Darkness Falls (Dark Angels 7)

I frowned. A soul? Why would Mike be calling a soul into existence?

From hell, she said. Control it he can.

Realization dawned. He was going to insert the soul into me. Fuck! Is there any way to stop it?

The last thing I wanted was that foul creature getting anywhere near me, let alone becoming part of me. Besides, this wasn’t the sort of spell I’d been expecting, and I had no desire to find out whether we’d be able to combat it.

Can devour, she said. But inside it must be.

But if it gets inside, won’t it gain control?

Only if stronger than two, she said. Will shield.

It was a risk. A huge risk. I glanced at Azriel; though his face remained impassive, the muscle along his jaw ticked and there was real fear in his eyes. He knew what this thing was, knew what it could do, and that made me even more frightened.

Then shield. And I mentally crossed everything I had that this would work.

Power surged through me, and just for a moment, my skin seemed to glow a rich, violet hue. Thankfully, Mike didn’t appear to notice. His chanting reached a peak, then stopped, and the following silence was filled with eerie expectation.

“I am sorry to have to do this, my dear,” he said, sounding anything but, “but I cannot risk allowing you to walk free from this place without some means of controlling you.”

I met his gaze and had no doubt the hate I felt was evident in my expression.

He raised an eyebrow and added, “And that is why. You would kill me—or, at least, destroy the key before you ever gave it to me. Unfortunately, because of the wards you now wear, I cannot spell you, which forces my hand somewhat. But don’t worry, it won’t consume you, not entirely. You will merely be a passenger in your own body. It won’t even be that painful.”

Like fuck it wouldn’t. But once again I bit back the comment. Amaya had no such restraint, but at least she kept it internal.

The soul broke away from the lightning and drifted toward me. I tried to edge away from it, but my hands and knees were locked to the stone thanks to the weight still pressing down on me. All I could do was watch as the gossamer wisp raised an almost fingerless hand and ran it down my face.

It felt like I was being caressed by fire and brimstone. It felt like hell itself.

A scream rose in my throat, but I somehow clamped down on it. I couldn’t scream; it would warn Mike that his spells weren’t working as well as he thought. The soul’s touch moved on. My skin crawled in horror and the sweat that beaded my body froze in place—which would have seemed odd except for the fact that everyone’s version of hell was different. For some it was icy, for some it was heat, and for others it was an endless pit of torture and pain. Perhaps this soul was trying a combination of all three to see which affected me the most.

It continued to flow over me until its fragile form covered me entirely. I wanted to twist and scream and swat it away—wanted to feel the steel of my sword in my hands and watch it destroy whatever life this thing had—but I did none of those things. The barrier was still in place, as was the weight of magic against my body. Until both of them were gone, I couldn’t react.

No matter what happened, no matter how bad it got.

Mike was adept at both blood magic and Aedh and could bring the force of both against us. Besides, I had no idea just what that cage would do to Azriel if I revealed my hand too soon.

My one chance—Azriel’s one chance—was surprise.

The soul began to seep into my skin. The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, and the horror increased, making me gag.

But as the soul leached into me, the lilac fire that was both Amaya and her sword came to life within. It latched onto the flimsy filaments, preventing them from going deeper into my body even as it consumed and destroyed them. The soul began to moan and twist, an eerie sound that echoed both through me and through the cavern itself. But it couldn’t get away. My sword—and the demon that controlled it—ensured that.

But the conjured soul was merely an appetizer. The real meal still stood before us.

And he was smiling in satisfaction. No doubt he’d mistaken the soul’s dying moans for my capitulation. I didn’t move, didn’t react in any way, trying to make it seem like the life within me was gone and that his conjured soul was now in residence—or, at the very least, in control.

After several minutes, he made a quick, chopping motion with one hand and said something I didn’t quite catch, and the weight abruptly lifted from my shoulders. Excitement stirred, mine and Amaya’s, but we didn’t move. The endgame was close, but the candles still stood between us and ultimate victory.

“Rise, dear Risa,” he said, making an up motion with his hand.

Slowly, stiffly, I obeyed. My legs were decidedly unsteady, and I wasn’t sure whether it was due to the sudden release from the weight or the fact that Azriel was still drawing on my strength.

Either way, unsteadiness wasn’t something I needed, given that when we moved, we’d have to do so fast. I took several slow, deep breaths and flexed fingers itching with the need to feel steel and blood on them.

His expression was a mix of satisfaction and amusement. “I can see you in there, Risa. The hate”—he paused and tsked—“no one so young should feel such an emotion so deeply. It is not good for the soul.”