I cried out and tried to wrench free. But I was the weakest I’d ever been, and I was as ineffectual as a child. There was a flash of silver as Belanor produced a small, elegant knife, and then he sliced my skin open.
Time slowed.
Belanor’s hold on me vanished. I could hear my heartbeat without Gil’s help now. It vibrated in my ears like a rumble coming from the ground. I looked up from the cut, open-mouthed, and met Gil’s gaze from across the room. His pupils had dilated to the point where his irises were practically gone, and the eyes that latched on my bleeding arm were black as Hell. Belanor and the Guardians were smears in the background, tall blurs of movement.
The door whooshed shut.
Before I could say anything, a newborn vampire launched at me.
I dove to the side, just barely avoiding Gil’s swiping fingers.
He snarled and recovered instantly, rushing at me with such speed that I could only react, hitting the pads again. And again. And again. His snarling filled my ears. I couldn’t breathe, I was too weak. Then my training finally broke through the fog, and I spun to face Gil. He was coming at me like a bullet, his face twisted in animalistic aggression. I threw up my hand and my knee, aiming both in an unthinking, desperate move. For once, I got lucky. The blow to his throat didn’t land, but the one to his groin did.
I didn’t count on the force of it sending me to the floor, too. I rolled back to my feet, slower this time, and suddenly I saw my death written on the wall. My blood was everywhere. The cut was shallow, but I’d left trails of drops and small splatters. Gil hadn’t gotten up yet—he had both hands pressed against his dick, his face twisted in agony. I probably had seconds before the bloodrage overcame his pain.
“You can control this, Gil,” I told him, speaking loudly so he’d hear me over his moans. I smashed the bottom half of my shirt against the cut to slow the bleeding. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you kill me. I won’t, either.”
The sound of my voice did seem to affect Gil. Or maybe it was just the kick to his balls. Whatever the reason, when he muttered something under his breath and pushed himself up, he looked more like himself again. Well, as much like themselves someone could look when you’d known them less than a day. He dragged himself back to the wall, right where he’d started, and reached for his boot. His fingers moved too quickly to track, but in the next moment, something landed on the cushioned floor between us. Gil didn’t look at me, and he held onto his legs as if he were about to blow away.
The object he’d thrown was a small pocketknife. I was still applying pressure to the cut, though. I risked lifting the bunched-up material of my shirt, glancing at the arm beneath. Good enough. I wasted no more time reaching for the knife; I wrapped my fingers around the wooden handle and pulled it slowly towards me. It flicked open with a soft sound.
As I got accustomed to the weight and feel of Gil’s weapon, I didn’t offer him any optimistic promises. They’d feel like blatant lies now. Instead I remarked, “You were right about one thing.”
Gil tossed his head, hard, as if he were trying to shake out a bad thought. Once again, the movement made me think of an insect. “And what’s that?”
I held the knife horizontally and aligned the tang pins with the direction of my thumb. Then I sent it into a perfect pinwheel, just as Dad had taught me. “I hadn’t fully grasped the situation that we’re in. But I get it now,” I said.
My voice was mild, matching the calm expression I’d managed. Behind it, though, my mind was churning. Considering every option available to me. I couldn’t kill Gil—he was still the only other Nightmare I’d ever met, and we hadn’t had enough time. He might be able to answer the questions I’d had for so long. That possibility alone was worth the risk of saving him.
If I wasn’t willing to kill Gil, there was only one way to survive these circumstances Belanor had orchestrated. The vampire’s concern for my life needed to outweigh his thirst.
How? I thought, watching Gil’s leg start to jiggle. He was fighting magic and biology. Even if we’d known each other for years and were deeply in love, or the closest of friends, he’d still end up losing. Brute force wouldn’t help me. Ultimately, I concluded, performing another pinwheel with the knife, I needed to fight magic with magic.
What sort of magic would lend me influence over him? Make a newborn care more about my life than the cravings and urges tearing through him?
My mind halted on one thought. The mating bond.
It felt like a distant memory now, but during quiet moments, I still caught myself remembering that powerful connection. Over the past few weeks, I’d come up with a dozen ways to describe it. None of them were quite right. Now I found myself trying again.
Being tied to Collith had been like sitting in a dark room, and sharing that room with one person. Even when neither of us were speaking, we were always… aware of each other. And any time I reached into the dark, he was instantly there, his fingers brushing mine in silent reassurance.
Yes, I thought. That was a good way to describe it.
Emotions filled my throat, making it difficult to swallow. This was usually the part where I stopped thinking about it. I’d shove Collith and all those feelings into some dark, secret place and jump up to seek distractions. I would go for a run, or train with Adam, or clean the house.
But I couldn’t do any of those things right now. My mind and body had been weakened in every way, and this time, I wasn’t strong enough to deny the truth in my heart.
I missed it. I missed the mating bond, and more than that, I missed Collith.
Despite this, and despite how often I’d thought of it, I couldn’t remember the Enochian words my ex had recited that day in the woods. I suspected they were the most important part, considering the only other piece of the spell had been a kiss.
The mating bond was out, then.
I couldn’t deny the surge of relief that went through me. The magic between me and Collith had blurred so many lines, and I wasn’t capable of trusting anyone to that extent again.
What about a different spell? A different bond? There was only one other that I knew of—the bond that once existed between me and the Unseelie Court. It was the same issue, though. I’d only heard the Tongue perform the spell once, and I didn’t have any of the ingredients he’d possessed that day, anyway.
What did I have, then? I had a knife… and I had blood. And blood, I’d discovered during my time at the Unseelie Court, always held power. Like the blood oath.
The blood oath. I almost made a sound of excitement. A blood oath wouldn’t be enough to keep Gil’s fangs out of my neck, but thinking of it was like tossing a match on a puddle of gasoline. My mind brightened.
Kindreth’s journals. In one of them, she’d written a story of a witch at the Unseelie Court. A beautiful witch who served Folduin, the head of Viessa’s bloodline. The witch targeted faeries at Court, choosing them for their influence, power, and resources. She performed the same spell on each one, binding them to her with the intention of eventually overthrowing King Sylvyre.
Collith’s father had discovered what they were doing, of course. The witch was arrested, along with many of the creatures she’d tied to her.
Kindreth had been one of the council members to conduct interrogations.