Bind the Soul (34 page)

Goddamn it all, she had to save him. Time was running out—if it wasn’t already too late.

Squeezing the Sahar in her fist, she backed into the farthest corner of the tent. She still hadn’t looked at it and couldn’t until she got the collar off. If Samael saw through her eyes that she had it . . . she couldn’t risk it. Closing her eyes, she pressed the Sahar against her chest.

The last time she’d tapped the Stone, the lust for violence had instantly possessed her. She could not allow that. Somehow, she had to prevent the Sahar from overwhelming her. Or at the very least, she had to channel the violence where she wanted it to go. Before, she’d used her hatred of Samael to wake the Stone. This time she filled her mind with thoughts of Ash. She had to save him. She had to protect him. She would destroy anyone who threatened him.

To save him, she had to destroy the collar. It controlled her. It was evil. She hated it. She would destroy it.

Help me,
she thought to the Sahar.
Help me destroy this evil thing.

Heat sparked in her palm with growing speed. Hate for the collar rose inside her. Before she went mad with it, she thought about Ash. Held him in her mind like a life preserver in an ocean of violence. She couldn’t lose sight of her purpose: Saving him. Protecting him. She would destroy the collar so she could save him.

Her mind split, violence on one side, determination to save Ash on the other. With the Stone tight in one hand, she closed the other around the collar. The muscles in her arms seized, but she was already touching it. Destroying it would take nothing more than concentration and willpower now.

She had no idea how Ash broke collars. Maybe there was a trick to it, some kind of strategy or spell. She didn’t know how to do any of that. So she gathered the power thundering through her body and threw it at the collar.

The ring of gold hummed like a wild thing, vibrating impossibly fast as magic rushed into it. Violent desire bubbled in her head. Ash. This was for him.
The collar,
she thought at the Sahar.
The collar!

Power burned through her, a rushing wave of euphoria that threatened to wipe her mind blank. She concentrated on the collar. She hated it.
Only
it. It was the target of all the rage and violence churning through her. The Stone flared hotter. She pressed it harder to her chest, knowing it must be glowing. Power surged from her and into the collar. It vibrated harder. Not enough. It wasn’t breaking.

“What are you doing?” The shout came from somewhere nearby. Aleph. Too close. “What the hell are you doing?”

Panic flared. She mentally grabbed for the Sahar, demanding more—and it responded.

Magic flooded her body like a thousand blades of fire. Ecstasy turned into agony. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as it ripped through her and drove into the collar. A maelstrom of magic screamed inside her. She could feel things within her tearing, but whether physical or metaphysical she couldn’t tell. Pain raged through her every nerve. Fire exploded in her skull, agony turning her vision white.

The collar was burning her. It vibrated so hard she could barely keep her grip on it. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t breaking.

More
, she commanded the Stone.

Power blasted into her. Her lungs unlocked and she screamed. Agonizing, snapping pain split her head as something in her splintered apart. She couldn’t think. The collar. She had to destroy the collar.

The magic tore through her and slammed into the collar.

The gold ring shattered in an explosion of magic that turned the world white.

. . .

The hall was long and dimly lit but comfortably familiar. Excitement quivered along her nerves. She allowed a little skip to enter her step as she walked. It had been nearly six months since she’d seen them. Too long. She paused to comb her fingers through her golden hair, arranging the loose curls to frame her face, and smiled.

Sometimes her luck amazed her. Her, a dual-blooded half-breed, had somehow captured the interest of the two most powerful daemons in all the worlds. Astounding. It had been three years since she’d first met them and sometimes it caught her by surprise during unguarded moments. After so long, they still welcomed her company.

Well, usually they did. Some days were more difficult than others. They were opposites, her two daemons. Sun and moon, heat and cold. Their friendship was at best uneasy, their alliance precarious at the same time it was solid as stone. They were so alike, yet their differences were irreconcilable. Both powerful. Regal. Brilliant. And of course, beautiful.

She slowed her steps, humming to herself. Not one, but two gorgeous, powerful daemons wanted her . . . what did that say about her? She was most certainly desirable. She was powerful in her own right, her unique dual bloodlines giving her enough magic to rival a full-blooded daemon. Not daemons of
their
caliber, of course, but nevertheless, she was not weak. They liked that. Her fire. Her confidence. They could not intimidate her—not much anyway.

Her favorite times were when the three of them were together. Those were the most challenging, the most fun. Both her daemons were possessive. They didn’t want to share her with the other, neither her attention nor her affection. They competed for her. Sometimes she would provoke their competitiveness just to enjoy the resulting clash of tempers. They were so magnificent when they were angered and it gave her shivers to see them fight over her.

It was dangerous, but she knew what it took to keep a daemon lover. Especially a powerful daemon lover. They needed to be challenged. Allow them to grow complacent and they would lose interest.

Keeping two competing daemon lovers at the same time was an undeniable sign of her skill and intelligence. She knew what they wanted and she gave it to them. Created it for them. Challenged them, enticed them, entertained them, tested them. Foolish women tried to sway her lovers with their amorous charms but her daemons always returned to her. Other women didn’t understand daemons, their needs, their desires.

Of course, there was only one reason her daemons hadn’t killed each other, or her, in their competition. Neither one would have tolerated her toying with their affections or desires for some insincere pleasure; they would kill her if they ever suspected such a thing. Had anyone else tried to stand equally between them, claimed by both, held by neither, blood would have been spilled.

But no. They knew, as did she, that she wasn’t toying with them. Nor could she choose one over the other.

She loved them both. Loved them irrevocably and indefinitely, and absolutely equally. She could no more choose one than she could divide herself in half. That was the only reason they tolerated sharing her. It wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, one or both would move on to other entertainments. But for now, her lovers still wanted her and she would relish every moment she spent with them.

Like tonight. All three of them together. It didn’t happen often anymore. Her daemons’ rivalry over her had grown too fierce. It was likely impossible now for a repeat of that one unforgettable night where she had teased them both into her bed. At the same time. It had been . . . glorious. She would never forget it.

As she flounced toward the end of the hall, burgeoning desire mixing with her eagerness to see them, she heard voices. Her lovers were talking business, as usual. She pushed the door open and swept in.

They turned in unison to face her. Sun and moon. Fire and ice. Both beautiful. Both deadly.

“Natania,” her sun greeted her. His voice flowed like music, dancing across her skin, as beautiful as his flawless, ivory complexion and silky golden mane. His eyes caressed her, crystalline green more brilliant than gemstones.

“Maahes,” she purred. She lowered her eyelashes and turned to her moon, waiting.

His lucid gray eyes drifted across her face. “Natania,” he murmured, his voice smoother than silk, not lyrical like Maahes’s, but deep with a power that slid beneath her skin.

“Nyrtaroth.” She let her eyes rove over him, absorbing his exotic shape as though she had never seen him before. But of course she had; he rarely used glamour, even when visiting her world. He was wilder than Maahes; not uncivilized, not at all, but he was like a surging mountain river: cold, unpredictable, unstoppable. Lethal. Maahes was a deep plains river—warmer on the surface, casually meandering, deceptively calm at first glance, but with a deadly undertow ready to drag the unsuspecting into his black depths.

Smiling at Nyrtaroth, she lifted one hand and casually slid a finger down the outer edge of one folded wing. His breath caught slightly. His wings were very sensitive. Most never learned such an intimate detail about draconians, never daring to approach them, but it had been a long time since fear had touched her while in his presence. It amused her to see others quake in terror at the sight of him. He wasn’t terrifying; he was beautiful. Sets of three curved horns on either side of his head, glossy black scales, more intricate than any armor, with swirling patterns dancing across his skin . . . He took her breath away.

“Natania,” Maahes said, not liking the way her attention lingered on Nyrtaroth. She immediately turned to him with a smile. “We have been waiting for you. Are you ready?”

“Of course. Just tell me what you need.”

“You will help us complete our ultimate lodestone?”

“I am not sure how I can help,” she admitted, “but anything you need, I will do my best.”

He smiled teasingly. “Anything?”

She lowered her eyelashes and coyly returned his smile. “Anything.”

His eyes shimmered like glowing jewels. “I knew we could put our faith in you, my heart.”

He reached out and stroked his fingers tenderly over her cheek.

It was the tiniest flash of shadow in his eyes that warned her. She threw up a mental shield as his magic swept into her. His relentless power swallowed her meager protection, swamping her in the spell. Her body went limp. Nyrtaroth caught her, scooping her off her feet and laying her across their worktable.

Her head spun. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t move. Maahes’s spell sucked at her mind, lapping at her mental shield as it tried to pull her into unconsciousness.

“I will not wield the blade,” Nyrtaroth said above her, his deep voice flat and harsh.

“Do not feign abhorrence now, Nyr,” Maahes retorted coldly. “It was you, not I, who developed the theory from which we will build our weapon.”

“I did not theorize we use
her
. That brilliancy falls fully upon you.”

“What else would you suggest? You understand this necessity as well as I do.”

A tense heartbeat of silence.

She fought hard against the spell but her shield was failing. Maahes’s magic was a hundred times stronger than her own—but he hadn’t anticipated her quick resistance. She suspected neither daemon realized she was still conscious and listening.

“Yes,” Nyrtaroth finally agreed. “A lodestone without limit must be powered by a source without limit.”

“Emotion is infinite,” Maahes replied, the smooth flow of his response hinting at an exchange repeated more than once between them. “And emotion is born from the soul.”

“The strongest emotion from the soul of a human.”

“And the strongest magic from the soul of a daemon. We will complete our lodestone weapon with a power source that will never expire: the dual soul of a half-breed.”

A quiet sigh.

“Nyr,” Maahes said impatiently, “we discussed it. Shed this sentimentality.”

Nyrtaroth made a small, amused sound. “They call me a cold bastard but you deserve the title far more than I.”

“She is the only half-daemon alive with dual bloodlines. It must be her.”

“I know.”

“It is a risk even using her. She may not love us enough. I would much prefer to wield a weapon fueled by love than one fed by eternal hatred, wouldn’t you?”

“Agreed.”

Panic rose in her, pushing through the cloud of Maahes’s spell. Her daemons. Her lovers. They were . . . they were going to kill her. Not out of love or jealousy, but for
power
. For their
lodestone
. How could they? How dared they?

She threw all her strength and magic into breaking the spell. But it held. She strained until she could hold on no longer. Maahes’s magic spiraled tighter and tighter. Clouds of mist wrapped around her mind. Bitter fury twisted inside her, only to be sucked into the spell.

The suffocating mist closed over her. Her last thought was of lonely sorrow that her love hadn’t meant more than their ambitions.

. . .

Piper’s eyes flew open. She still felt the choking clouds of the spell spinning in her head, dragging her toward unconsciousness. Panic shot through her and she jerked upright.

Her head collided with something hard. Everything was dark. She reached up and discovered a huge flap of canvas on top of her and what felt like a chunk of bed frame overhanging where she lay. Her panic waned as she shook off the lingering remnants of the—dream? Hallucination? Memory?