Bind the Soul

  She sighed and closed the book. “I’m trying to find out what a Blood Kiss is. Unless you know?”

  “Ummmm.” He frowned a little. “Sounds familiar but can’t say I know what it is. A hint?”

  “I don’t have a hint,” she grumped. “Makes it hard to look up. I don’t know if it’s a spell or a military maneuver or a plant or a cocktail. Damn it,” she added with a frustrated growl. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, kneading gently. Her head was splitting.

  “Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it can’t.” Micah had told her to find out what Blood Kiss was before going after Ash. That suggested some kind of time limit—unless he had just been messing with her, like usual.

  “Piper,” Lyre crooned persuasively, stepping closer to her chair. “Come on. You need sleep.”

  “I have to find—”

  He reached out and traced his fingertips across her cheek. When she felt tingles run across her skin, she slapped his hand away.

  A slow, satisfied smile made him look dangerous. “Too late,” he purred.

  Whatever spell he’d used was already in motion. Her eyelids drooped as fatigue took hold. She tried to stifle a yawn.

  “You jerk,” she mumbled.

  He pulled her chair back and knelt in front of her. She tried to glare but found herself slumping forward. He pulled her against him, hooked his arms under her backside, and stood. She wrinkled her nose at the dampness of his clothes but pillowed her cheek on his shoulder anyway. He carried her out of the room in a sort of reverse piggyback ride. A piggyfront ride?

  “I have to find out what a Blood Kiss is,” she told him, attempting to sound firm. Instead, she sounded drunk and slurry. “I won’t be able to sleep until I do.”

  “I’ll look it up while you sleep,” he soothed. “If it’s something horrible, I’ll wake you up. Otherwise, it’ll be waiting for you in the morning.”

  She thought about it as he climbed the stairs. “I s’pose that’s okay,” she conceded.

  He stopped in front of her bedroom door and set her on her feet. He slid his arms around her and pulled her close. She sighed. Finally, a hug. She’d been waiting for a hug since she’d walked through the Consulate doors. Tears unexpectedly welled as memories of the last few days surfaced.

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy,” he observed.

  “You made me this sleepy,” she accused. Sleepily. Her eyes didn’t want to open.

  His fingers touched her cheek. Another wash of tingles.

  “Okay, now you can stay awake long enough to change. My bedroom is all ready for you once you get out of those clothes.”

  “Do I have to?” she whined. She didn’t feel any less tired without the spell and changing clothes sounded like a lot of work.

  “You’ll sleep better if you do. I’d make you shower too but you’d probably pass out on me like Ash, and then you’d punch me if I got in the shower with you.”

  “How would I punch you if I was passed out?”

  “Ash managed it. Not even sure what his problem was.”

  She snorted a laugh.

  He carefully stepped back, making sure she could stand on her own before he let her go. He leaned close and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep the hounds away until morning.”

  She smiled. “Thanks Lyre.”

  He touched her cheek and retreated down the stairs. Feeling strangely melancholy, she opened her bedroom door and tiptoed inside.

  She needn’t have worried about noise. Ash was sprawled on his back across her bed, oblivious to the world. A light blanket covered to him to the waist and a gray t-shirt hid his injuries. The red tie was missing from his hair, the damp locks looking tousled and a little shaggy out of their usual braid. The messy style softened his face, making him look younger. Like his actual age.

  She peered around blurrily for her pajamas. Her room was a mess. It seemed like a thousand years ago that she’d been tearing it apart for something to wear to the Amity Gala.

  Sighing, she shuffled toward her dresser. Halfway there, despite having every intention of changing and going to the guest room to sleep, she swerved toward her bed. She needed a minute to work up the energy to change. She sat on the edge of the mattress and gazed tiredly at Ash. She had to fight the urge to touch him. He’d almost been lost forever. She wanted to trace the shape of his face, smooth his hair, touch his lips to feel his breath and make sure he was really alive and here, safe.

  A tight ache started in her belly. She may have spent over a month worrying about him, but that didn’t change her long-term goals. She wanted to be a Consul. Consuls did not mix with daemons. No matter how much she might care about him, she’d spent her whole life working toward becoming a Consul. She refused to blow it now, even though the mere thought of touching him made her heart pound.

  And besides, even without the Consul thing, he was still off limits. He was a daemon—a powerful, dangerous daemon. She’d learned her lesson with Micah, hadn’t she? It was common knowledge that daemons were very bad at monogamous relationships. She wouldn’t ruin her future over a fling with a daemon, no matter who that daemon was. No matter that the one kiss they’d shared had set her on fire in a way she’d never felt before. And she wasn’t even going to think about their little episode while escaping the Chrysalis building. She hadn’t been that turned on. Really. It had just been the adrenaline rush from having a predator taste her neck as though he wanted to taste her blood. Not sexy. Definitely not.

  She swallowed hard, staring at Ash. Did he remember doing that? Did it matter?

  She closed her eyes. Didn’t matter. Wasn’t happening again. And the way he’d held her after Vejovis had healed him, pulling her close when she’d said she was cold, didn’t matter either. They’d remain friends. That’s all he probably wanted from her anyway. She grimaced, then yawned. Her thoughts continued to ramble, making less and less sense. Comforted by the familiar smell of her room and the soft welcome of her bed, she lay back without thinking about it. Her pillow felt wrong—ah, it was actually Ash’s stomach. Still a good pillow. Breathing deeply, his scent mixing with the reassuring scents of home, she wiggled a little more onto the bed, pulled one edge of the blanket over her bare arms, and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  “PIPER? Ash? Wake up.”

  Piper huffed irritably and burrowed into the warmth of the bed. She was not waking up. Not happening. Come back tomorrow.

  “Oy,” Lyre half growled, half whispered. “Wake up!”

  The urgency in his voice finally filtered through the blanket of sleep. Piper cracked her eyes open. Lyre leaned over her, a dark shadow. He hadn’t turned on any lights when he’d entered the room. Her bedside clock said it was three in the morning.

  “Quit ignoring me, Ash,” he hissed. “We’re in trouble.”

  What her sleep-fuzzed brain had identified as a warm pillow against her back grunted. Piper uncurled from the ball she’d been sleeping in and sat up. Her head weighed a thousand pounds. Ash had rolled onto his stomach at some point, and his efforts to wake up had stopped with the turning of his head toward Lyre.

  “What’s wrong?” she croaked.

  Lyre cast a wary glance at the closed door and sat beside her.

  “I was talking to Miysis,” he said in a rush, still whispering. “And this daemon came tearing up, babbling about an emergency. Miysis and the Consul Directors locked themselves in the meeting room but I listened at the door. I couldn’t catch everything, but from what I heard, Samael and a full company of soldiers were spotted three hours away from here, just beyond the ley line.”

  Piper stared, unable to absorb it. Samael had brought part of his army here? Daemons never brought their wars to Earth.

  “He’s coming for the Sahar,” she choked.

  “And you,” Ash said, pushing himself up and sitting cross-legged in the middle of
the bed. “Lyre, did Miysis decide on a course of action?”

  “Miysis has eighty soldiers with him. Samael has two hundred foot soldiers and twelve of his elite knights. Miysis is trying to decide whether they should run with the Sahar and hope they aren’t ambushed, or hold the Consulate until his reinforcements arrive.”

  “Eighty against two hundred?” Piper repeated incredulously.

  “Miysis’s personal bodyguards are each worth five or ten of Samael’s regular soldiers,” Ash said. He frowned. “Samael isn’t stupid though. Is Miysis sure they’re regular troops?”

  “Yeah, he was pretty sure. The spy reported that they all had moderate rank markings. Low ranking soldiers wouldn’t have the magic necessary to pass through the Void; these guys are the next step up. Moving daemons en masse through the Void has never been done before. Samael probably didn’t want to risk his best until he knew if the crossing would work. Besides, he thinks he’s attacking a Consulate with two or three haemons in it, not eighty Ra soldiers.” Lyre glanced again at the door, the motion jerky with nerves.

  “What else?” Ash asked.

  “You and Seiya need to get out of here before you’re trapped by Samael, or Miysis decides you’re too much of a risk. He’s not convinced you aren’t loyal to Hades.”

  Piper turned to Ash. “Lyre is right. You’d better grab Seiya and go.”

  “I was planning to grab you both.”

  She blinked.

  “Samael wants you too,” Lyre explained. “Better that you get away from here. Ash can keep you safe and off the map.”

  “I—but—” Her head spun. She’d only just got home. She wasn’t ready to leave again.

  “Piper—” Ash began.

  “No, no,” she said breathily. “I know you’re right. I just—need a minute.”

  Her whole body wanted to shut down at the thought of going on the run again. She’d experienced enough of that life during her week as a fugitive with the Sahar. She never imagined she’d have to do it again. She was still exhausted from her last escape.

  While she pulled herself together, Ash scrubbed both hands through his hair, trying to wake himself a bit more. “Lyre, would you quit tapping that damn book?”

  Piper looked around, surprised to see the thick textbook tucked under Lyre’s arm; she hadn’t noticed him drumming his fingers on the cover.

  “What’s with the book?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Remember I said I was talking to Miysis? Well, I finally gave up searching through the damn library and asked him about Blood Kiss. He got damn pissy over it but he knew what it was, alright.”

  “Why did he get pissy?” Ash asked.

  “What is it?” Piper asked over top of him.

  Lyre grimaced. “He got pissy because Blood Kiss is the poison Samael’s assassins used to take out those daemons at the gala.”

  Piper’s whole body went cold.

  “Once I knew what to look for, I found it in here.” He flipped open the book to a marked page. “It describes the composition and the symptoms and all that.” He looked up. “Why were you asking about it, Piper?”

  She could feel Ash’s stare boring into her. She took a deep breath.

  “Micah told me the name,” she said hoarsely. “At the gala.”

  “Micah?” Ash repeated. “Why were you talking to Micah?” A pause. “Micah mentioned Blood Kiss at the same gala where multiple daemons were poisoned with it?”

  “That slimy maggot,” Lyre hissed, eyes going black with loathing. “When did that little bastard start taking contracts?”

  She would be horrified and disgusted with Micah for murdering those people at the gala later. At the moment, she had more important things on her mind. She carefully clenched and unclenched her hands.

  “Um, just out of curiosity, what are the symptoms?”

  Lyre looked at the book. “Let’s see . . . spreading numbness where the poison entered the bloodstream, fever, chills, increasingly debilitating headaches, muscle weakness, fainting, eventual coma, death.”

  Piper exhaled as relief swept through her. She hadn’t experienced any of those symptoms and it had been a week since Micah had jabbed her with his ring. He’d wanted to scare her—or delay her efforts to rescue Ash until it was too late.

  “You forgot the trademark symptom,” Ash said, his voice oddly smooth and dark. “Blood Kiss is undetectable because the symptoms don’t manifest until the final stages, anywhere from two to six hours before death, depending on the amount of poison used. There’s only one indicator prior to the final stages and it’s difficult to recognize unless you’re looking for it.”

  “You knew about it all along?” Lyre groaned. “All those hours in that damn library for nothing.”

  Piper swallowed hard. Her heart pounded, unappeased by her internal monologue of “It’s been a week, you’re fine.”

  “What’s the symptom?” she asked.

  Ash’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “A red mark like a love bite where the poison entered the bloodstream.”

  The room spun. “And—uh—how—how long does the poison take to work?”

  In the dim light of her bedside clock, she saw that Ash’s eyes had gone pitch black. He said nothing.

  Lyre checked the book. “Depends on the amount of poison, it says. A large dose works in as little as two hours. A small dose could take up to ten days. Piper, what’s wrong?”

  She tried to work some moisture into her mouth. “Is—is there an antidote?”

  Ash lunged at her so suddenly that she squeaked. His hand closed around her wrist like a vice, forcing it away from her stomach. She hadn’t realized she’d been clutching her arm. He tore the white bandage off her wrist with barely controlled violence.

  The red mark on her wrist glared like an angry eye against her pale skin.

  “Piper—” Lyre choked, staring at her wrist. “You—you—when did—” He stuttered into silence, his face stricken.

  Panic squeezed her lungs. “Lyre, tell me there’s an antidote.”

  He held the book so tightly the binding tore a little—and didn’t answer.

  “Lyre?”

  He let the book slide off his lap and pressed a shaking hand over his face. “No. There’s no antidote. That’s why it’s favored by assassins, because no matter how little poison is used, it can’t be stopped. It always kills.”

  She bit down hard on her bottom lip. It hurt to breathe.

  “There is.”

  She looked up. Ash stared at the wall, jaw tense.

  “There is an antidote,” he whispered. “Very few know it exists because contract killers prefer it that way. It’s rare and expensive to make. The ingredients are hard to find.”

  “Could you make it?” Lyre demanded.

  “I don’t know how.” He inhaled slowly and Piper knew he was struggling not to shade any further. “But I know who has it.”

  A heartbeat of silence passed before she whispered, “Who?”

  His eyes went a little blacker. “Samael.”

  . . .

  Piper stood in front of her closet. She’d already changed into fitted, sturdy black jeans and her favorite boots with their hidden daggers. Choosing a shirt shouldn’t have been hard. It was just a shirt. Not that complicated. But it might be the last shirt she ever wore.

  She tugged at the hem of the white, off-the-shoulder top that Seiya had given her. Dried blood caked the side where Ash had bled on it. She wanted to take it off but once she changed her shirt, she would be ready. She didn’t want to be ready.

  Their plan was basic. Scary-basic. They couldn’t prep beyond a sketchy outline. Ash didn’t know where Samael kept his antidotes, but he knew the Hades Warlord always kept some close. And, conveniently, Samael was nice and close to them. Like, three hours away.

  Three hours away in the middle of an army of two hundred lethal daemon soldiers.

  Ash wanted to go in alone to find the antidote. Only the impossibly slim chance of success had al
lowed her to talk him out of it. He would never be able to get in, locate the antidote, and get out again alive. On top of that, he wasn’t sure he could recognize the correct antidote unless it was clearly labeled. The risks were too high.

  Her plan was much better. In her plan, she definitely got the antidote and lived. The part after that was the reason she was standing in front of her closet, trying not to hyperventilate.

  This was all Micah’s fault. She wished she’d shot him right there at the gala. He’d probably already poisoned the others by the time she’d confronted him. That was why his ring hadn’t had much poison left on the tiny, retractable pin. He’d already used it on eleven others, all of whom had died within days. The tiny dose was the only reason Piper was still alive a week later.

  At most, she had three days to live. Ash said the antidote had to be taken before the other symptoms—the fever and headaches—started or it wasn’t guaranteed to work, which meant they couldn’t delay their plan for even a few hours. The final stage of the poisoning could kick in at any minute.

  She stared sightlessly at the closet. Part of her wondered whether dying was better than what she planned to do. But if she didn’t do it, Ash would attempt his plan—and they would both end up dead.

  “Pick something,” she whispered to herself. Her voice shook. Calm. She needed to be calm.

  Her door opened with so much force that it crashed into the wall. She turned.

  Ash stalked in. He’d changed back into his draconian warrior clothes: head-to-toe black, short swords hanging along each thigh, the black wrap looped loosely around his neck. His hair was back in its usual braid alongside his head, minus that red strip of silk. The only thing missing was his armor-like vest. His bare arms, covered only by wrist-to-elbow armguards, flexed with tension as he stalked toward her. His eyes were black. Had been black since he’d realized she’d been poisoned. The longer he stayed shaded like that, the more slippery his control would become.

  “I changed my mind,” he snarled. “You’re not going.”