Emergence (Book 2) (14 page)

For the most part, he couldn't find any.
But what he risked was far less than Ciara had threatened.

Bolin licked his lips, and drew in a slow, deep breath. Ciara would feel as soon as he drew from the pendant but he had no choice. The magic contained in it had changed since the fight with the
crone. It had a darker edge to it, and had become more malleable. Meriol had woven into it the grace of the Goddess and strands of powerful earth magic to be used for protection and guidance. When Ciara had embraced Andrakaos, some of that ancient power came to bind itself into the silver. Bolin had no idea how, but it had made the talisman handier for his purposes. It took less for him to bend the magic to his will, far from its original purpose.

Another calming breath and Bolin whispered the words to open the crystal. Not all the way, just enough to allow a small bit of the Dominion magic to flow from it before it snapped shut on the rest. The crystal rocked violently, not liking what he'd done. He held out a hand, the tar-like glob spinning above his open palm. Bits of it dripped down like candle wax, and he grit his teeth as it burned his skin. Drawing his focus inward, the pendant warming against his skin, Bolin slipped past the veil between realms.

"Fetch your mistress," he said, and sent the blob streaking from his hand. If she could use it to find him, he could use it to find her. It would have been wiser to use it like a tether, holding one end and tracing the rest back to its source. But to do that he'd have to take it inside himself, and he had no desire to repeat that mistake.

It took longer than he'd hoped before she came slowly out of the shadows, the exotic purple of her eyes glowing in the gloom. Those eyes widened when they landed on Bolin, and then she smiled in delight.

"Not many would dare to call me in such a manner," she said as she moved around him. "But you're not like anyone else, are you?"

"Where is your master, witch?"

She stopped in front of him, the smile replaced by a snarl, as she arched up on her toes to put her face close to his. "I am a Priestess of the Dominion, motherless whelp."

Bolin looked down his nose at her. "The Dominion recognizes no woman."

Her hand came up, fingers curled as though she intended to claw his face. Bolin's hand snapped around her wrist and forced her arm back at an angle. She yelped and pulled away from him, putting space between them. "What do you want?"

"Are you content with your new master?"

Her eyes narrowed on him. "What game do you play here, son of a whore?"

"No game. You have no freedom, aligning yourself with that one. He will use you and discard you."

"Ha! You wish to play me against him?" She hissed at him. "I should kill you now."

"And I thought you enjoyed my company."

"This day there is little I enjoy." She squatted down, her skirt falling between her legs as she spread them wide. She scowled over her shoulder, then began to draw something in the dirt.

Bolin could feel the pulse of her magic as her finger moved in intricate patterns across the ground. "What is it you summon?"

"I have a new pet I'd like you to meet."

A figure grew out of the gloom. A man, still wearing the garb of the
Imperial Guard, his throat torn and ragged, his eyes vacant. The witch scooped up a handful of dirt, blowing it from her palm as she stood. It settled over the man and for a long moment nothing happened. Then his form began to shimmer and distort. His eyes snapped to life but they were the eyes of a beast. He dropped to all fours, his arms and legs transforming into the muscled limbs of a wolf as his body took on the new form.

The woman rested her hand on the creature's head. "Isn't he spectacular? And so strong. He will get stronger every day. Do you think his friends will be able to kill him when he shows them his face?"

"Perhaps not," Bolin said. "But I'll have no such hesitation."

She thrust out her bottom lip. "You would kill my
pet?"

"You and your
pet have much in common. It cannot act on its own will either."

Her eyes flared, and the creature beside her snapped its jaws at him, but she didn't deny his words.

"Think on what I have to offer you, priestess," Bolin said. "Freedom over servitude. It's not an offer I make lightly. We will meet again, and you will have an answer for me."

Bolin withdrew, leaving her within the veil to contemplate his words. She'd no love for Donovan, he could sense that. But she'd no love for anything good either. Even Donovan didn't feel as dark as this one. He could only hope the seed he planted would take root. If he could turn her, even slightly, and use her against Donovan, it would improve their chances of making it to Nisair.

A cool breeze washed over him, bringing with it the sound of horses' hooves thudding across the soft ground. He blinked his focus back into the present and flicked the cloth wrapping around the crystal. By the time he got to his feet, three riders had arrived. Nialyne's anger hit him even across the distance. She intercepted him before he could return the crystal to the pack, putting her horse firmly in his way, and glaring down at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

"What have you done?"

"You were using the pendant," Ciara said, coming up alongside Nialyne. Sully, wisely, stayed out of it, hanging back just out of earshot. "I could feel it."

"You should have stayed with the escort," Bolin said. He attempted to step around Nialyne's horse, but she blocked him a second time. He tilted his head back and met her gaze. "It's done. So best you save your outrage for something else because it will get you nowhere this night."

He reached up for her reins and tapped her horse in the chest, clucking to get it to step out of his way. Ciara dismounted and followed him to Sandeen. She stood silently behind him as he stripped the packs from Sandeen's saddle, and dropped the wrapped crystal back into one. He looked past her when he turned.

"Lieutenant, see to the horses, then ride back to meet the escort and see they make it here."

"Aye, General."

"Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the trip?" Ciara asked.

Bolin set the packs down and began removing Sandeen's saddle. "I'm not ignoring you now, but you want to know something I've no intention of telling you. Either of you." He added that last for Nialyne's benefit as she came to stand alongside Ciara. "A united front is a fine thing. In this case, it won't get you what you're after. And if either of you ever leave the escort again, without my direct instruction, your horse will be tied to another. Is that understood?"

Neither of them responded.

"Love of the Goddess." Bolin spun away with a growl.

Sully had stretched a picket line between two trees and had one of the mares tied off already. Bolin led Sandeen to the far end, tied him securely, then went to relieve Sully of his duties.

"Go meet the escort," Bolin said.

Sully gave a quick dip of his head,
and left without a word. How much easier would things be if only Bolin could instill that kind of discipline in the two women who now trailed his moves as though waiting for him to change his mind and answer their questions? He'd known the risk to what he did. But if he could turn the witch, even a little, then the risk would prove worth it. Even if he didn't, he'd gotten information from her. He knew what had become of the missing guard. Though what kind of unnatural spell she'd woven to create a beast from a dead man, Bolin couldn't fathom. Or even why, for that matter.

He had also gotten a sense of her mood. Whatever type of coercion Donovan had used to snare her, did not set well with the woman. She had been uneasy about being summoned. Had worried Donovan would find out. That much had been clear. Bolin would have to be very careful the next time. No sense in alarming Donovan before he was ready.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Teeva's head snapped to the side, and tears sprang to her eyes with the force of Donovan's slap.

"Did I not forbid you to leave this fortress in any manner?"

"I cannot ignore a summoning of my own power."

"Then you were foolish to allow him to keep it." Donovan turned away from her, pacing, contemplating the General's motives. "What did he want of you?"

"He questioned my contentment in your service."

"Did he?" Donovan stopped behind her. He trailed the backs of his fingers down her arm, and she shivered. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him nothing."

"Tonight we will have the blessing of the dark moon." Donovan slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. The scent of her magic intoxicated him, and his arousal became obvious. It had become harder for him to resist her pull, but this night he would find his release. "Once I have bound you, you will be powerless to move against me."

She gasped when he spun her and pushed her back against the wall, trapping her there. The light in her eyes harbored contempt and anger. Yet when he brushed a hand against her breast her back arched, and a glimmer of desire rippled through the deep violet of her gaze. Donovan lowered his head to her neck and inhaled the musky scent of her.

"I have no fondness for you," he said in her ear. "Any more than you have for me. Perhaps less so. Our joining will bear the passion of power embracing power. I will take your body, as I take your soul, mine to use whenever and however I choose."

"And what is it I get in return?"

"Your life." His lips against her neck elicited a tremor through them both. Her hands reached for his hips, and clenched his buttocks to drive him against her. "And freedom to practice your arts for my purposes."

"Freedom," she scoffed. "Nothing you offer me is freedom."

"You will want for little and be able to embrace your Dominion heritage." His hand brushed the bruise already forming across her cheek. "Would you have as much unbound? Do you think he would give you what I promise? You exist to serve, Priestess, and you shall serve me or no other."

He covered her mouth with his, hard, demanding, inhaling every bit of her until she gasped for breath. Donovan drew away.

"Prepare yourself. This night all you possess is mine."

He shoved away from her, dismissing her with that one action. She let out a shuddering breath as Donovan turned his back to her and moved across his study. His hand shook as he poured a drink. He despised frailties of the flesh, desire being chief among them. Not desire of power, that had purpose and use. Carnal desires. The basest of all animalistic tendencies. The fact the Dominion priestess could so easily arouse him angered him, though he convinced himself her powe
r alone drew him, not her body.

He swallowed his drink in one scalding draught and refilled his glass. Tonight he would give over to base need to acquire magic as dark as his. Perhaps, like her touch, it would help tame the crone's hold on him. Even in death her power surged inside him, trickling along his spine like tongues of fire. Just when he thought he had found some order to it, it fragmented and scattered.

"Why do you linger?" He snapped the question out, not turning.

"You fear him."

Donovan turned to face her, eyes narrowed. She blanched in the face of his anger and moved to put a table between them. She gripped the edge of it and leaned across, a sneer distorting her face.

"He has taken something from you. Something you would possess. He will not easily give you this thing back."

"And did he tell you this?"

"I have seen it."

"What else have you seen?"

"You cannot keep it. It will destroy you. He will destroy you."

Donovan smiled. Teeva edged around the table opposite him, her eyes glowing. Her fingertips splayed against the surface of the wood: she arched her body as though she thought to climb on top of it. "I can give you all you desire, Lord. My body. My magic. This man and the prize he has kept from you. But only if I remain unbound."

Donovan laughed. "I would sooner put a viper in my bed."

"And I would sooner suckle a pig," she said. "But such is the vow I will give to you to remain unbound."

"You are strong, Priestess." Donovan started around the table. Teeva jerked in an attempt to move away, but found herself held fast. "But you are not that strong. If you cannot best me, you cannot best the Sciath na Duinne. And consider this
, I will always be honest in my use of you. He will not. He will employ lies and trickery to get what he wants."

She screeched, an inhuman sound that pierced the air, and Donvan winced at the intensity of it. Her fingernails dug into the table top as he stopped beside her. Her breasts heaved with each breath; her muscles tightened as she strained against his hold. Donovan leaned in to see her face, allowing her enough movement to turn her head towards him.

"Have I ever lied to you, Priestess?"

She spit in his face and Donovan's hand flashed up, his fingers tight around her throat, nails digging in until her eyes bulged. Blood flushed into her cheeks, and the
violet of her eyes showed panic beside the ever-present defiance. Donovan held her a moment longer, until those strange eyes started to roll back in her head. She crumpled to the ground when he released her.

"Come now, Priestess, had you been born a man you would have been bound as a child. You would have served your order and had nothing of your own." He glanced down at her, huddled on the floor, gasping for air, and shoved her with the toe of his boot. "Stand up. I detest sniveling."

She used the table to pull herself to her feet. She glared at him, a hand on her throat, hatred on her face. When Donovan lifted his hand she flinched. But when he cupped her cheek in his palm, Teeva leaned into the touch.

"Your desire gives you away, Priestess. The greatest of power comes with the greatest of emotions, but they must be harnessed."

"I despise you," she said, her voice rough.

"And yet your body aches to join with mine. Your magic even now seeks to be controlled."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Yes." He lowered his mouth to her ear and felt her tremble. "If you defy me again, know that I will have no such hesitation where you are concerned. Now, go prepare yourself. We have much to do."

***

There were very few purposes for which Donovan would choose to align any of his practices with the moon. That silver orb belonged in the realm of the Goddess and, as such, garnered as much of his hatred as she did. The Dominion, however, found strength in the dark moon, and though he could bind the priestess at any time, doing so when her magic would be in its fullest would guarantee a stronger bond. He would need it with this one. She would fight the loss of her freedom with every ounce of her being. A shame he had not found her at a younger age. He still marveled
that the crone had not attempted to bind her.

Pain rippled through him
as the crone's power flared up, still trying to claw its way free of his. Donovan ground his teeth and gripped the edge of the parapet. The ancient words he whispered to soothe its effects on him should have long subdued it, and yet only seemed to calm it for short bursts. It had taken far too long a time to mend his own power after the battle in the crone's chamber. Trying to blend the two challenged him. It could be foolhardy to add the Dominion magic into the mix if not for the fact the Priestess seemed able to calm the crone's hold on him.

He sucked in the tepid night breeze. Stars pierced the blackness of the sky above him but gave no light to the
tower. There would be none. Not even a single candle. Though braziers flanked the low, stone altar they would not be lit. Dominion magic shunned the light.

Donovan turned and rested his back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. As much as he longed to search for his daughter, he had to admit to not having the strength. Though he could easily call to Andrakaos, at the moment, he would be able to do little beyond that. It worried him that the General had survived their battle. When he had taken the crone's power, it should have killed him. That he could wield enough control over Andrakaos, the crone's power, and the shreds of the girl's earth magic, and come out of it still drawing breath caused Donovan to admit, if only to himself, that he had greatly underestimated his enemy.

He would not make that mistake again.

After this night, he would have a new weapon to employ.

The trapdoor thrust upwards, and the scent of cool earth wafted to him as Teeva stepped onto the rooftop. Donovan straightened and his breath caught. Her magic oozed around her, thick and black, hissing as it dripped to the ground. She had painted her face, accentuating her eyes with swathes of deep emerald that swept across her temples and disappeared into the waves of her unbound black hair. She wore a simple robe the color of blood.

He felt the corners of his lips pull up. She meant to fight him.

Before he had even finished the thought, whip-like cords of her magic flicked toward him. They seared his skin where they wrapped around his arms and legs. Donovan reached out a hand and gathered them together. They cooled instantly, and he jerked his arm back. The priestess stumbled forward, but she would not be that easily caught. She twisted her hand beside her, drawing up a gale force wind that drove tiny bits of magic like molten pebbles to pepper Donovan's skin. He shielded his eyes and dropped to a crouch to avoid the onslaught, pushing them back at Teeva.

She spun, her hand flashed out, and a streak of silver sped toward Donovan's chest. He stopped the knife
in mid air, a hair's breadth from his skin, allowing it to spin slowly above his heart as he stood.

"The ceremonial dagger. How thoughtful of you." He plucked it out of the air by the blade, testing the weight of it in his palm. "Are you finished?"

She growled incoherently.

"I thought as much."

"You will not bind me."

"Ah, Priestess, but I will. Come here." When she hesitated, he gestured, and his power whipped around her, pulling her step by halting step to stand in front of him. He slid the flat of the knife blade along her cheek. She shuddered as he continued down her throat to the ties of her robe. With a flick he severed them and the robe fell open. "You will willingly give me your vow, your body, and your magic. I will take these offerings to use as I see fit. If ever you cross me, I will destroy them, one by one. Slowly and painfully."

He moved the blade across her stomach, and her taut muscles contracted. Desire smoldered beneath the hatred in her eyes, the scent of it mingling with the dark, musk of her skin.

Donovan left her standing there, quivering, and retrieved a chalice from beside the altar. There were many forms of binding ceremonies. He knew several. How
the Dominion bound its priests he did not know, nor did he care. He would bind the priestess with blood and body, which she would give willingly, and hold her because his power exceeded hers. His blood rushed through his veins, pulsing as it had never done.

"Hold up your hand," he said. He held the chalice under her raised palm, and slid the knife into her other hand. "Your blood, Priestess."

His power no longer held her, but it enveloped them both. She quivered, her eyes wide, and wet her lips. Like all who dwelled in the darkness, she hungered for more. Their union would put her in the lap of power she had only ever dreamed of, and though she would have no control of it, she would be able to immerse herself in it as a swimmer in the ocean. Donovan counted on that to guide her next move.

The knife shook as she raised it. Her gaze never left his. She drew the blade across her palm with a sure, slow stroke, hissing through her teeth.

"Well done." He took the knife, handed her the chalice, and added his own blood to the mix. "Your vow, Priestess."

She tugged her lower lip in between her teeth. "I give you my vow without binding."

Donovan shook his head. He moved casually away from her. Placing the knife and chalice beside the altar, he allowed his power to flow through her like a gentle breeze through the trees. Teeva gasped. Donovan glanced over his shoulder. She stood with her head tipped back, her eyes half-lidded, lips parted.