Bound by Light (11 page)

If we sleep together, it won’t be just recreation for him.

That shook her up a little, but nowhere near as much as her next thought, which was way too serious for her liking.

And what would sex with Jake be for me?

Her pulse raced and she actually took a step back.

Her head felt fuzzy, and for a moment, she didn’t know herself, didn’t recognize herself. Merilee knew she had many strengths, but a solemn, mature outlook on relationships outside her Sibyl world just wasn’t one of them. She preferred things light and disconnected. Fun.

Not—not whatever this was. Already.

She moved a little farther away from Jake.

He didn’t stop her or even look offended or upset. Just relieved, and maybe resigned. He swept his arm in the general direction of the townhouse, then immediately scanned their surroundings as they started to walk down the paved path.

More cop than demon, definitely.

Merilee glanced at his rugged face, his set jaw, and the way his body flexed with each step through Central Park.

Yeah.

Talisman or not, Jake Lowell was more
man
than anything else. That much she’d stake her life on. And maybe, just maybe, she already had.

(7)

The night’s target had been lost—but this air Sibyl. What a perfect find!

Why had he even been considering settling for that human witch when this exquisite creature existed?

Bartholomew August let his essence blanket Central Park, soaked in moonlight, vibrating with excitement as he tracked the woman while she walked, traced her with his senses, all the while taking care to block her awareness of his presence.

Not easy, as powerful as she was.

The smallest slip in his control and she would know he was touching her at deeper levels than any human male could ever hope to accomplish.

Now that would be delicious.

He could let his shields waver on purpose. Brush his lips across the back of her neck. Reach inside her body and stroke those hollows and caverns known only to the most intimate of lovers. He could allow her to sense just enough of him to share his joy and fascination with her.

Merilee. Her name is Merilee
.

But Merilee was still shrouded by the powerful elemental protections that cursed witch Charlotte had left behind, sealed by her own blood and her death by her own hand. August approached those death bindings guarding Merilee, but knew he could come no closer. No matter that her presence chased away his loneliness in a way few had ever done before, he couldn’t approach her in any real way, at least not until those spells wore off.

Also, the
thing
that was walking beside her—August felt uncertain of that creature. It was not human at all, fully demon, Legion-created, yet more powerful than August expected. An unknown. August never dealt in unknowns or uncertainties.

He needed to find out more about Merilee the air Sibyl, and about her unusual companion, and August knew just who could tell him.

Seconds later, he rushed down from the night sky and coalesced beside a grave marker in the cemetery of Trinity Church. After a few moments of orienting himself to being on the ground, August drew his human form to him like a magnet attracts flecks of steel. First the veins and bones, then the skin, then form, substance, and clothing for finishing touches. City smells brushed his nose. The sick-sweet of automobile exhaust. Water. Dirt. Asphalt. The hint of garbage and sewage, faint but definite, flowing around the corners of tall, shadowy buildings.

When he finished assuming his earthbound shape, August glanced around the graveyard. He sensed he hadn’t been observed by human eyes, but then, he knew that was unlikely. The streets of the Financial District were sparsely populated at this hour.

Barely able to contain the energy rushing through his now-human veins, August headed toward his luxury accommodations at West Street and Morris. In his elevated state, it didn’t take him long to reach the stately historic structure where he lived, or to climb the stairs to the expansive penthouse condominium he had used some of his considerable stores of human currency to purchase. He had money from almost every country, deposited in every conceivable bank—the blessing and bane of such a long existence. Already, he was making new inroads, reaching into the business of Wall Street and New York and even Washington, D.C., planning his new political strategies in the absence of the human followers he had lost to the Sibyl assaults.

Everything was coming together quickly, as usual. Such was the benefit of higher intellect and abilities.

When August virtually exploded into the penthouse, the woman and the boy flinched away from his presence and cowered near the kitchen.

August ignored their subservient posture and strode to the woman. He grabbed both of her hands in his and jerked her up from her kneeling position. She gave a little squeal of pain at his tight grip on her wrists, but she didn’t struggle.

Not wanting to waste even a moment, August poured images into her feeble brain, of the witch’s suicide as he had approached the red townhouse to claim her, and of the Sibyl Merilee, and of the unusual creature who had been escorting Merilee throughout the night.

The woman’s squeal gave way to moans of pure agony, punctuated by quiet snarls from the boy—who, to his credit, had fully learned compliance, and offered no challenge.

August knew it was nearly too much for the woman, receiving such a rush of power from his superior mind, but he kept it up without mercy until he finished, until he had forced her to see everything he intended. Then he shook her back to awareness, refusing to let her swoon from the onslaught. He pulled her against him and stared into her wrinkled face, her wide, wet eyes.

"Tell me more details about that particular Sibyl—and that demon beside her," he commanded—and mild surprise flickered in the depths of his mind as those wet eyes narrowed and turned shrewd on him.

The woman stopped shaking, studying August as he studied her. "That one may be out of your reach," she murmured. "She’s too dangerous, even for you."

August let go of the woman, amused by her never-dying spirit and cheek. "You know better than that, my dear. What I want, I get."

And she told him then, many more specifics about the Sibyl’s formidable triad, all the while regarding him with ferretlike bright eyes, as if she actually hoped he would try to take this Sibyl, and die for his efforts.

It’s a wonder this one never went to human prison.

August had absolutely no doubt the woman would be loyal to him only so long as he had fear on his side. Fear and control of the boy. That combination was definitely all that kept her in line.

By the time his delightful little felon finished her tale, August had fixed the names in his mind, not just in a general sense as he had from her previous scouting reports on the townhouse—but definites, details, and specifics about the players who now seemed to matter most. Jake Lowell, the demon, and his half brothers Creed and Nick. Merilee’s triad sisters, Riana and Cynda—who were pregnant, of all the delightful twists. Andy, a cop with newfound Sibyl abilities. Sal Freeman, the captain of New York’s essentially useless Occult Crimes Unit.

"Freeman will have to be eliminated, of course, along with Jake and his brothers," August told the woman, who gave him no visible reaction. Neither did the boy, who had moved away to lurk in front of the main bedroom door. "The Sibyls Riana and Cynda, well, it seems they in particular owe me a bit of payback for all the damage they’ve caused my Legion followers."

The woman rubbed her bruising flesh and made a noise that sounded almost derisive. "You always said those who got defeated in fair battle weren’t worth your time. Are you goin’ back on that now?"

August found himself smiling at the disgusting hag. It really was a shame humans had to age to such unattractive, frail proportions. Inferior stock or not, this one always could make him laugh. In her prime, he would have taken her to the floor for her impudence and made her scream his name for hours.

He didn’t answer her challenge, but instead admitted, "It’s likely those women are high-quality stock, like Merilee herself."

He would hate to eliminate potential mothers for the return of his people, but if he had to, he would. More likely, Riana and Cynda would make good leverage to obtain Merilee’s cooperation—especially given their . . . delicate conditions. Humans were sentimental in that respect.

August dismissed the old woman with a wave of his hand after ordering her to prepare him a meal, then return to the Sibyls when she finished. He did enjoy eating, though he didn’t really require food to exist.

He turned his attention to the boy, who still hovered at the door to the condo’s master bedroom.

"Stay close to your mother. Bring me all the information you can find on the townhouse where Merilee resides."

The boy cut his eyes toward the bedroom door, swallowed, then nodded and started to brush past August in the hallway.

August reached out, knowing he was moving faster than his son could perceive. He grabbed the boy’s arm and forced him down to his knees, until the boy gazed up at him with desperate eyes.

"How is our captive?" August asked quietly, maintaining the pressure on his son’s arm at a level just below what would be necessary to shatter the bone.

"F-fine." The boy spoke through his teeth, a valiant attempt to hold back a response to the pain August knew he was causing.

Good, good. That’s progress.

August allowed himself a small flare of pride in the boy’s increasing fortitude. "I trust you’ve seen to her needs and comfort?"

The boy nodded, still maintaining a neutral expression though he was slowly going pale. August released him and watched as the boy managed to walk quickly away instead of running. Yes, definitely improving. A few more months and he might be worth something after all.

August then let his senses drift through the closed door into the bedroom, where last night’s catch lay naked and gagged and bound to the four posts of his bed. The little mystic, a woman who made a living as a phony fortuneteller despite her immense elemental potential, was conscious, and to the boy’s credit, clean and fresh and ready. August touched her deep down inside, ignoring her sharp cry of terror and resistance.

He sighed.

Conscious, but not yet with child.

Ah, well.

His human male body surged with arousal at the stream of images already flowing through his consciousness.

He’d just have to try again.

(8)

Two weeks after the chaos at Charlotte Heart’s house, Jake was pissed that his research into the Stone Man and the Keres hadn’t turned up anything useful. He strode through the ceaseless gloom of the townhouse’s hallway, intending to give a few new archive books a go—but a few steps away from the fourth-floor library door, he sensed them.

Damnit. Maybe this time . . .

Jake reached deep within himself, seeking silence, calmness, lightness as he entered the space. The heavy oak door stood open because Merilee allowed visitors and researchers during daylight hours, and kept her sleeping area and chaotic archiving section closed off with curtains strung between bookshelves.

Not that the curtains held back the mess. Papers peeked under the cloth—and behind those curtains . . . well. Managing the paper stacks was a major challenge. However, Jake had noticed a certain order to her seemingly explosive filing system. It was . . . kind of cute.

And so far, he hadn’t had much trouble finding things, even when he was distracted by Merilee. Or hoping to see Merilee. Or hoping not to see Merilee. In general, torturing himself and finding nothing on his target subjects. Until now—only, it wasn’t information he had discovered in the big windowed room.

It was demons.

Quiet,
he told himself as he took a few more steps into the large paneled area with its shining, polished hardwood floors and fancy area rugs. He almost smiled and lost his concentration when he noticed how Merilee’s paper stacks had begun to spill out on half the big tables in the library, but he caught himself and refocused as fast as he could.
Walk like you’ve got wings—not that it’ll do any damned good.

Every time he and Freeman went out for a bite or a beer, Jake’s report was always the same.
Can’t find them. And when I do, they won’t talk to me
.

And Freeman’s response was always the same.
Keep trying
.

Jake’s fingers curled into fists.

Today would be different.

Today he’d finally make a little progress.

Tables and bookshelves and Merilee’s . . . um,
mess,
filled up every inch of the space, but the terrace doors and six sets of tall windows stood open, mixing the scent of leather and old paper with city air and car exhaust.