Flamebound (11 page)

“W
hat?” Declan snaps out the single syllable, but I can tell he's looking at the scene with new eyes.

“Oh God,” Lily moans as she comes to stand next to me. She wraps an arm around my waist—as much to comfort as to take comfort.

“He's been cut open, his internal organs have literally fallen out of his abdominal cavity and he's hanging from the ceiling.” The place should be drowning in blood, but it's not. There's almost nothing, just a scattering of drops on the desk. “So where's the blood?”

It's a rhetorical question. Whoever murdered Councilor Alride bled him dry first, and took the blood with him when he left. There's only one reason for that, and it isn't a good one. The darkest magic, the blackest form of Heka in existence, uses blood magic. The strength of the spells, of the power, depends partially on the practitioner and partially on the blood.

The blood of a Councilor would make some very, very powerful magic.

On the heels of that thought comes the realization that we need to start tracking his blood. I'm not sure that's even possible, but if it is, someone needs to do it. The alternative—that all that blood, all that power, is just out there for someone to tap into—is terrifying.

Bleeding someone out—

How did you get here? You need to leave immediately
. Councilor Alride's voice booms through my head, blocking everything out but the deep tenor of his words. The fact that they echo Declan's so closely has me blinking, confused, at the angry man looming over me. The very angry, very alive man.

When I don't answer, he continues.
What are you doing? Stay right there. Don't come any closer. I'm calling security.
He reaches for the phone.
I'm—

The crack of a whip sounds over his angry posturing. Pain—sharp, focused, hot—rips through my hand. My arm.

That's when I understand. He's not talking to me. He's talking to his killer. It's never happened like this for me before. I've never been allowed to see or hear or feel anything before the attack and death occur.

Another crack rips through the air like a gunshot. More pain licks over my chest and side this time.

How dare you!
Councilor Alride's uninjured hand shoots into the air and I can feel the magic building inside him, feel him gathering it from the world around him.

There's a flash of light, and then nothing. No pain. No sound. No fear. Just an utter blankness that doesn't make sense. In the back of my head, there's a voice calling to me, but I can't reach it, can't hear it. It's distracting, annoying, so I shut it out. Then I turn into the black.

I push through the darkness, searching for Alride. Searching for anything that might tell me what happened to him. How a Councilor of his power was so completely overwhelmed. And by whom?

For a long time, there's nothing. Just darkness. And then—shooting pain. In my ribs. Again and again and again.

I grab onto the sensory memory, hold it tight to my chest even as the pain spreads through me. I have to see, have to know. . . . It's a new compulsion, one that grows stronger with each passing moment.

Metal. Sharp and cold and thin, so thin, as it presses against my jugular. A quick nick of pain, then blood—warm and liquid—welling above my collarbone. More warmth. A finger catching it, smearing it a little. The finger disappears. I hear the muted sounds of someone sucking.

My whole body tightens in revulsion, in rejection. I try to shove my attacker away, but my hands won't work. No one licks my blood, takes my blood, without my permission.

Laughter—a little wicked, a little mocking—washes over me.
How does it feel, Viktor? How do you like being on the other side of the game?

I don't know what you're talking about.

Tsk. Tsk. I've never been very fond of lies.

Another cut. This one a little deeper. It stings more, bleeds more. I can feel the blood leaking slowly down my chest. The finger is back, playing in it. No, not a finger. A tongue. There's a mouth on my chest—lips running over the bloody trail, tongue licking it up drop by drop by drop.

I yell for help. No sound assaults my ears, but I can feel the scream in the twinging of my vocal cords and the sudden hoarseness of my throat.

No need to panic.
The voice is low, a whisper. I try to tell if it's a man or a woman, try to see the face it belongs to, but there's nothing there. Just the voice, just the tongue, just the pain.

More metal, more cold. Not a knife this time. Handcuffs around my wrists. No, not handcuffs. This is thicker, tighter. Two inches thick, it wraps around my wrist. Squeezes so tightly that it pinches the thin layer of flesh that rests right over my bones.

What are you doing?
I ask again. My voice is no longer steady, my confidence—in myself and my abilities—shaken. No, not me. Viktor. This is all happening to Viktor, I remind myself.

It's strange, muddled. Hard—so hard—to tell the difference now.

I'm moving, being pulled up, slowly, slowly. There's grunting, a mocking laugh. A breathless admonition for me—for Viktor—to lose weight. A promise to help him with that.

And then I'm hanging, my arms stretched wide above my head.
I don't understand. I don't understand. Why are you doing this?

No answer now. No sound at all but the harsh breathing of physical exertion. I reach for my magic. I mutter an incantation so old it has been forgotten by nearly everyone. I need my hands for it to work well, but I still have my fingers. Maybe that's enough—

Pain. Overwhelming, this time. My entire system is overloaded with it until I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but endure. Endure. Endure.

Finally, it ends.

I kick out with my feet, hit something hard but human. A murmured curse, than another kiss of the knife. This time from my neck to my belly button, slicing my shirt to ribbons and digging a furrow into my flesh as well.

Another swipe of the hand—I try to focus on it, but I can't get a picture. It's like the killer is somehow blocking any reception of him or her that I might get.

Strangely muffled voice.

No image of him to lock onto.

Nothing but the pain he gives me. Viktor. Me.

The confusion grows worse.

More words. Hard to hear. Harder to focus on. Like I'm underwater and everything is muffled, muted. I know the words are important—I can sense it if nothing else and strain, strain, to make something out.

For just a second the spell slips and I hear three words:
Close doesn't count
. Then everything grows muffled again and I'm out of luck.

Close doesn't count
. I turn the words over in my mind, trying to make something of them. Something's there, hovering around the edges of my brain. But every time I reach out to grab it, it flutters away.
Close doesn't count
. I've heard that combination of words before. The more I repeat them, the more sure I grow. I know the rhythm, the—

Agony. Excruciating, omnipresent, eternal. My whole body, one long unending shriek.

Intellectually, in the small part of me that is still Xandra, I know that this is it. This is the death blow that slowly—oh so slowly—killed Councilor Alride. It happened to him—it isn't really happening to me. And yet I can't stop myself from clutching at my stomach.

I swear to the goddess I can feel the squish of my intestines between my fingers, smell the metallic earthiness of my blood, hear the sound of that same blood ping ping pinging into the metal trays set up directly below me.

At least that answers the question of where the blood went—as if I had any doubt.

Time passes—I don't have a clue how long—and I feel myself growing weaker, more tired. The pain is still there, but it's dull now. Background noise to the lethargy that is creeping over me a little bit more with each second that slips by.

I can hear voices again. Not the killer's, not that evil, indistinguishable hiss, but real voices. Loud, urgent, desperate. I try to respond, but I'm too far under. The pain, the vision, the magic, has stripped everything else away but Viktor Alride's last moments.

The wheezing starts, the gasping, and then he's slipping away from me.

Slipping.

Slipping.

Gone.

Only silence remains.

“Xandra!” I hear Declan calling my name, feel his hands cup my face. It's the first time I hear him, though I get the sense that he's been trying to reach me for a while. Is his the voice I heard when I was under? Was he the one trying to reach me? Or was it something else—something much more sinister?

Either way, I'm me again, thank the goddess. Viktor Alride is long gone from this plane of existence.

“Damn it, Xandra!” Declan sounds panic-stricken and I realize this is the first time he's ever really seen me like this. Though he's been with me at other murder scenes, he's always come after. He's never seen the whole show before.

“Come back to me, baby. Open your eyes. Come on, Xan. Look at me.”

I struggle to do what he asks, but it's so hard to get my body to cooperate. So hard to do anything but lie here in a stupor.

“Xandra!”

The urgency in his voice finally gets through to me and I force my eyes open. Only it's not Declan's concerned face I see hovering above me. It's Lily's tear-streaked one.

“You have to stop doing this to me!” she tells me in a shaky voice. “One of these days you're going to give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” I look from her to Declan. He hasn't said a word, but if possible he looks even more freaked out than my best friend does.

I reach a hand up, cup his face. His fingers grab onto mine, squeezing so tightly that I feel the circulation cut off to my fingers. I don't protest. How can I when I know I've put him through hell a dozen times in the last few weeks?

It takes a minute, but his grip finally loosens. Blowing out a long breath, he says, “We need to get you out of here.”

“Like right now,” Lily agrees.

I nod, even as I answer, “You know I can't go.”

Declan's mouth forms a grim line. “You
will
go.” His arm slips behind my back, presses me gently up into a sitting position.

“The compulsion doesn't work that way. Until he's been cut down and taken away, I won't be able to leave this room.”

“Yeah, well, we can't stay here. Do you know what will happen if they find us in a murdered Councilor's office?”

It's a mess of massive proportions. Even strung out and exhausted from the past few hours, I know that. The queen and king of Ipswitch's daughter found at the bloodiest crime scene in ACW history? That would be bad enough. Now add in the fact that I have a grudge against them—as does my lover. I figure even if we aren't found here, we'll be on the short list of suspects that WI puts together.

That doesn't matter, though. Logic and self-preservation never do. Not when my magic is involved.

But just because I'm screwed, that doesn't mean Declan and Lily have to be. Pushing shakily to my feet, I tell them, “You should go. I can handle this on my own.”

They stare at me, looks of utter noncomprehension on their face.

“I mean it. You two need to get out of here while you still can. Those two guards out there aren't going to go undiscovered for much longer.”

“What are you saying? That you want us to just walk out of here without you?” Lily demands incredulously. Declan doesn't say anything. He's too busy glaring at me from eyes turned incandescent with rage.

“There are three dead bodies down here. Even if, by some miracle, the compulsion lets me walk away from Viktor, there's no way I'll make it out of here. Not with the guards lying so close to the entrance.”

“I'm not leaving you.”

“You have to.” I wrap my arms around his waist, rest my head on his rock-solid chest. “The ACW has been looking for a way to execute you for decades now. If you're found here, you'll give them exactly what they've been wanting.”

His stubborn-as-hell jaw locks into place. “I'd fucking love it if they came after me. It'll give me the chance to get rid of them once and for all.”

“Be reasonable.”

“This is as reasonable as I get, baby.” At that moment, the antique grandfather clock in the corner starts to chime. Before it falls silent, it's clanged four times. My need to get them out of here becomes urgent. I had no idea that much time had passed—I must have been out of it longer than I imagined if nearly an hour has passed since we got down here. No wonder Lily and Declan both looked so freaked out when I came to.

“I'll be fine,” I tell them again. “The ACW won't hurt me. Not when they have my parents to deal with.”

“Uh, I hate to point out a flaw in your logic, Xan, but the ACW just spent weeks trying to kill you,” Lily answers with a shake of her head. “Finding you here is pretty much the answer to their prayers.”

“But they did that under cover. This would have to be blatant and in my parents' faces. They won't risk that. Not yet.” I give her a little shove toward the door, then cross to the desk and lift up the receiver of the old-fashioned phone that resides there. “Go,” I tell them right before I dial the operator.

“Put the damn phone down, Xandra.” Declan looks more pissed than I have ever seen him—and that's saying something.

I ignore him. When the operator answers, I say, “There's been a break-in in Councilor Viktor Alride's office.”

“Who is this?” the operator demands.

I don't get the chance to answer. Declan's across the room in a flash, ripping the phone out of my hand and throwing the whole thing against the wall. “You need to get out of here!” I tell him urgently.

“Fuck that!” He places a gentle hand on my head, murmurs something. And for the third time tonight, everything goes black.