Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (46 page)

The link between them unraveled. Somehow he snatched at each end of it, holding on with sheer force of will as the pull of her own soul stretched back toward a pool of obliterating darkness. The pain burned him to ash, tore him apart, and burned him again, but he wouldn't let go. His teeth slammed together so tightly that he could feel the ache even through the lash of power. It scalded his senses, left him raw and scabbed over, where he'd finally begun to rebuild against the sensitivity of it.

But he didn't let go.

Instead, he drew the vast depths of his power into himself like a man taking in the deepest breath he could. Finger trembling, Lucien traced one of the forbidden runes between her breasts. It erupted into scarlet light, and Ianthe's body jerked as he turned the same gold-tipped finger to his own heart, transforming the bond that they'd begun, so long ago, it seemed.

Power exploded in a violent coruscation around them as the bond between them snapped back into place, twice as thick, each lashing tendril of power binding them together like a web.

He didn't think he could hold it. A force stronger than his own dragged him after her, slipping inexorably toward that pool of oblivion.

A small psychic touch brushed against him, a tiny little thread adding to their bond. Something alien, but something he recognized instantly.
Louisa.
Reaching out with powers as yet undeveloped, as if she'd sensed her mother's need, even over such a vast distance.

And both of them catapulted back into reality, slamming harshly into their own bodies.

Ianthe's eyes shot open, golden power streaming from them, and a dry, hollow scream sounding in her throat. Lucien held her in his arms, pressing his face against her throat, whispering, "
Please,
" over and over again as he rocked her.

She fell into sobbing, and Lucien curled her against his chest, feeling raw inside.
Thank God
. He looked up to the heavens, barely able to breathe through the enormity of the emotions surging through him.

The room trembled.

Drake snatched at his sleeve, concern in his eyes, and his face stained with dust. "We have to get out of here," he said, balancing Eleanor Ross in his arms. "The entire house is going to collapse, I think."

I
N THE END
, it was a choice that Drake did not wish to make.

His lover in his arms. His son and the daughter-of-his-heart stumbling behind them as they fled the building.

Morgana and the son he'd only just found were left behind.

I'll go back
, he promised himself as they fled.
Go back and save him...

His heart bled, but he got them out, just as the house collapsed. Half of it sheared away, burying itself in rubble. The half where Eleanor had been held. Drake turned back to it, knowing he was too late to enter, knowing he couldn't save this last son.

You failed. You failed him.
Just as Lady Rathbourne had once prophesized.

Others were there. Lady Eberhardt, setting the situation to rights with a brusque take-charge manner; and Bishop, the only son who he'd spent much time with, watching him with those dark
Sicarii eyes, as Drake turned to stare at the house.

"It's better this way," Bishop told him.

They understood each other. They always had. Nobody should wield that much power. Nobody with only the gifts of Expression. It was dangerous. The whole of London would burn.

But Drake mourned, not as a Prime, not as a man who knew the dangers of such things, but as a father who remembered, once upon a time, the words that his lover had once told him:

'
T
HREE SONS
, three sacrifices.

When you first lay eyes upon them all, the end will begin.

You shall be their deaths. You shall turn their graves.

And the whole of London shall burn, if it does not come to pass.'

"
I
TRIED TO STAY AWAY
," he said, weakly. "I tried."

"I know," Bishop replied, and for once, his bleak eyes showed symptoms of sympathy.

CHAPTER 31

M 
inutes before the collapse...

"
SEBASTIAN?" CLEO CALLED, taking a careful step forward into what she suspected was the hall. Miss Martin had left her side as soon as someone screamed, leaving Cleo to shuffle her way along, tripping over pieces of rubble.

This way
, said her senses.
Go this way
.

Voices called as others moved away from her. The entire building shook, but everything in her screamed to keep going.

Someone was coughing nearby. "Bloody hell," Sebastian spat. "What are you doing here?"

Relief flooded through her, and she hurried forward as much as she could. "You're h-hurt?" It was partly a question.

"Cleo." A hand caught her wrist, and then she was being dragged sideways as Sebastian listed toward the wall. His voice was raw, cracked. "You've got to get out of here. The roof's... coming down. The whole building's... coming... down."

"I know," she told him, because she'd
seen
it. She was more concerned with him and what else she'd seen. "You're bleeding. Where? Where are you bleeding?"

He hesitated, but she was shoving aside his clothes, trying to find the source of his forthcoming death. She could stop this. She had to stop this!

"You need to get out of here."

"Not without you," she told him, even as a nearby wall collapsed, taking with it part of the roof. Cleo cried out, her hand curling through his in fright as something sharp slashed her cheek as it flew past.

"Cleo." There was a world of information in that one word. Sebastian slumped back against the wall, his voice sounding strained. His legs gave way, dragging him down—and her with him. "It's done. T-the ceiling collapsed upon her."

"Who?"

"Morgana." He wheezed. "It's done. She's done. I finally... did it."

"If we don't hurry, then the ceiling might collapse on us too!" As if to punctuate her words, something fell with a heavy crash nearby. Cleo gasped.

"I don't think... that I'm going... to be able to manage." Sebastian pressed something into her hands. A ruined piece of knife. It felt plain, heavier than expected, after all this fuss. "Take this... with you. I destroyed it, but... make sure... it’s melted down."

"No!" She caught his coat by the lapels as Sebastian slid down the wall, and she landed on her knees in front of him. The knife tumbled into her skirts. "No! I won't let this happen!" Hot tears wet her blindfold. "I won't!"

Strong fingers curled around her wrists. "You've seen it... haven't you?"

The entire building was shaking. She screwed her eyes shut behind her blindfold, pressing her forehead to his chest.

"Cleo, it won't stop bleeding." He sounded like he was explaining something to a child. "She stabbed me with the Blade. It's the type of wound that cannot be healed... or so they say."

Cleo tore at her skirts, wadding them up and pressing them against the hot, weeping slash at his side. She couldn't stop crying, but she was determined, even if premonition had been willfully silent on this topic. In every vision she'd seen, every twist of the future that she'd tried to imagine, all she'd ever seen was herself crying over his body when he finally stopped breathing.

"I won't let it happen! I won't!"

"Cleo, you need to get out of h-here." He was slurring now. Hands cupped her face, his trembling fingers holding her in place. "I don't want to... die... knowing that you're still in here."

"Well, you'd better help me get out then, hadn't you?" she demanded. "Because I'm not going anywhere without you." Her throat closed over. "You tried to stop them from killing Mrs. Ross, didn't you? This is my fault. This happened because I demanded that you save her!"

"Hush. Hush..."

Cleo shook her head. "If I hadn't demanded such a thing, you wouldn't have been there." She was flat out sobbing now. "I'm so selfish!"

"No. No, you're not." He was whispering now, still holding onto her face. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met. It was worth it. I'm finally free, Cleo."

"Bastian—"

"Hush." His voice sounded closer, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Just hush. Just give me this. Once."

And then his mouth brushed against hers, his breath teasing her lips. Cleo froze in shock as Sebastian finally kissed her, so sweetly it almost took her breath away. A simple touch, but one filled with so much yearning, so much need...

She could feel the tingle of premonition itching over her skin.
Not yet!
She wanted this to last, wanted—

A vision speared through her; a way in which she could save his life. She could see the threads of sorcery dancing through her own fingers, see how she could save him! Repercussions stretched out, consequences echoing with a warning cry, but she didn't heed them. She had done this. Now, she could undo it. All she had to do was—

Sorcery wove into a fine thread between her fingers. Cleo struck with it, pressing her hand over his chest and forcing that fine web to curl around his heart, binding it to hers as his mouth tore from her own. Something wrenched in her chest, and Sebastian screamed, his body arcing off the floor and pressing up into the palm of her hand as she threw everything she had into this last, final spell. A way to bind him to her, so that not even death could steal him away.

It hurt. Gods, it hurt. She was screaming too, her heart resettling in her chest before finally smoothing into a steady, deliberate rhythm again. Something soft pressed against her face, and as she came back to herself, she found herself lying atop him, her head resting against his chest.

His heart beat beneath her ear, a rhythm that synced perfectly with hers.

His wound was wet and bloody beneath her hand, but sealing slowly. It was a wound that would never fully heal, would always form a weakness for him, but one which owned no mortal effect upon him, at least, not for now.

As for the rest... She had time to think, time to work out how to deal with it... all of it.

"What... have you done?" Sebastian whispered hoarsely. His hands gripped her upper arms, almost painfully, as if he was frightened. "Cleo?"

"I've saved your life, Bastian."

No matter what the consequences were, She wouldn't regret a thing.

"Now help me get out of here."

CHAPTER 32

I 
ANTHE BLINKED in the soft morning light, trying to remember where she was. The room was abnormally bright, searing her senses. Lifting a hand to her eyes, she moaned in pain. It felt as though every muscle in her body had been pounded between a hammer and anvil.

"Be still," a dark shadow murmured. Drake appeared in her vision, impassive in black. "You're not to use your sorcery for a very long time, do you understand me?"

"M-my sorcery?"

A hand cupped her forehead, a wash of warmth seeping through her and filling her with strength. Ianthe shivered as her body soaked it up, clinging to the rush of power like a drowning man.

"You exerted yourself immensely," Drake's voice was grave. "From the sound of it, you completely stripped your body of energy in order to protect Lucien, and the demon's psychic assault nearly killed you."

"L-Lucien?"

Drake eased her back onto the pillows and sat on the edge of the bed. "He's safe and well. Far better than you, actually. He forged a bond between you, Ianthe, against your will. A bond far tighter than anything that you wove before. You will never break it. You will carry it with you until one of you dies, and then most likely, the other will follow. A Soul-bond." Drake's dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he looked down, his fingers still in hers. "He said you were dying."

Coldness spiraled through her chest. Faintly, the image of being surrounded by nothing but darkness flashed into her mind, followed by a voice screaming at her to come back. Reaching out, it held her there, trapped between life and death.

"What he did is illegal."

The words were a slap in the face. "Not if I chose to accept it."

"Did you?" Drake's piercing gray eyes locked on hers.

"Yes," Ianthe lied boldly. "We had a telepathic bond. I knew what he offered."

That steady gaze never looked away. She fought a blush.

"He is a changed man," Drake said. "You are changed too."

"Change is not always for the worst."

"No." He smiled faintly, but it looked like an effort. Someone scratched at the door. "Ah. There's someone else who wants to see you. Two someone's, in fact."

The door opened and Thea stepped inside, her face pale and her hand curled around—

"Louisa," Ianthe whispered, pushing herself upright and opening her arms.

"Mama!" Her daughter's composure broke, and the little girl darted for the bed, wrapping herself around Ianthe as if she'd never let her go. There was an odd sense of rightness about the motion, as if Louisa's presence had somehow made her whole and she had not realized that a piece of her was missing until now. Ianthe drew back, frowning.

"Someone Expressed herself for the first time," Drake said, his smile set in stone and his hand gentle on Louisa's head, so as not to frighten her. "She sensed your need somehow and reached out to help her father bring you back. She is part of your bond, just not as tightly laced as the two of you are."

That spoke of precognition, perhaps. How else would Louisa have sensed what she'd needed to do? Ianthe's heart grew heavy. Her daughter was far too young for the weight of sorcery, but she forced a smile and kissed Louisa's cheek. "We shall have to begin teaching you how to control yourself then."

"May I?" Drake offered. "I have no apprentice, and someone else needs your full attention."

Ianthe's gaze lifted to Thea. The girl's eyes were full of heartbreak. Ianthe held out her hand and dragged Thea onto the bed with them. Her arms curled around both girls. "None of this is your fault," she whispered, kissing Thea's hair. "It would have happened regardless of what you did. I tried to wrestle with a demon on a psychic plane that it had created." She tried for brevity. "So lesson learned: Stay as far away from demons as possible, Thea, and don't ever think yourself a match for one when you're playing by their rules. They pack one hell of a wallop."