Bind the Soul (5 page)

One glance told Piper she was in deep trouble. This was not a friendly group of drunken dancers who’d accidently wandered into the back room.

No, all five of them were daemons.

The two women and two of the men wore matching black fatigues that covered them from their boots to their necks. They had assorted weapons strapped to them, from guns to swords. The men had buzz cuts and the women wore their hair in tight buns. Everything about them said they meant business.

The fifth man stood directly across from Piper, feet set shoulder-width apart, arms folded as he waited. He wore similar black fatigues but his shirt was sleeveless, leaving his muscular arms bare. Leather armguards, each with half a dozen throwing knives sheathed in it, covered his forearms. He had more weapons on him than any of the others. Black material was wrapped around his lower face and neck, revealing only his eyes: pale blue and scorching in their intensity. A thick white scar ran down one side of his face and vanished under the wrap. Two fainter scars marked his other cheekbone.

Piper slowly licked her lips. Fear slid through her, growing with each passing second. Zwi crouched at her feet, growling softly.

The middle man . . . his wavy hair was an impossible shade of iridescent red. Brighter than Ash’s dark locks but a distinctly similar shade. Was it possible . . .?

With a deep-pitched trill, the male dragonet swooped in and landed on the man’s shoulder. Piper swallowed hard. Yes, it was possible. The man in front of her was a draconian.

She stole a quick glance at the other four. They definitely weren’t draconian but she couldn’t tell what castes they were. The draconian was obviously their leader—and for good reason. He was probably the most powerful daemon in the city, possibly the entire county.

The dragonet chattered in his master’s ear. The draconian shifted his stare from Piper to Zwi. He appraised the dragonet before focusing on Piper again. She pulled the towel tighter around her body and gritted her teeth.

“That dragonet is not yours.” His words were soft, inflectionless. She shuddered; like Ash, his voice went down to her bones, but this draconian’s voice rubbed her completely the wrong way.

She swallowed to get some moisture in her mouth. Her heart pounded madly. “I’m taking care of her. For a friend.”

“You can’t meet a dragonet’s needs. Only a draconian can.”

“Like you?” she snapped.

“Yes,” he agreed tonelessly. “Without a bond, she’ll eventually die.”

“It’s only temporary,” she said defensively, inching backward toward the shower stall where the hidden knives in her boots waited.

The draconian was silent for a moment. “I don’t think it is.”

She blinked, confused, but he continued before she could speak.

“My master desires your assistance with a small matter. You will accompany us.”

“Your master?” she repeated blankly. Then it hit her: this daemon was a draconian. And according to Lilith, only one person controlled draconians, sending them out on missions and making sure they didn’t live long enough to get rebellious. This draconian looked to be somewhere between twenty-three and twenty-five—a very hard-lived twenty-something.

“You mean . . . Samael?” she whispered. Horror choked her. No. She hadn’t expected it so soon. This was too soon.

The draconian’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest. Without uncrossing his arms, he flicked one hand. The two female daemons stepped forward in unison.

“Wait!” she cried. “I—I—Can I put my clothes on first? Please?” She clutched pathetically at her towel.

The draconian hesitated, then nodded. “Be quick.”

The women stepped back. They knew Piper wasn’t going anywhere. Breathing fast, sick with terror, she scuttled backward and snapped the curtain closed. Hidden from their view, she dropped to her knees and pulled the two knives from her boots. Oh God. What would she do? They were going to take her to Samael. She’d known the head of the Hades family would eventually hunt her down but she’d thought it would have taken him longer.

She had a secret, one she’d kept from everyone—from her father and uncle, and even from Ash and Lyre. Five weeks ago, when Samael’s harpies had captured her and tried to steal the Sahar, something had happened. Something that still gave her nightmares.

Somehow, Piper had tapped the Sahar’s power. She hadn’t done it on purpose. She didn’t even know what she’d done. One moment she’d been about to punch a harpy in the face with the Stone in her fist. The next moment, the Sahar had flashed with light, turning white-hot in her hand—and every harpy in front of her had been blasted apart with such force that gore had misted the air pink.

A single harpy had survived the blast, then stolen the Stone from Piper and let her to fall to her supposed death. No one but that one harpy knew the truth: Piper was the first person in living memory to successfully harness the Sahar.

That harpy must have told Samael. And now Samael wanted her.

Desperation made her hands shake as she clutched the two knives. If Samael got a hold of her, he would uncover whatever unknown glitch had allowed her to use the Stone—and then he would kill her. No one would ever find her body. Samael would never chance anyone finding out that he’d abducted the Head Consul’s daughter. He’d destroy all the evidence, including her.

Jamming the end of the towel under the back band of her bra to hold it in place, Piper grabbed the handheld showerhead and turned the taps to full pressure. Water leaked from the joints on the head, but until she pressed the button, no water would be released. Praying the line was long enough, she crept to the curtain, took a deep breath, and flung it open.

Aiming the showerhead right for the draconian’s face, she pressed the release button.

Water sprayed outward in a wild blast—and fell laughably short, showering the floor a few feet in front of her. Panic froze Piper in place.

With a wild cry, Zwi leaped for the draconian’s face.

Piper dove sideways, rolling under the grasping arms of the nearest female daemon and nearly losing her towel as she sprang to her feet. She grabbed a nearby rack of costumes and shoved it into the women. One of them swore loudly.

Piper ran for her life. The dressing room was a cramped maze, but it kept the two male daemons away—until she reached the door. One of them leaped over a box of headpieces and slammed full force into her. She crashed painfully into the doorframe before driving her knee into his gut. He wheezed and staggered back. The second daemon dove in. Remembering she had two knives clutched in one hand, Piper slashed with both of them, slicing the daemon across the face. He lurched back, a hand pressed to his bloody cheek.

Flipping one knife into her other hand, she stumbled into the hallway. As she turned to run screaming for Lyre, one of the women leaped out of the dressing room. Piper backpedalled. Her way blocked, she had no choice but to run in the opposite direction. The woman charged after her.

Piper ran past four doors before reaching a sharp left turn. Skidding wildly, she barely managed to make it around the corner. The woman tackled her, knocking her flat on her stomach. Piper rolled sideways, throwing the woman off her. As the daemon’s hand came up, magic sizzling the air, Piper made a split-second decision. The woman wasn’t trying to kill her, but it was still a life or death situation for Piper.

With her heart in her throat, she shoved her knife into the woman’s gut.

The woman felt back on her rear, the motion pulling the knife out of Piper’s limp hand. She stared at the protruding hilt and whimpered.

Tears of horror sprang into Piper’s eyes. “Oh God,” she gasped. “I—I—”

“No!” the second female daemon screamed from behind Piper. She flew down the hall, rage twisting her features.

Piper scrambled to her feet and bolted. She glanced back and saw the second woman kneeling over the first. Horrified guilt suffocated her; Consuls didn’t kill people. She’d never stabbed anyone before.

She ran away from the sight as much as from the danger. The halls twisted and turned until she found a staircase, and she took it up. She’d been in the Styx’s basement before and had no desire to return to that nightmare.

At the top of the stairs, she burst out into a dusty hallway. The top floor hadn’t been converted from its original warehousing purposes and the labyrinth of offices had been left in a half-demolished state. Not a safe place for bare feet. Gripping her remaining dagger in one hand and her towel in the other, she tiptoed through the debris. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Her only warning was the crunch of broken glass under a booted foot behind her.

She whirled as one of the daemon men grabbed for her throat. Her knife whipped up of its own accord and opened the man’s arm to the bone above the leather guard protecting him from exactly that. He jerked back, teeth bared, as his partner caught up to him. They spread out, one on either side of her. Piper looked at the bloody knife in her fist. Her heart jumped into her throat.

The two daemons charged.

With her empty hand, she threw a punch at the first one. He blocked it. A fist slammed into her kidney from behind. She screamed. Spinning, she flung an elbow into the chest of the first one. The second daemon grabbed her hand, tearing the dagger from her grip. She kicked out and her heel hit his kneecap with a wet pop. His knee gave out.

The air crackled and a magic blow slammed into her back. She was thrown into the rotting wall of a cubicle and crashed through it. As she landed in the splinters of wood, a dozen stinging slices scored her bare skin. She sprang to her feet anyway and spun around to find the two daemons side by side, approaching in a slow prowl. Both were seriously pissed.

She was in major trouble. One half-naked, unarmed girl was no match for two well-armored daemons. Her bare fists and feet couldn’t do much damage, and she’d lost her dagger before she could decide whether she was willing to kill when the daemons weren’t actively trying to kill her back.

An idea occurred to her and she winced. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Gritting her teeth, she yanked her towel open. Their gazes dropped. They
knew
she wasn’t naked—her bra straps had been showing the whole time—but they had to check. Men.

They only hesitated for a second, but that was enough. Before they could recover, she threw the towel in their faces and dove past them. Ignoring the furious swearing behind her, she sprinted back the way she’d come wearing nothing but her bra and panties. This was the last time she
ever
took her clothes off at a club. So much for not flashing anyone.

The door gaped open, beckoning her. She was going to make it. She could outrun the daemons and then lose them on the crowded dance floor; she’d blend right in among the barely-clothed dancers.

She reached the doorway—and slammed into a body as it stepped in front of her. She bounced off and staggered.

The draconian looked at her with ice-cold eyes. Bloody scratches scored one cheek but Zwi’s attack hadn’t done any real damage.

Piper tried to punch him. He easily caught her fist. When she attempted to break his grip, he twisted her arm behind her back, forcing a cry of pain out of her. He pulled her mercilessly back against him and wrapped his other hand around her throat.

Magic tightened the air. Her skin tingled under his fingers. Numbness swept up her neck and filled her head. Dizziness rushed over her. She went limp and couldn’t fight it. The room spun and her skull felt hollow and heavy at the same time.

The draconian released her. As she crumpled, he scooped her into his arms and shrugged her head onto his shoulder. Her body wouldn’t move. Fear sucked at her mind, caught in the numbing fog spinning around and around in her head.

“Are you injured?” the draconian asked the other two daemons.

“We’ll live,” one replied. “She fights like a damn sphinx.”

Insult briefly flared through the fog. Hadn’t she beaten a sphinx? They weren’t that tough.

“Let’s go,” the draconian said dispassionately. “We’ve been here too long already.”

“Are you going to get her some clothes?”

“No. I gave her the chance.”

Piper’s thoughts spun hazily. Why wouldn’t the room stop spinning? She couldn’t tell which way was down. Only the daemon’s arms holding her and his solid shoulder under her aching, whirling head felt real.

Her dizziness increased tenfold when the draconian moved. She almost passed out while being carried down the stairs. Her fuzzy thoughts spun in endless circles. Where was Lyre? How had he missed the squad of henchmen sneaking past him? Unless they’d dealt with him first? Cloudy panic constricted her throat.

She quickly lost track of where they were or how long they’d been walking. Cold air hit her bare skin; they’d left the club. Nausea gripped her stomach. As terror twisted through her, one thought kept swimming to the surface: she would be dumped at Samael’s feet in nothing but her underclothes. That really bothered her, but she would probably be dead by the end of the week anyway. She’d never see Quinn or Calder or Lyre again. She’d never get to make amends with her mom.

The draconian stopped. She hung limply in his arms, unable to move. Her half-lidded eyes revealed a violently tilting, blurred view of a dark alley.