, and the smell of fresh rain and lavender washed through his senses. Spring storms. Flowers in a field, just after a summer downpour.

A band stretched first around his head, then his neck. Something tickled as it drew along the length of his arms, then ringed his chest, then his ass, then his left thigh, and the right one, too.

Measuring tape?

“Are you measuring me?” he muttered.

The band whipped away. All tickling stopped.

“Not yet,” a woman said from behind him. “We’re not ready.”

“Then get ready,” said a second woman. “Hurry!”

Creed jerked against his cuffs, and metal clanked on metal. He tried to ask for water, but only coughed.

A hand—a soft hand with very, very sharp nails—closed around his cock.

Wind chimes tinkled softly, seemingly from everywhere at once.

Wind chimes.

Shit!

His ring seemed to buzz against his skin.

Creed forced his eyes open.

Light stabbed into his awareness. He squinted and swayed against his bonds, and the fingers on his cock tightened. The
other
inside Creed tried to rise, but its energy seemed oddly thick and restrained. Creed snarled and yanked against the cuffs.

“Give it up, cowboy,” said that sultry voice Creed had been thinking about since the moment he first heard it. “You’re grounded. Literally.”

The hand on his cock moved, slipping like silk from tip to base, then cupping his sensitive sac. Creed’s mind cleared in one big hurry.