“But then they’re controlled. They do nothing without my wishing it. Are they guilty of following my commands?”
“Then the fault belongs to you,” Martin snapped.
The man laughed, a robust sound so out of place in their surroundings. The mirth fell away. He tightened his grip on Martin’s jaw to near-painful levels. “You don’t know me—yet. But you will, little hunter. Believe me, you will.”
A crash from behind him had Martin struggling to turn.
“You wish to see?”
Not knowing how he got there, Martin found himself facing the burning tavern, the roof teetering on the brink of collapse. The man pulled him closer, putting Martin’s back flush against his chest. “Flames are lovely, don’t you think?”
The heat seared Martin’s face, even halfway across the street. His heart pounded harder. No way had Dmitri survived, let alone Peter.
“You can save them, you know,” the man who wasn’t a man whispered, mouth so close his lips grazed the shell of Martin’s ear.
“How?” Martin would do anything, give anything, to save Dmitri and Peter.
“Easy. Give yourself to me.”
What? “You want me to… to give up my current existence“—my lover— “to become one of those… things?”
“No, I do not. Look at me.” Martin found himself facing the man again. “Do I look like one of my servants?” The shadows peeled back, revealing a handsome man with sea-green eyes and a mane of copper hair. The image flickered around the edges. An illusion. “I most certainly do not. You won’t either, though I had no idea the depths of your vanity.”
Not vanity. Martin just didn’t want Peter to recoil. Another timber snapped. The roof collapsed with a greatwhoomphof flame. Too late! He was too late! He struggled, but his captor’s will held fast. Martin focused. Why wouldn’t his magic free him?
Again the man laughed, jostling Martin like a rag doll. “You’re a mere novice, no matter your strength. I was proclaimed one of the strongest among thousands, survived when they did not, and have practiced magery for thousands of your puny mortal seasons.
“We’re running out of time,” the man hissed, putting himself eye-to-eye with Martin. Flames reflected in those green eyes. “Soon, they’ll be beyond even my saving. So, tell me, little hunter, will you give yourself to me to save their lives?”
Martin stared at the flames. Tears and sweat burned his eyes. “Yes. But I have to see them. I have to know they’re okay. Speak to them.”
“Done.” The man snapped his fingers.
Shadows within the flames took shape, coming closer. Dmitri stepped out of the blazing inferno, Peter draped in his arms—sooty, hair and clothes singed. His chest rose and fell.
Dmitri stopped, staring at the man. “Why are you here?”
Martin didn’t have to see the man’s face to hear the smile in his voice. “Why, Dmitri. How good to see you again. You haven’t changed much, I see.”
Dmitri scowled. Peter stirred. Dmitri set Peter’s feet on the ground, holding him steady with an arm around his waist. “Martin, get away from him. You don’t know who he is.”
“Ah, but he will, he will.” The man wrapped an arm around Martin’s chest, pulling him back.
Martin’s skin crawled, being so close to this foul being.
“Martin?” Peter asked, glancing behind him at his ruined tavern. “Martin? What’s going on? What are you doing with that man?”
“You cannot take him.” Dmitri snugged Peter against his side. “You know he has free will. He must consent.”
The chuckle rumbling behind Martin had to be the evilest sound he’d ever heard. “That won’t be a problem. You see, he agreed, to save the two of you.”
The world blackened around the edges on Peter’s horrified face.
Peter screamed, “Martin!”
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Martin!”Peterstumbledinthe direction Martin had stood and would have fallen if not for the priest holding him up.
