Bound By Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #8)(90)

It was a voice that was easy to squash, along with any common sense.

“You truly believe your master will be strong enough to battle a half-dozen vampires and a pack of Weres?” she scorned his cocky confidence.

“He will once I have offered him the blood he needs.” The crimson eyes flared with a disturbing hunger. “Your blood.” His smile widened. “And then the Sylvermyst.”

Fury boiled through her, searing away the fear that was clouding her mind.

At the same time she became sharply aware of her connection to Ariyal.

He had been in the back of her mind, a bundle of fury and regret. But, as if the mention of him suddenly brought him into focus, she was conscious of the sensation of pain, as if he’d just taken a vicious blow to the shoulder. And then, an overwhelming grief that brought tears to her eyes.

Dear gods ... Ariyal.

The intensity of her sorrow was so deep that for a hideous second she actually thought she was mourning the loss of her mate. Then as the sense of him remained firmly settled in her heart, she at last realized that it was Ariyal who was consumed by his feelings of brutal sadness.

Relief blazed through her, nearly drowning out the more subtle changes that swelled through the fog.

In fact she almost missed the sensation of emptiness as Tearloch’s soul slipped away, and the iron tang of blood that scented the air.

Human blood.

Momentarily confused, her gaze searched the mists for some sign of the intruder. It didn’t make sense. How could a human manage to cross the magical boundary between dimensions?

At last, she accepted there were no unpleasant surprises creeping through the fog and returned her attention to the wizard. Only then did she catch sight of the red stains that marred the sleeve of his robe.

Red?

As in blood?

Mortal blood?

She dismissed the pain from her injuries as she rapidly sorted through the various explanations for the odd transformation from gray goo that had been leaking from the wizard’s wounds to plain, old-fashioned blood.

At last she accepted that it had to be connected to Tearloch’s passing.

Somehow his death had made the wizard mortal.

At least in this moment.

A slow smile of anticipation curled her lips. “You will never get your filthy hands on my mate,” she warned in frigid tones. “Never.”

His eyes, which were now a pale shade of blue, flickered with unease, although the creature didn’t seem to realize what had happened.

Or how vulnerable he’d become.

“Such brave words for a woman about to die,” he rasped.

With a covert movement she shifted her hand to grasp the smooth stock of her gun, her finger resting on the trigger.

“Don’t be so certain.”

“But I am.”

His whispering beneath his breath reminded her that even if he were temporarily mortal, he was still a powerful mage who could turn her into something nasty.

Or worse.

She had been given a miracle; she wasn’t about to waste it.

“And I’m about to prove the mystic reputation of Hunters hasn’t been exaggerated,” she informed him, lifting her hand to press the muzzle of the gun against his temple.

Then, before he could react, she pulled the trigger.

At the last minute he managed to jerk to the side, but the bullet still managed to rip through his skull, sending a spray of blood and gore flying through the mist.

His hand released its hold on Jaelyn as he fell to his knees, his face unrecognizable. But even as she felt his life draining away he reached out to grasp her leg, his touch causing an agonizing pain to jolt though her body.

“You will pay for this,” he warned despite his mangled lips.

“Really?” She kicked him away, shuddering at the tiny tremors of pain that continued to torment her. “Where’s your Dark Lord now, wizard?”

His eerie laugh was swallowed by the fog. “I will serve him even in death.”

“Yeah, yeah ...” Struggling against the urge to collapse, Jaelyn shoved the gun back into its holster and waited while the wizard slowly died. Serve him in death. What a load of ... “Crap,” she hissed, belatedly realizing that the human blood she’d just minutes ago considered a miracle was now flowing in small rivulets directly toward the child.

Like an idiot she leaped forward, trying to halt the flow of blood, or at least to divert it away from the babe.

A wasted effort.

The blood continued its unwavering path, as if directly being controlled by the child.

And perhaps it was, she was forced to accept, meeting the steady blue gaze that held a disturbing cunning.

Damn.

What to do, what to do.

The thought of leaving the baby behind was unthinkable.

If the Dark Lord managed to resurrect himself then none of the worlds would be safe from the hell he would unleash.

But even as she moved to pick up the child the fog began to thicken around the tiny body, obscuring it from her view.

She tried to battle her way past the flimsy barrier, but it was like treading water, a lot of flailing around without getting anywhere. Muttering in frustration she circled the spot, the hair on the nape of her neck standing on end at the electric pulses of energy she could feel coming from the fog.

Something was happening.

Something very, very big.

And with the way her luck was running, it was also very, very bad.