Page 56 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

“It would not last. I would age and weaken, and you would grow tired of my humanity.” Ragnar took up his hands. “You would resent my need to eat ordinary food. You would be shamed by my growing infirmity, and I would be jealous of your youth and strength. We would become enemies and you would take my life and damn yourself for eternity.”

Absolon sighed and let Ragnar hold him. He rested his forehead against Ragnar’s shoulder and enfolded him in a tight, strong embrace. He hugged him with his sorrow and his love. At first it warmed Ragnar’s heart, but then it grew too hot and scorched him.

He will never forgive me for what I do to him.

But it was unavoidable.

“I want this, Absolon. I want it so we can be together forever.”

Absolon looked up. “I hate how much I want this too, how selfish that makes me, because you hear my words, but you do not know what it means to be what I am.”

“Then allow me to make that choice. Your soul will be clean, the damnation is mine, but you will be here to make it all the sweeter.”

Absolon shook his head, a small sad smile on his lips. Ragnar leaned down, lifted Absolon’s chin and with a gentle kiss sealed his fate. He rubbed his thumb across Absolon’s cheek and smiled brighter than Absolon in the moonlight.

“Please, Sol. I want this.”

Absolon nodded. “Just remember I warned you, please, and don’t hate me for it.”

“Never.” He kissed him again, his lips buzzing with the anticipation flooding his blood. “How do we begin?”

He took a deep breath. “I will take your soul, pass it through mine, and return it to you different from before. I don’t know how the magic works, but that’s the process as near enough as I remember.”

“Near enough?”

He shrugged. “Lysander told me how, but the steps were vague.”

Ragnar felt fear for the first time. “You’re not inspiring confidence here, Sol.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll understand once it’s over how it’s hard to go wrong with this, or anything we do. There are certain symbols and they feelright. They’re justthere.” He sighed again. “You’ll understand when it happens to you.”

“And what about after that?”

“There’ll be pain. Lots of it—for you, not me—and then you’ll need to feed. I don’t know how long after but it’s best to do it soon.”

The storeroom…

He turned towards it.

“Yes. I found someone already. You will have to take their life in cold blood or lose your own. Can you do that?”

He paused. Of course he could. Couldn’t he? But if he couldn’t, then that would be his escape. If it proved as horrific as Absolon tried to make it sound, and he could not accept his new nature, he would refuse to feed and go willingly to his death. Wouldn’t he?

He nodded, rather than risk uttering those thoughts. Energy thrummed through his body. All that strength. All that light. All that power. A great and glorious future unfurled before him. Nations would tremble. The world would be his.

“Now or never, I suppose,” Absolon said. “It’s better if you lie down.” He led Ragnar to the bed, took off his boots and his coat, and tended to him like he was preparing a corpse. He undid the cords at his shirt and settled his hand onto Ragnar’s chest. Heat pressed onto his skin and Absolon’s hand weighed heavy on his heart.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Absolon’s sadness poured off him in waves. This was meant to be a happy occasion but…

What if Absolon had no intention of making him into a Darisami? What if he was going to kill him instead?

Absolon’s hand burned his flesh. It had begun. Fast. Like an arrow shooting through him that hooked onto his soul.

My soul.

He had never contemplated it fully before, never ruminated that there was even such a thing as a soul, a part of him inside the rest of the meat and blood and bone that kept him alive. If someone had asked him to describe it, he would have been unable to find the words and struggle to say with any certainty it existed.

But whatever Absolon had done, it defined the length, breadth, and width of Ragnar the Red’s soul. The magic caught it, and it flailed. Doomed. He panicked. He knew, instinctively, primally, that if Absolon took his soul, he would die.

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