Page 107 of Hexbound
Far too late for that. He was already wrapped around her bloody finger.
And a part of him liked it far too much.
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Chapter 25
"Iam Death. But if that is all I can be, then damned if I won't be the best at it."
–Adrian Bishop
AFTER VERITY FELL asleep, Bishop went hunting.
Verity wasn't the only one who could find people. And while she might have had misgivings about him going off alone, she was asleep now. She wouldn't know.
And despite the fact that tonight had been the best night of his life, the itch had started again sometime after midnight. Lying in her arms, half dozing, half-awake, he'd tried to dismiss it at first. Why couldn't it leave him alone, especially tonight of all nights? But themaladroisedidn't work like that. The second things stopped moving and the stillness of night crept over the world, it came to pay him a visit like some jealous mistress he could never escape.
Verity's heartbeat began to radiate through his ears, and Bishop had slid from the bed before his mind could turn to darker things.
Like just how long he could escape his destiny.
Bishop paused by the corner of St. Michael's cemetery, feeling the tracking spell tug him toward the middle. He'd finally gotten that blasted map table working, and pinpointed toward where Horroway was hiding. If he was going to be awake half the night, he might as bloody well do something. And now that he'd found Verity, he wasn't going to allow anything to threaten her. Not Tremayne. Not Morgana. And certainly not the necromancer who'd seen her face when she stole the chalice back from him.
Grunting sounds drew him to the left. Bishop crept through a tangle of ivy and vines that snaked over the ground. Fog whispered between the gravestones. There was no breeze tonight. Just silence and moonlight, preferred themes for an assassination.
A lean figure materialized out of the shadows. Kicking at something, the man straightened, then sighed and cast aside his shovel. From the pile of dirt, it appeared he was robbing a grave, though Bishop didn't know what he wanted. Necromancy might be a talent he was capable of, but he'd never dabbled enough to know more than the basics.
Bishop sucked shadows around himself with his power, sliding from tree to tree. Horroway froze, resting against the headstone, and Bishop waited patiently, his heartbeat ticking along loudly in his ears as he waited for his prey to relax again.
"Wondered when you'd come for me." Horroway spat into the dirt of the grave he'd been digging.
Bishop paused as Horroway reached inside his haggard coat and withdrew a flask. Inside it, no doubt, was some type of liquor that helped anchor Horroway's soul to the flesh he'd robbed.
"You gonna just stand there watchin', or you gonna come out and face me like a man?" Horroway upended the flask, making a horrid gurgling sound in his throat.
Which presented Bishop with a chance. It would be incredibly easy to throw his etheric blade into Horroway's back, cutting the ties of soul to flesh. Instead, he vanished it. There were questions to be asked and Horroway sounded as though he wanted to talk. "How did you know?"
"Felt you comin'." Horroway looked up, one of his eyes beginning to rot in his face. He screwed the lid of his flask back in place. "Same way you tracked me, I'll bet."
They faced each other. Bishop found himself in somewhat of a quandary. He'd meant this to be a quiet assassination, a removal of one of Morgana's threads, but the scene didn't feel right. Horroway looked neither afraid, nor cunning. Just quietly resigned.
Prepared for anything, Bishop let himself relax, his power dissolving. One couldn't hold it indefinitely, though the second it was gone he felt the ache of themaladroiseupon him again, sinking its hungry claws into his chest. It would take but an instant to re-form the blade.
"Look at you," Horroway whispered. "Fightin' that itch, ain't you?"
He tensed. "What itch?"
Sinking down onto a nearby headstone, Horroway scratched at his jaw. "Boy, give me some credit. I spent thirty years with that bitch at my heels. I know what it looks like. I know what it feels like."
No point in hiding it. Bishop glanced away. "It's our cross to bear, thanks to our calling. Nobody escapes it."
"There's one way," Horroway suggested, and Bishop's head jerked up.
How?He realized what Horroway meant. "This?" he said incredulously, gesturing toward the mottled body Horroway wore. "You didthisto escape themaladroise?"
Horroway's fleshy lips thinned. "Seemed a good idea at the time, and I were desperate." Sorrow filled his eyes. "You're the only one who can understand that. There's a point... where you can't take it anymore, and you know you're going to give in to it, and take what shouldn't be taken." Holloway studied him quietly, a sense of connection seeming to form between them. "We've all got someone we don't want to take," he said. "Even me. My little girl might be a bastard, but she's all I've ever had. Couldn't do it. Couldn't stay there anymore, watching over her and feeling like a vulture for the life force that filled her. This were the only way I could see, to slip from flesh to flesh so that themaladroisecouldn't gain hold anymore."
"Did it work?" He couldn't hide the hunger in his voice.
