The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(108)

As he spoke, he concentrated on Evander. Cybele’s father was the only free adept in Mab’s circle—the only Druid Arthur could use for the ruse he had in mind.

“Now,” he muttered.

Cybele released her magic.

“What the fuck—?” Rand and Hunter staggered backward, looking wildly about. Mab’s head swung toward them.

Arthur launched his own illusion. Evander seemed to lift his hands. Dirty brown-green hellfire crackled on his fingertips. “Forget those idiots!” Evander bellowed. “Look at me, you bitch.” He flicked his wrists, flinging two burning lashes at Mab’s head.

“Wha—” Mab spun around. “Why, you fucking bastard!” She loosed a stream of hellfire at her lackey.

Arthur launched himself at Mab, dropping the staff as he leaped into the air. Magic couldn’t defeat her? Bugger it, then. He’d break her bloody neck—if he could get his hands on her before she realized what was happening.

He’d nearly reached her when her Mab’s magic broke through his illusion. The false Evander abruptly evaporated. The real Evander was on his knees, screaming, his body alight with Mab’s burning magic.

“What? Why—?” He stretched out his arms to his mistress.

Mab spat a curse. She swung around just as Arthur’s fingers closed on her neck. He twisted with a savage motion. His fingers slipped as Mab’s hellfire blasted him into the air. Flailing his arms and legs, wings flapping wildly, he sailed up and backwards. The ground race beneath him.

He slammed into the house, his spine flattening painfully against unforgiving stone. His skull smacked the sill of a third floor window. He heard something crack; pain lanced through his wings. Mortar and bone, snapping together.

The agony left him gasping. For what seemed like an endless moment he hung suspended, arms and legs flung wide, his body pinned against the stone facade of T?’r Cythraul. A strangled cry came from below. He looked down. Cybele was staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, both hands covering her mouth.

The stone wall at his back shuddered. An ominous vibration ran up his spine. He started to fall. He tried to resist the pull of gravity—tried to fly, tried to rise through the tumbling stone. His broken body would not obey.

He plummeted heavily. T?’r Cythraul fell with him, its stone facade splitting apart like a giant jigsaw puzzle. He hit the ground amid a crushing wave of jagged rock and broken mortar.

He rolled with a furious roar, flinging the wreckage of his childhood home off his back like a dog shaking water. Dragging his broken wings, gasping with pain, tasting mortar and mold, he clawed his way to the top of the rubble. Cybele. Where was Cybele? He looked about like a madman. His heart seized when he spied a pale arm protruding from the debris.

Spitting curses, he scrambled over the rocks. A firelash yanked him back. He tumbled down a slope of stone and landed on his back. More wing bones snapped. A fresh round of stabbing agony left him gasping.

Mab loomed over him, a nightmarish smile on her face. The collar destined for Arthur’s neck rested in her hands. The light of the ruby thrallstone stabbed his eyes. Firelashes coiled agony around his body, binding his limbs and pinning his torso to the ground. He peered up at Mab through a daze of pain and despair.

“You belong to me, Arthur. Your body, your mind, your magic. All that you are is mine.”

The twisted wood turned crimson. The collar gleamed wetly, as if slick with blood. Sparks spun around the ring. Gathered. Separated. A gap appeared in the circle.

Mab pulled the arc of wood apart, widening the space Arthur’s neck would pass through. He cursed and tried to strike out. His body refused his command. He was caught in the web of Mab’s power more securely than any hapless insect was ever trapped in a spider’s web.

A groan passed his lips. Satisfaction flared in the alpha’s eyes. “Seven years of waiting,” she murmured. “Now, at last, you’re mine.” She glanced to her right and left. “Come and look, boys.”

Hunter’s grinning face moved into Arthur’s line of vision. “Can’t wait to play with you,” he chortled. “Once that collar’s in place.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur growled.

Hunter’s grin widened. “Oh, ho. Big man.”

Rand shouldered in beside Hunter. Arthur’s heart stalled. Rand held Cybele in his arms. Her body hung limply, one dangling arm swinging slowly back and forth. A nasty gash on her forehead dripped blood.

Mab frowned. “Dead?”

“No, ma’am,” Rand answered. “But as near to it as I reckon a person can get.”

The alpha shrugged. “I’ll leave her survival in your hands. If she lives, she’s yours to guide and collar.”

“No worries. I’ll take fine care of her.” Rand’s teeth flashed. “Maybe I’ll let even Arthur watch me do it. If he’s a good boy.”

“Oh, he’ll be a good boy.” Mab smiled down at Arthur. “Seein’ as he’s got no choice in the matter.”

Arthur lay helpless and panting, awash in pain. His heart raced as Mab bent over him. The collar came closer. The alpha’s magic flared. His vision turned red. He twisted his head, desperate to avoid the heat of the ruby and the touch of the slick, crimson wood.

A white spark caught his eye.

Merlin’s staff. He’d dropped it before going for Mab’s throat. It lay now half-buried in the rubble of T?’r Cythraul. The crystal, caught between two stones, was just visible. White sparks swirled inside it.