MJ stepped between us, her fiery hair jumping out against the dull gray stone. She drilled holes into my face as I refused to divert my attention from the pet. I shifted my arm in front of my groin, remembering the time she grabbed Alexei’s balls when he wouldn’t stop flirting with her long enough to pay attention to her report.
She grabbed my neckline instead, yanking me face-to-face with her. “Out of all the times you could’ve admitted to your bond, you picked the most fucked-up one. Nice job.”
“I know.”
She scoffed. “Do you? Because I just witnessed you make an utter ass of yourself and hurt Lucille more on the day of hermother’sfuneral.”
And the only reason she did was because I left the damned dungeon door open in my rage. If I would’ve shut it, Alexei wouldn’t have been able to use his damn powers, and the pet would be dead.
“I know,” I gritted out, not needing a reminder. Lucille’s emotions left little room for anything else. They plagued me like all the innocent blood on my hands, sharpening my regret.
I tuned into Rune, finding her sitting at the base of the grimy dungeon stairs, watching Alexei carry Lucille away.
Go with her,I said. If it couldn’t be me, then at least our Soulhound could soothe her. I followed them through Rune’s vision until they made it to her door.
Get her attention.
Rune nudged Lucille’s hand, then licked it until she turned to face her.
Seven Hells.
All her purple and white flecks, which shone whenever she held me in her gaze, seemed dull and listless.
What had I done?
Separating from Rune, I sheathed my sword and made to leave, but MJ tightened her grip.
“You really think she wants to talk to you right now? After all this?” MJ gestured between me and the pet.
I clenched my jaw, feeling useless and needing an outlet for my helplessness. My shadows expanded, slipping from my skin to float toward the pet. MJ smacked me, hard, then ripped me back down to her level.
“We both know if you hurt him, you’ll only end up hurting her. And I’m not talking about their bond. She cares for him.”
“Doubtful,” the pet chimed in.
His voice prodded my restraint, as did MJ’s words. Seven Hells, I wished she were lying. But only a fool could’ve missed the way Lucille turned to him and the way his irises flashed when I stepped near. She might not love him, but her feelings for him remained, no matter how small. As for him, he had the same damned expression Lucifer had whenever he talked about Saraqael—unquenchable longing.
If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve believed Lucille did have a second cordistella.
The two bonds were similar. They both shared emotions and had major protective instincts. But the guardian bond was corrosive and one-sided.
I had only felt the hellion’s praesidium once. Normally, I had the cordistella bond blocked, so she wasn’t affected by its protective influence. But when I had drained myself fighting Lilith, my blocks weakened, and her praesidium lit up my mind with a fierce, vibrant voracity. It consumed her much like the guardian bond’s protective tendencies did. Except the energy that had surged inside her to protect the pet almost had a malicious undercurrent.
It would punish her if she saw or felt anything happen to the pet.And I knew for a fact the cordistella bond would never require self-mutilation as penance.
It was said the Weaver created the cordistella bond to build an army of warriors who would do anything to protect each other as they fought evil. It was never about love, but protection, connection, and free will that resulted in love. But the guardian bond was the antithesis of free will and love.
“Does your cordistella know?” I hated myself for giving in to this bitter, covetous unease. It made me want to bash his skull in and then my own.
His eyes flashed, reminding me I needed to shove him back into his cell. “Know what?”
“Know that you’re in love with Lucille?”
The pet huffed as if it weren’t true. MJ raised an eyebrow, then it dropped when he replied.
“My cordistella’s dead. Courtesy of Lilith.”
Sympathy shuddered through MJ’s hard eyes, and I knew he’d chipped away at some of the hatred she held toward him. If anyone would understand the pain of losing a cordistella, it was her. But it didn’t excuse anything he had done, or the fact that I’d sooner gut him than feel more than a remnant of pity for him. His hands were bloodied. His sins and misdeeds unquestionable.
