Page 17 of The Bound Mage
Tell her, the shadows chanted, their voices rising to a fever pitch.Tell her. Tell her. Tell her?—
Loren groaned, gripping the railing hard enough that the rough cracks bit into his palms. The mist churned below, a mirror of the storm that raged in his chest.
“Fine,” he snarled.
The shadows leapt, writhing with hungry anticipation, but Loren held up a hand, halting them.
“But if she rejects us—if she doesn’t want the bond—you will stand down. You won’t speak to her. You won’t touch her. You will leave her alone. Completely. No matter what Eloria says, we will not force or manipulate her into reciprocating.”
The shadows recoiled as if he’d struck them. The air thickened, sharp with their outrage, their voices rising in a thousand overlapping snarls.Never. Ours. We are hers. She is ours. You cannot?—
Loren gritted his teeth, holding firm even as they clawed at him, desperate to break free.
“That’s the deal,” he growled. “Take it, or stay here trapped with me until this kills us both.”
The darkness faltered, rippling with reluctant submission.Ours, they whispered at last, low and sullen.But hers to choose.
“Very well,” Loren muttered, turning toward the door. The shadows trailed him, heeling like eager hounds despite his censure.
Maybe once she rejected them they would finally understand that the best way for them to protect her was for Loren to stay far, far away.
And if they didn’t…well. That was his problem, not hers.
Chapter
Six
Araya changed quickly,trading the amethyst dress for the soft leggings and tunic she’d found shoved in one of the drawers. Thick socks and sturdy boots replaced the delicate slippers, and she shoved the knife she’d palmed from dinner into her belt, it’s weight was a surprising comfort against her hip. She wasn’t a soldier. Not like Jaxon—or Loren. But at least she wouldn’t be walking into the unknown unarmed. And of course, she had her magic.
Araya closed her eyes, reaching inward to brush the well of power inside her. It hummed under her skin, far past the level where she would have begged Jaxon to siphon from her. The Arcanum had always warned that untrained fae were dangerous—that their own magic would consume them if it wasn’t leashed. But now…Araya shivered. How much more could it rise before she drowned in her own power?
She took a slow breath, steadying herself. Once she made it back, Jaxon would help her. He’d siphon off the excess magic, calm the chaos under her skin, and shield her from whatever punishment the Arcanum had waiting. He always had. She just had to reach him—prove to him that she hadn’t run from him. Not willingly. That she could still be exactly what he needed.
It didn’t matter that he had drained her dry and left her broken on the floor. Loren and Eloria might dress it up in prettier words, but they wanted to use her too. At least with Jaxon, she understood the rules.
Yes, he’d hurt her—but he’d also protected her. No one else had been willing to take a chance on a desperate halfblood fae. Everything she had, she owed to him. And the sooner she made it back to the New Dominion, the sooner she could make this right.
She slipped into the corridor like a shadow, her footfalls nearly silent as she crept through the dark halls. Thanks to Thorne’s tour she found her way back to the main hall easily. The double doors to the dining room stood partially open, the wreckage of Loren’s temper little more than another shadow in the dark.
Araya sidled into the courtyard, freezing as the door fell shut behind her, louder than it had any right to be. She held her breath, half-expecting one of Loren’s living shadows to unfurl from the dark corners of the courtyard. But nothing moved.
Araya laid her hand against the wall, her skin prickling as strange magic washed over her. But she couldn’t make any sense of whatever spellwork the fae had woven into the stones. Bracing herself, she stepped through the ruined gate. But no wards flared to life. No alarms rang out. The only sound was the wind, moaning through the stones as it swirled the mist into strange shapes.
She was clear.
Araya crept toward the narrow stairs carved into the cliff, her heart racing with every step she took closer to freedom. She couldn’t see far with the mist that pressing in around her, but she could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs. Nyra’s boat was down there, waiting for her. All she had to do was get on board, and by this time tomorrow she’d be home?—
Something moved in the mist.
Araya froze, clutching her stolen knife until her knuckles ached. She held her breath, squinting into the darkness—but the only thing that moved was the dense, churning fog.
Araya exhaled sharply, shaking her head. She was being ridiculous. The creatures in the mist were just stories. Whispered tales meant to frighten children. She edged forward, taking another step toward the stairs?—
And the mist blinked.
Araya stumbled back, a scream catching in her throat as thethingpeeled itself from the mist. It dragged itself forward, too-long limbs folding and stretching at unnatural angles as its head swiveled from side to side, searching for her with milky, sightless eyes.
Move—she had to move. Araya spun, skidding on the wet stone—only for another one to materialize from the mist in front of her.
