Kier barks out a laugh, genuine amusement that’s kind of freaking me out rolling off him in waves.“Oh, that’s rich—coming from you.” He raises a brow and glances over to me before pinning fake Ryn with a condescending levity that I’m almost positive he practices in the mirror. “I’ll admit, you have a lovely figure—”
I swing my eyes to Darro and grind out a little sound of protest—even if this isn’t my mate, itlookslike her. He waves me off and continues unhindered.
“But did you really think a psycopomp, of all paranormal beings, wouldn’t notice the filth that is your soul?” Something in Kier’s voice changes, and his eyes harden as he holds her gaze. She must sense something that I don’t, because tears fill her eyes and she squeaks out a little mewl of frustration.
“You will answer your prince without deception. What have you done with Tarynn Nox?” There’s a ring of authoritative command tohis tone, and it dawns on me that he’s using compulsion. But that only works on members of his—
“Sa-Saskia Nox.” Tears stream defiantly down her cheeks as she continues, “Tarynn Nox is s-safe, but she’s been dosed with an al-altered variety of sss-leep smoke. The re—revival dose is in my r-right pocket. She’s stra—strapped to the procedure table nearest the d-doctor.”
I blink rapidly, emotions swirling in my chest as my eyes lock onto the empty table. It’s tilted up, and the metal surface of it glints back mockingly. A growl of frustration erupts from my throat, and it takes all of my barely there control to refrain from doing something violent and stupid.
Darro sighs and flicks his hand in the direction of the table. The air around it shimmers, and then a cloaking charm melts away, rippling as it winks out to reveal an absolutely livid-looking Ryn.My Ryn.My heart stalls, and my eyes rake her form, cataloging every scrape and bruise. Thankfully, it seems like the worst is a bloodied lip and a purplish bruise forming around her left eye. With that done, my pulse thunders in my ears, and I let go of Saskia, leaving her in the hold of my shadows and the company of Darro.
Before I take a step, my shadows shoot forward and wrap around Ryn, sneaking under the straps holding her in place and slicing through them. She grunts as she’s freed, but falls forward limply as my shadows carry her to me. I run for her, holding my hand backward as shadow tendrils drop the retrieved vial of revival drought from Saskia’s pocket into my waiting palm.All of this, between one breath and the next, but I still feel entirely breathless as my arms wrap around her.
The only sign of the fear, desperation, and rage I’d been feeling through our bond is in her still trembling limbs as I carefully administer the draught. After a moment, she shivers and collapses against me,and I whimper against the pent-up angst electrifying my blood as she holds me tight. Slowly, all of those things fade against the sheer relief emanating from both ends of our connection.
“Shh, it’s okay, love. I’ve got you.” Pressing my lips against her forehead, I breathe her in, my hands roaming the expanse of her back as she wraps her legs around my hips, like she can’t get close enough. My heart simultaneously swells with affection and aches with the feeling of failure that I let this happen in the first place.
“Stop that.” The warmth of her breath against my neck sends a shiver down my spine, and I hum inquisitively in response. “Your guilt. This was not your fault.”
My orbs sting and flicker as I pull back to look at her, and she lifts her head to meet my eyes. “You did everything right, baby. You—you did good.” She chokes as tears fill her eyes, and I swallow hard, nodding along with her. She pulls me in tight again and presses kisses against her favorite spot on my neck. I wrap us in shadows, tightening them just enough to help ground us against the force of our emotions, made more overwhelmingly potent with our bond.
That ass-clenching panic finally starts to subside, just as I hear a garbled scream, and then a sickening thud.
24
Invisible
Ryn
Saskia casts a cloaking spell over me, and moves to clean-up the evidence that she used the organic printer. I guess story time is over.
I thought I held some distant affection for my sister in the pieces of myself that I still carry from childhood. And maybe I did, before now. After all, she was my first friend, and before we started branching off on very different paths, she was the one person in all the world who knew what growing up in our court, our house, felt like. It was never a home—never warm, or safe, or longed for. I know that now more than ever. Any sentimentality I might have harbored for the few flickers of warmth from my childhood—brewing ‘potions’ with mud, pinecones, and wildflowers, practicing charms to make our shadow puppets dance, or even finding new hiding places from the creatures our parents would hire to watch us—is wholly extinguished now.
Listening to my insane sister's plans to lure the person who is the embodiment of the first real home I’ve ever had into her twisted little schemes ensured that. Still, there’s an unwelcome ache in my chest for her. For that little girl who danced through the only decent memories of childhood, because the Saskia I knew is dead. Not only on the inside, but bodily as well. I have no idea how she performed the soul transfer herself. Although, if Brenyn was the brilliant alchemist she claims he was, maybe he figured out a way to alter one of her stones—devised some way to auto-trigger the transfer.
Either way, she did it, and I watched her drag her corpse toward the body coolers and carelessly shove it into a drawer. Her arrogance is astounding, really, not even bothering to make a golem as a backup. Technically, she can still be raised back into her original body, but now that it’s been dead for so long and cooled off, she wouldn’t come back entirely human, and she would have a much faster process of decay because of it.
I’m not sure what’s more tragic, really. That my sister all but killed herself in front of me—or that I’m only marginally distressed by it. Even with her sinister plot uncovered, my apathy is grating on my conscience more than my grief—and I fucking hate it because it’s soUnseelieof me.
Tears blur my vision as I try again to push warnings through our bond to keep Seth away, but it doesn't work. My gut churns with foreboding, and my pulse spikes as anxiety wraps its cool fingers around my heart. I want to scream because these feelings aren't all mine, which means he’s here—and the strength of them means he’s close. Saskia’s words roll through my mind again, fear joining the bile clogging my throat.
He’ll be able to tell. Won’the?Oh gods.
The doors open, and my heart leaps as he walks in, his face a menacing mask of determination, orbs spinning wildly as he takes in the room. He notices Sam and Eilidh right away, and if possible, his expression darkens when he sees the little half-orc’s small frame.
He calls for me, and my heart cracks. I want to answer him, but I’m trapped inside my mind. For a second, he looks right at me, and I think maybe he can see me. The tears building up in my eyes fall when he glances away. I know Saskia put up a cloaking charm, but I’d hoped that somehow our soul-bond would override it. If I could, I’d chuckle mirthlessly. I’ve never been so stupidly optimistic before, and it’s both a crushing and achingly sweet reminder of how much Seth has influenced me.
And then she’s there, and she’s touching him—and my vision goes red. It’s so much worse because I can’t hear what they’re saying. But he’s—he’s holding her.
Oh gods, he can’t tell.A sob traps itself in my still-paralyzed chest, and its pressure only adds to my pain. She leans in for a kiss, and he’s touching her. He—he’s going to…I squeeze my eyes shut and push as much loathing and discomfort as I can through our bond. I want to keep my eyes closed in rebellion, because she specifically wanted me to watch, but I can’t. I have to know what’s happening. When I open them, Seth is hovering over her, and she’s wrapped in his arms, and my stomach sinks.
Until his fingers snap into action and squeeze the ever-lovingfuckout of her bitch-ass little throat! HA! My heart soars, and a sickeningly sweet satisfaction fills every spare inch of my being to bursting.He knows! Ha ha. Take that, you conniving bitch!
I wish I could fucking hear what they’re saying. She looks scared. Good. I hope she shits her pants.
“Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t youdaretouch me withherhands,” Seth shouts, his voice dangerous and rasping, and a little shiver zips up my spine. Probably not the best time to get turned on, but between the masculine rage (appropriately placed), and my implied possession of him—oof. Because, yes, hedoesbelong to me. Hearing him acknowledge it and throw it in that bitch's scheming face is apparently my catnip.
