Page 53 of Bound
Dr. Niell sighs in frustration. “Then I am out of ideas,” he says. “The boy’s magick was there and then not. And I can guarantee that was the cause of death.”
Gage mulls that over, his gaze riveted to the lifeless male. “What the hells can take someone’s magick?” he asks under his breath.
“A siphon,” I say, without thinking.
Gage’s vibrant eyes lift to me and warmth fills my cheeks. “Siphons are rare.” His tone is empty. Non-conversational.
I blush brighter. “Maybe, but the mark he bears is very similar to an Ailm.”
He stares at me, and I want to groan. He is too handsome for words.
“What?” he demands.
My knees weaken at the harsh growl, and I gesture at the male’s wrist. “It’s part of the Ogham,” I say breathlessly.
“That alphabet is not used anymore. Even in the Sith.”
“Not in the American one, no,” I say, trying not to shift under his scrutiny. “But the European Council still sends correspondence in Ogham.”
He continues to appraise me. “Are you sure about that?”
Biting my lip, I step closer and peer at the male’s turned wrist. The little marking is purplish in death, but the lines are too similar to the symbol for me to classify it as anything else. “Moderately, yes.”
His colorful string of swearing leaves me flushing again.
How does he know such words?
“I’m going to say that holds significance?” Dr. Niell asks.
Gage rubs a hand over his face and looks at me. “Unfortunately, yes. There was another male brought in yesterday.”
Niell nods. “The Fae male found in the landfill.”
“Did he carry any similar marks?”
Something flashes through the doctor’s gaze. “I—” He turns from the first body and moves down towards the end of the tall wall. Pulling one handle, the black bag inside is shiny in the bright white lights as he pulls the whole tray out on rollers. He unzips the bag, framing Liam’s naked, pale flesh.
Bile rises in my throat at the sight of the long, wicked looking cuts over his lean, muscular chest like some sort of letter left by his killer.
In death, Liam seems even younger. His dark blue hair is limp. Lifeless. Though his eyes are not open, I know the two lines of color that will be there. Amber and gold.
I fist my knuckles into my mouth to stifle the soft cry threatening to escape.
Oh Liam.
I try to force down the pain. The reality that I had beenrelievedby his death only the day before. That I had thought it better that it was young Liam and not Branwen.
But gazing at him now …
Gasping on tears, I turn on my heel and rush from the room.
The hall is long, but there is nowhere to go. Nowhere to let the weight of such a young death wash over me.
Why oh why had I thought I could do this?
I lean against the wall and cover my face as I fight to breathe.
“Amoret.”
