Darkness Unbound

  “It seems you have an answer for everything.”

  I smiled. “Only most of the time.”

  He laughed again, and this time I did sigh. “Do you want help tracking down the number?” he asked. “I’m sure I could dig up a nefarious friend or two.”

  “The boring investment adviser has nefarious friends?”

  “No, but this incarnation of me has only been around for the last eight or nine years. I was something far less savory before this.”

  I opened an eye and peered at him. “Like what?”

  A grin teased his lips and crinkled the corners of his bright eyes. “A politician.”

  “No!” I stared at him for a minute. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Of course, having to kiss babies got old really quickly. So I lost the election and retired gracefully from the scene.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true.” He looked at me, eyes wide. “Google news reports for the Shire of Merredan. You’ll find several mentions of me.”

  “And why would you be mentioned?”

  “Because there was a severe lack of lovely half-Aedh up there, which meant I had no choice but to assuage my more earthy needs with local lasses.”

  Lasses, plural. I smiled. “Just how many lasses are we talking about?”

  “More than two. Less than ten.”

  I laughed. It hurt my head, but I didn’t really care. “So that’s what lost you the election.”

  “It wasn’t so much my lascivious tendencies, but rather the fact they included several married women.” He slowed the car and pulled into a parking spot, and I realized with surprise we’d arrived at my warehouse. He looked up at it for several seconds, then said, “It’s a lovely old building.”

  “It’s lovely inside, but no one with any taste in architecture would call the outside lovely.” I undid my seat belt, then leaned across and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for an interesting afternoon.”

  He smiled and ran his thumb down the side of my cheek. “My pleasure. In more ways than one.” His lips met mine, the kiss brief and yet intense. “Until midnight tomorrow.”

  “Until then,” I said, and forced myself out of the car.

  He left with a squeal of tires, the rumble of the big engine shaking the windows in the houses opposite. I smiled and headed up the stairs, typing in the key code, then peering into the scanner. The door clicked open, and Ilianna said from the kitchen, “About time!”

  “Sorry,” I said, dumping my handbag on the couch, then making my way toward the bathroom. “And you were wrong about us being followed. They haven’t given up.”

  Her head appeared around the kitchen doorway. “You all right?” Her gaze swept me, and she frowned. “God, you look like shit. Did they attack you?”

  “No.” Quite the opposite. I waved a hand—the same hand that had been in that man’s chest. “I’m fine. I just need a shower.”

  “Grab one, but fast. I need you to plate up the desserts ASAP. Everything else is ready to go.”

  “Be there soon.”

  I stripped off the remnants of my clothes and tossed them in the trash rather than the laundry chute, simply because there wasn’t enough left to wash. It took a good twenty minutes to get rid of the fibers stuck to my skin, but I was betting I’d still be pulling out bits over the next couple of days.

  Once dressed, I helped Ilianna with the desserts, then grabbed some tape and wrapping paper from the cupboard we used to store such things and headed into my room to wrap Tao’s present. Only to discover two parcels sitting on the dresser rather than the expected one.

  I frowned and picked them both up, looking at the postmarks. One was from England, which meant it was the rare cookbook I’d ordered. But the other had no identifying marks, no stamp, and no return address.

  “When did this other parcel come in?” I shouted.

  “Yesterday,” Ilianna replied.

  “Did the same rat-faced courier deliver it?”

  “No—why?”

  “Because I wasn’t expecting a second parcel.”

  “Maybe it’s from your Aedh lover.”

  “Doubtful.” Aedh weren’t the sentimental type. From everything both Mom and Uncle Quinn had said, they basically just fucked and left. And while Lucian might have been earthbound long enough to have the harsh edges rubbed off, I very much doubted he was the gift-giving type. Highly sexed, maybe, but not sentimental.

  I placed the parcel containing Tao’s cookbook down on the dresser, then raised the other one. It smelled of cardboard and old leather. Frown deepening, I gave the parcel a quick shake. Nothing rattled. Whatever it was, it was well packed and heavy. I’d have to open it if I wanted to know what it was.

  Carefully, I flipped it over and slid my nails under the tape holding it together, tearing it away from the cardboard. The end came apart, revealing bubble wrap and what looked to be the edges of a very old book. Maybe someone overseas had goofed and sent me two copies of the cookbook rather than one.

  I undid the wrap. The book wasn’t a cookbook, and it was far older than the one I’d ordered. The binding was spiderwebbed with cracks, and the brown leather was so worn the color had faded in patches. The edges of the pages were yellow and frayed looking, and the scent rising from it was one of age and mustiness. There was no writing on the cover, and nothing on the spine.

  Which was damn weird.

  I opened it carefully. The leather binding creaked and dust puffed up, making my nose crinkle. The first two pages were blank, but the third had several sentences written on it. I didn’t recognize the language, and there was only one word that seemed to make sense—Dušan. The writing itself was scroll-like and beautiful, but the rest of it reminded me of the tattoos decorating Azriel’s neck.

  Several more empty pages followed; then came a picture of what looked like a wingless, serpent-like dragon. Unlike anything else in this old book so far, the colors were vibrant and colorful, the serpentine form drawn with such skill that the tiny violet scales almost appeared to glow in the half-light of the room.

  I touched it lightly, running my fingers down the jeweled spine and spiraled tail. It almost seemed warm, as if life really did pulse underneath the luminous paint.

  “Fuck, Risa,” Ilianna yelled from the other kitchen. “Whatever you’re doing—”

  The rest of her warning was lost in an explosion of power that knocked me backward and tore the dragon from the book.

  It was no picture. It was alive.

  The violet dragon was real and whole and powerful, and it swirled toward me—a glinting, arcane force I could feel through every fiber of my being.

  I screamed and scrambled backward as fast as I could, but the creature was faster. It hit my fingertips, curled up my left wrist and arm, then seemed to settle, its little claws sinking into my skin, drawing blood but not really hurting. Its scaly hide felt like ice, and the bright violet of its scales glittered jewel-like against my skin.

  “Risa, what the hell …?” Ilianna skidded to a halt in the doorway, her gaze widening as it fastened up my arm. “What on earth is that thing?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” I shook my arm, trying to loosen the dragon’s serpentine grip, but to no avail. “It sort of exploded from the book and attached itself to me.”

  And it was attaching itself. Even as I watched, it flattened out, seeming to sink into my skin, until it looked more like a vivid tattoo that curled from my wrist to my shoulder rather than a creature that had exploded to life from a book.

  Ilianna knelt beside me and carefully touched the beast. “My God,” she said, awe in her voice. “It’s alive. I can feel the beat of its heart.”

  “So can I.” And that beat was tuning itself to mine. A tremor ran through me, and fire flared briefly in the creature’s obsidian eyes. It was almost as if it was responding to my fear. I swallowed heavily. “What the hell is it?”

  “I don’t know.” She skimmed my arm with her fingertips,
not quite touching the dragon, but close enough to rustle the fine hairs on my arm. “It’s powerful. Extremely powerful. But I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

  “That’ll teach me to open strange fucking parcels,” I muttered, then blew out a breath. It didn’t do much to calm the trembling. “So it’s powerful, and it’s attached itself to my arm. I’m thinking this can’t be a good thing.”

  “The charm hasn’t reacted to it.” Her green eyes rose to mine. “And it doesn’t feel evil. Whatever it is, I don’t think it was sent here to harm you.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Not. I mean, the thing had attached itself to me. How could that be good? “There was some weird sort of writing in the book, but the only word I could make out was Dušan. Does that mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head and sat back on her heels. “I can ask around, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even in the old texts at the Brindle.”

  The Brindle was the witch repository, and few outside the covens even knew of its existence. Ilianna’s mother was one of the custodians—a fact I knew only because they’d once needed my help to evict a ghost who’d taken up residence.

  “Do you think your mom would be able to look it up for us?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That would no doubt involve accepting that goddamn dinner invitation she’s been on about.”

  “The one with the potential mate in tow?”

  “Yeah.” Amusement touched her lips as her gaze met mine again. “Apparently his name is Carwyn, and he’s a prime from the Western Districts.”

  “Which doesn’t mean a lot to me.”

  She sighed. “The Western Districts are a key agricultural area. His family owns one of the larger farms, but he’s keen to start his own herd.”

  “So he’s a catch, in other words.”

  “Yes. And it’s not the first time Mom’s tried to foist him onto me. But despite my repeated refusals to go anywhere near him, he’s quite persistent.” She snorted softly and half shrugged. “But for you, I shall walk into the den of pressure and useless hope.”

  I smiled. “If you were just honest with your parents—”

  “Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp as she pushed to her feet. “You don’t know what they’re like.”

  After fifteen years of being friends with Ilianna, I did know what they were like. They weren’t the ogres she was depicting them to be. She was underestimating them. Or at least, underestimating her mom. Her dad was a stallion, and they did tend to have one-track minds when it came to mares and their uses.

  But this battle wasn’t one I could help her with. I reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”

  She smiled. “The things I do for you two—first basketball, now dinner. You owe me big time, girl.”

  “Meaning you want me to take your place at the dinner?” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “I certainly wouldn’t mind getting to know a prime bit of stallion.”

  She laughed and swatted at my shoulder. “Wrap Tao’s present. His mom will be here any minute.”

  Tao’s mom was human, not wolf, but it was from her he’d inherited his fire-starting skills. His dad had been from the wealthy Neale brown pack, and Tao the result of a one-night stand. All wolves—even the half-breeds like me—were electronically chipped at puberty to prevent conception, but something had gone wrong—or right, depending on which way you looked at it—with the device that night. Tao’s dad had supported both him and his mother, but he’d died when Tao was nine. Tao had inherited his wealth on turning eighteen, and had been supporting his mom ever since.

  Ilianna walked out, closing the door behind her. I contemplated the serpent-like dragon now decorating my arm, and wondered who the hell would send me such a thing …

  My thoughts froze. Oh God.

  Not my father.

  Surely not.

  And yet, everyone was so convinced he would contact me.

  What if this was some kind of message?

  How it could be, I had no idea. But then, I didn’t know my father. I didn’t know where he was, or what he was really involved in. For all I knew, this could be some important key in the research meant to bring an end to the gates.

  I closed my eyes and gingerly rubbed my temple for several seconds. My head was suddenly aching even more fiercely than before, and it had nothing to do with the strain of the last few hours.

  I didn’t need this extra bit of shit in my life. I really didn’t. And there was no one who could help me understand what this dragon—this Dušan—was.

  Or was there?

  Those symbols in the front of the book had resembled the tattoos on the back of my reaper’s neck. It was a long shot, but it was worth a chance. I took a deep breath, then said softly, “Azriel.”

  He appeared in an instant, the heat of him filling the room. He was standing behind me, not touching, but near enough that the small hairs at the back of my neck rose in awareness. And with it came an awareness of an entirely different kind.

  “Now what’s happening?” Ilianna yelled from the other room.

  “Nothing,” I said. Although altogether too much was. Why did this man—this being—affect me so much? He was a reaper, damn it! Not what I’d call prospective lover material in any way, shape, or form. Even if the form was rather nice. “I just called Azriel.”

  “The reaper?” Ilianna was suddenly standing back in the doorway. Her gaze flew past me and her mouth formed an O of surprise. “That is so not what I was expecting.”

  “And just what were you expecting?” he said, his voice a low, almost amused rumble that vibrated through every part of me.

  “I don’t know.” She waved a hand in his direction. “Something not quite this … dangerous looking.”

  “You see the real me, not the projection. Like Risa. That is odd.”

  What was odd was how sweetly my name seemed to roll off his tongue. Damn it, no. He was a reaper. I wasn’t attracted. No way, no how. I scrambled to my feet and put some distance between us before turning around.

  “You have a reaper at your beck and call, and a goddamn dragon attached to your arm,” Ilianna muttered. “The day cannot get any weirder.”

  With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

  Azriel’s gaze met mine, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I believe you called?”

  I nodded and shoved my arm toward him. “Do you know anything about this?”

  He muttered something under his breath—the words musical despite my suspicion he was actually swearing—then stalked forward and grabbed my hand, his touch light but his flesh hot against mine. He studied the dragon for several seconds, giving little away despite the tension practically humming through his body.

  “Where did you get this?” His mismatched blue gaze jumped to mine. “Tell me, immediately.”

  “It was sent to me.”

  “Where is the book it came in?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “On the dresser.”

  He walked around me and picked up the book, quickly flipping to the inscription page.

  “You can read that?” I asked.

  He glanced at me briefly. “Yes.”

  “What does it say?”

  He hesitated. “It is an incantation, set to release the Dušan the moment you touched the inking.”

  “Does it say why I was given this thing?”

  “No.” He snapped the book closed and dropped it back onto the dresser. “But their usual purpose is to protect the wearer when they are walking the gray fields or commuting the portals.”

  “Given I don’t do one very often and the other never, what’s the point of giving one to me?”

  “That I do not know.” He frowned and walked back. He touched my fingers again, lifting my arm gently. Violet fire rippled down the Dušan’s bright scales, and the obsidian eyes gleamed with awareness. Reacting to the touch, or the power of the man behind it? “It is an extremely strong one, though. Whoever made thi
s for you knew what they were doing.”

  I stared at him for a moment, my mouth suddenly dry. “This was made for me? Specifically for me?”

  “Yes. There are few left capable of making a Dušan such as this.” His gaze met mine again. “I suspect your father might be one of them.”

  “But if the Dušan was made for me, how come that book is so old?”

  He shrugged. “Modern paper does not hold magic as well.”

  “So why in the hell would he even make one for me?” I ripped my fingers from his and stalked across the room, stopping at the window and crossing my arms. The traffic on the street below was a blur, muted by the electrochromic windows, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t really looking at it, anyway. “Damn it, tell me what’s really going on, Azriel! Why would he contact me—in any way—after all this time?”

  “Because you are his daughter.”

  He said it like that was a complete and obvious answer. I swung around to face him. “A daughter he hasn’t bothered seeing for twenty-eight and a half years.”

  He made a short, elegant movement with his hand. His fingers were long, I noticed absently. Long and strong. “That is but a heartbeat in the life span of an Aedh.”

  “But if I’m so important in his quest to destroy the world, then why leave it until now to contact me?”

  He hesitated briefly. Though there was as little emotion as ever in his face, I felt the conflict in him. Which was as odd as the awareness that throbbed between us.

  “Twenty-eight and a half years ago, the first of the dark path portal locks was partially opened. It wasn’t forced, and there was no magic involved. Someone used a key.” He hesitated, then added, “Three weeks ago, all three were briefly opened.”

  I blinked. Locks? Key? What the fuck? “I thought the gates were just gates. Ethereal and powerful, granted, but functioning the way all gates function. You know, they open to let a soul in, then slam shut behind.”

  He crossed his arms and shook his head. The room’s half-light flickered across his dark hair, making it shimmer a rich black-blue. “No. There have always been security measures in place to stop those on the dark path from retreating. Every portal contains three interconnected gates, each possessing a stronger lock. One must close behind the soul before the next one opens.”