GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness [calibre 0.9.30]

Which was the only reason that Sergei hadn’t tried to strangle the bastard before now.

Or turned him into a frog.

“What is this place?” the dark fey demanded.

“Civilization.” Sergei breathed in the damp air. Summer had arrived, but the fog remained. Ah, good ol’ London. “You’re welcome to skulk around in the filthy swamps, but I’ve had enough. I want a bath and a bed with satin sheets.”

“Pampered human,” Tearloch sneered, his gaze roaming over the line of tidy houses. “These walls make you weak.”

“Mage, not human,” Sergei corrected in cold tones, allowing the air to fill with a hint of his magic. “And I don’t need to live like an animal to prove my powers.” He deliberately paused. “Do I?”

The fey snorted, although he made no effort to prove his superiority.

At the moment the two men were precariously balanced between hate and need. One misstep and they would erupt into violence that might very well leave them both dead.

“Does Ariyal know of this lair?” he instead demanded.

“What does it matter?” Sergei shrugged. “The vamps are obviously holding him hostage or he would already have tracked us down.”

The silver eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so certain. There could be any number of reasons he has not yet come in pursuit.”

At last convinced that the house was empty and that no enemies lurked among the shadows, Sergei tucked the motionless child beneath his ragged jacket and crossed the street.

“If you’re scared of the traitor then feel free to return to the muck,” he muttered.

Predictably Tearloch was directly on his heels.

“I’m not leaving without the child.”

“Then it would seem we’re at a stalemate.”

Sergei climbed the steps and muttered words of magic beneath his breath. There was a faint click before the door swung open. He stepped into the black-and-white-tiled foyer, reluctantly waiting for Tearloch to join him before he shut the door and reset the spell of warding.

Nothing would be able to enter the house without alerting him.

Then, climbing the curved marble staircase, he headed directly for a back nursery that was dusty from disuse. Crossing the Aubusson carpet that matched the pale yellow and lavender upholstery, he set the child in the hand-carved cradle. The babe didn’t stir, her eyes remaining firmly shut.

So far as Sergei could tell the child was still under the stasis spell that had kept her and her twin brother unchanged and impervious to the world for centuries.

Tearloch glanced down at the child, but he was wise enough not to try and touch her.

Sergei had wrapped the babe in a blanket that held a powerful curse. A Sylvermyst, or any fairy for that matter, foolish enough to try and steal the child would suffer excruciating pain.

“When do you intend to perform the ceremony?” the fey demanded.

Sergei grimaced.

Never sounded good to him.

A damned shame that he was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.

Once upon a time he’d been stupid enough to believe he was destined for greatness, but after years of being exposed to Marika’s cruelty he’d realized that infesting the world with a horde of creatures that made her look like a Girl Scout wasn’t exactly a future to covet.

But while Tearloch hadn’t tried to take the child from him, Sergei hadn’t lived so long by being a moron. He knew that he was only alive because the Sylvermyst was depending on him to cast the spell that would resurrect the Dark Lord’s soul into the child. If he refused ...

Well, he didn’t intend to discover what would happen.

“I told you, I need to wait for the signs to align so I will be at my greatest strength,” he said, desperate to put off the inevitable.

Tearloch eyed him with blatant suspicion. “I begin to suspect that these mysterious signs are no more than an attempt to avoid fulfilling your duty.”

“Do you truly want to take the chance of ruining your best shot at returning your master—”

“Our master.”

“Because I’m not at the pinnacle of my power?” Sergei continued, ignoring the harsh correction.

Tearloch muttered a foreign word of power that made the air stir with a prickle of warning.

“You have until the full moon.”

“Is that a threat?” Sergei demanded at his most imperious.

In the less of the blink of an eye the tip of the massive sword was digging into Sergei’s throat, the Sylvermyst leaning forward until they were nose to nose.

“Yes.”

Sergei heard the sizzle as the strange blade absorbed the drop of blood from the pinprick wound in his throat. Then the fey was spinning away and heading out the door.

“Crazy bastard,” Sergei muttered.