Lunaria (A Soulmark Series Finale), page 19
With tear-filled eyes, I watch as Celosia is taken away, unable to stop whatever is to come to her. Grief pools inside of me. It threatens to stamp out what light I've gathered inside of me. Instead, I let it feed off my wrath.
The glare I deliver is surely unrivaled in this realm, for Mr. Bowers' smirk wavers. A hesitant nature settles over him. I note warily that his wand still spews its angry sparks and gray smoke.
"I will not forget what you have done here today, to my friends or me. When my friends come—"
"Who? The witches? The Adolphus pack? You don't actually think they're going to come for you? They don't have the slightest clue as to where you are or if you're even alive."
"The coven will find us."
The young sorcerer laughs. "Those old hags? We've got the area cloaked—not even their magic will be able to find us. Time to face facts, fairy; this is your home now. Get used to it."
Spiderweb veins creep out from under his eyes before I can formulate a rebuttal. The swirling magic charges from the wand, right at me.
I'm hit square in the chest.
Time slows as the noxious smoke enters me through both mouth and nose. I stumble and fall back, eyes wide and afraid, into the dirt and broken pottery. Invisible, icy fingers clutch my lungs and squeeze. I heave for breath, but my lungs cannot function. Words are spoken by the sorcerer, but they make no sense to me. I can hardly make them out over the sound of my fractured pulse in my ears.
I watch them go, my hands clawing at my chest as I wheeze. Where is Adrian? Can't he feel my distress? Isn't he supposed to know when I'm in danger?
A sheen of wetness clouds my vision. I roll onto my side. Alekos's body lies prone on the ground. His neck is a vibrant red with dark sores scoring the length of it. There are black spots too, or maybe those belong to my failing vision.
My hands fall limp.
The notion should frighten me, but to panic is to charge headfirst into oblivion. I cannot let this dark magic win. Unfortunately, Mr. Bowers might be more powerful than he lets on.
In the last desperate moments of my consciousness, I plunge my hands into the wreckage of soil and plants surrounding me. My intraflora trembles as I command it forward to send a message back to Branson Falls: help.
++
"What's going on? Where am I?"
There is grogginess to my limbs as I rouse from my magic-induced slumber. The air is thin and refuses to sate my lungs. Each breath I take is deep and labored; nevertheless, I'm thankful the icy fingers are gone.
"I wasn't sure we would see you again, gorgeous."
"Jax?" His name is a rasp as I sit myself up and scan the dim cell block.
"Over here." Perplexed, I look to my right and see Jax wilted against the bars I usually share with Keenan. "Seems the goons who brought me down didn't know our previous bunking assignments."
I crawl over to him and am breathless by the time I arrive at his side.
"Jax, I'm—"
"Don't," he interjects almost cruelly. His bad eye is wrapped in what looks to be a clean bandage. However, the rest of his face is smeared with dirt and blood. "Tell me something good, Luna," he pleads. "Tell me the rokama is on our side. Keenan is on his last legs... between the fighting and the distance between him and his soulmark. We need something to hold on to, please."
His earnest request resonates all the more poignantly as I shake my head. The metal whines beneath Jax's stranglehold grip. His eye slams shut.
"I-I don't know if we can trust him," I whisper, even as my heart protests. "He has relayed our private conversations with the alphas. You wouldn't have been brought to the dinner last night or made to endure the amulet if it weren't for me."
A coarse laugh erupts from Jax. The sound grates against my skin. I tuck back, my nerves on edge as Jax opens his eye to glare at me.
"I told you to seduce him, Luna. Men like that don't respond to heart-to-hearts, but they'll drop to their knees if you offer them the pretty petals between your—"
"Jax!"
Undeterred by my outrage, he plows on. His eye belaying his disappointment and spite.
"Sleep with him and promise him whatever deluded happily ever after he wants. Just get him on our side!" His hand smacks into the bar. The ting of its vibration occupying the space left for me to respond. "If you needed instruction on how to get him into bed, all you needed to do was ask. Simply strip down—"
"Enough," I scold, scouting an inch away from him. My chest heaves as I struggle to regain my breath. Whatever magic Mr. Bowers performed has lasting effects, and it takes me a long moment to get the right words out. "I did sleep with him. I—" I swallow thickly "—he would not be persuaded and does not feel an escape is feasible. His last pursuit resulted in the removal of his wings."
The fury drains from Jax, replaced with tangible despair as he rakes his fingers through his hair. I stare at him in poorly disguised pity. Jax's hair is unkempt and unruly. It juts up at odd angles, and his beard is a rough patchwork of dark brown hair. I sniffle a bit. Clearly, the pressure being placed on Jax has increased for him to be left in such a state. And what of Keenan? My heart gives an unsteady lurch.
"He had wings? Gods, the man really is a beast, isn't he?" Jax mutters as he combs his hand down his face, his words more muffled because of it.
"He's not a beast. He is a warrior." But one who cannot be trusted. I knot my fingers together. "They punished him because they tried to escape, and he managed to break Alekos free from his collar. In punishment, they took his wings and gave him a stronger subjugation collar."
Jax doesn't respond for several minutes.
"We're not going to leave this place alive, are we?"
I swallow again and hold back the tears that press at the corners of my eyes. "That's not true," I tell him, voice hoarse.
"Keenan isn't making any progress with his old pack mates. They're just taking out their anger and resentment on him. None of the people here are going to help us." The noise that leaves his chapped lips next is something akin to a laugh, but it is too brittle to be considered happy. "The rokama is unmoved by your charms and I—" his voice cracks "—I can't do anything."
I pause. "Is it because you do not have your staff? I saw one of the sorcerers with a wand earlier."
Jax scowls and closes his eye. "Yes and no," he replies through gritted teeth. "My magic is a gift from the Gods and Goddesses above whom deem me worthy. It isn't inherent in my blood like a witch, and so I can't conduct or manipulate magic with only my hands. My staff..."
Jax ducks his head and stares at the ground. His brows draw together, and deep lines form across his forehead as he loses himself to his thoughts. I concentrate on my breath, inhaling and exhaling in more significant amounts until the simple act is natural again.
"What happened to it?"
Jax shudders and releases a rattled breath. "They destroyed it. Between that and this god-forsaken thing, I'm useless. I'm nothing, Luna." He jabs a finger at the metal encasing his neck. "Did you know, they made it special just for me?" His humorless laughter slices deep. "It doesn't just cut me off from my magic, it stops my prayers and worship from reaching the Gods and Goddesses whose favor I hold. I can't call them, and they can't reach me. I might as well be dead to them."
A stark sense of failure permeates every word he speaks.
"We will leave this place, Jax. We just have to be patient... like Keenan said."
"Yeah, well, Keenan is a mess right now. He's barely holding himself together. You'll forgive me if I don't hold his advice in high regard."
A sickening concern curdles my blood. Of course, Keenan is a mess. Not only must he contend with their abuse but the distance between himself and his soulmark. A chill blankets me. I wrap my arms around my middle to keep myself together.
"Jax, do you see him often?"
He sighs, turning his head to peer at me. "Our paths cross more often than not. They like to try to play us off one another. I'm sure you've encountered it too. When one doesn't comply, the other faces the consequences. The thing is, they know neither of us will talk, and the sorcerers have their ways to make us. It's just an excuse to torture us. To humiliate us."
"I'm sorry, Jax."
His lips pull downward. "It's not your fault, gorgeous, and about what I said earlier; I'm sorry. I'm at my wit's end here. After last night and the events of today, I don't know how we're going to get away, especially if we don't have any help on the inside."
"I might be able to change Adrian's mind," I say quietly.
I catch Jax's eye and see the faint glimmer of promise in it, but it disappears nearly as soon as it arrives.
"I thought you said he can't be persuaded?"
A dash of heat crawls up my face. "I think we were wrong in our approach. Adrian isn't a man who can be swayed by physical persuasion. He wants a meaningful connection. He wants hope and light in this hell. I know he does. He wants—"
"You." My heart skips a beat, but I nod regardless.
Jax's frown returns. The ends of his mouth jut downward more. "You said you couldn't trust him, Luna. Why should you waste any more time on him?"
"Because I think Adrian can free us from the collars." Jax cocks his eyebrows high.
"You said they gave him a new one that was stronger." Jax attempts to grin, but it's a shaky thing at best. "You're not making much sense here, sweetheart."
I swallow and tamper down my racing pulse, licking my lips as I take a breath. "They did give Adrian a newer one, but I don't think it's working on him as well as they like to think. He can fight it, Jax." I scout back closer to the bars and grip them in my hands. "And he heals so much faster than me—faster than any of us. I've seen it. I know he can do it; he just needs the right motivation."
The glimmer of a promise returns to Jax's eye, and his face develops a flush.
"Luna—" his voice breaks on my name as he bares his hope to me "—if you can get him on our side. If you can get him to remove these, we can make it out of here. Listen, tomorrow night, something big is going to happen. A fight. A celebration—something." His face clenches together as he recalls the information. "Other packs are arriving to join the Wselfwulfs cause. With the number of bodies coming and going, there's a chance we can slip out. And if we do, then we run. We run as fast and as far as we can."
Jax's spark of enthusiasm dims at the end. I can't stand to see it go.
"There's something else you need to know," I say, interrupting his contemplative silence. His hazel eye pins me in place. "I—I tried to send a message before I was here to the coven and pack today."
Jax reels back. "What do you mean? How could you possibly send a message?"
My mouth opens and closes several times before I settle on action over words. Palm tilted to face Jax, I place it in a sliver of light for him to see. A tingle runs down my arm as I beg my intraflora once more to bloom. Jax freezes then exhales roughly.
"Gods. How?"
"I can't say for sure, but I think it might be the result of entwining with Adrian." My cheeks develop a flush.
“You mean when you slept with him?”
I nod, my flush deepening. “It is one and the same.”
Jax’s mouth remains slightly agape before he reaches for my hand. His dirty fingers brush over my palm. "Luna, if you entwined with him again, would it, err, 'replenish' you? Perhaps, bring your powers to the surface enough to break free?" My face scrunches as I shake my head slowly with uncertainty.
"I don't know. Like the sealing or binding of a soulmark, the entwining forms a mental and a physical link with one another. It also endows both parties with certain extra strengths, usually in regard to stamina and constitution. I am unsure if repeating the act would continue to replenish my power... but it is possible."
Jax swallows.
"Right then," he forges on with feigned nonchalance. "We'll just keep that idea on the back burner, shall we? Tell me, how did you send the message?"
"I think I sent one, but I'm not sure if I did.” I cringe. "I was in the Greenery with Alekos and Celosia when some sorcerers came in. They took Celosia and subdued Alekos with his collar."
"But not you?" Jax looks at my unmarred neck.
I give a half-shrug, striving for Jax's nonchalance. "Oh, it was nothing. Just some spell to make me sleep,” I hurry to say, “but before it could take effect, I attempted to send a message for help through the soil. The sorcerer said something about the area being 'cloaked,' but if my message got out through the earth, the coven can trace my magic back here."
Jax continues to hold my hand, though his inspection of my intraflora stutters against the base of my fingers. "Good," he whispers at last. The single word oddly taut. "Good,” he repeats, voice stronger. “I'll clue Keenan to the news and you..." Jax lifts his eye to me. "You work your magic on the rokama."
Chapter 11
"I can do it, Jax." I have to. "I'll make him see that staying isn't an option."
Jax hums, his one-eyed gaze affixed to my open palm. I fasten my hand around his, watching with growing concern as his back arches at the tender hold.
"I won't let you down," I repeat for the twentieth time. "I promise."
The fervor of my proclamation rouses Jax from his distant state. He draws a shaky breath and releases it in a controlled fashion.
"I believe you, gorgeous. I doubt any man could resist your charm." Jax laces our fingers and lowers our hands to a more comfortable spot between us. Then he quiets again, adjourning to his shadowed thoughts.
Pitched into a hush, I take the time to study my friend. Despite his beaten appearance, he’s in fresh, clean clothes. The dichotomy throws me, but I make no comment.
Jax drapes Keenan's blanket around himself. It is a patchwork quilt—threadbare and stained itself—that looks like it could be found in Aunt Mo's eclectic closet. Hot tears spill down the side of my face, but Jax is there to wipe it away. He is not so lost to his musings after all.
"Don't cry now, gorgeous. You're doing a bang-up job of being the hero of the story."
"But last time they healed you after…" I take a moment to collect myself, running my gaze over his bruises.
"I’m afraid they weren’t as forthcoming with the reasoning behind their treatment as they were last time. Don’t worry about all this,”—he gestures to himself casually—"They're only flesh wounds. It's nothing that a couple of potions and a good sleep in a soft bed won't heal."
Jax passes me an encouraging grin. I extend a hand, aiming to cup his cheek and offer the simple comfort of physical contact, but he turns away a telling inch at the last second. My hand drops, as does his grin. Jax captures it as it lands on his leg and squeezes.
"I'll be fine. My only concern is how to outrun a bunch of over-glorified bloodhounds once we give them the slip—not my one-eyed handicap or wounded pride. Save your energy, and don't waste it on worrying over us. Keenan and I will manage far better knowing you're winning over that beast's heart and giving us a real chance at freedom. All right?"
"All right," I respond after a long pause and allow myself to find strength in his belief. "I'll work as fast as I can, just promise me you'll be safe and smart. Don't make them mad like you did at dinner, Jax. Save your energy."
His rasping chuckle does nothing for my nerves. Neither does the quick sweep of his thumb across my cheekbone as he forgoes our laced connection. For a moment, raw want snares his features, parting his lips, and dilating his pupils. A visible lump bobs precariously above and below the rim of his subjugation collar. Jax wets his lips, and my heart gives an unsteady lurch in reply. Then his want transforms into one of desperation, disguised by a poorly beseeching smile and softened brow.
Maybe it was desperation all along.
"You can do this, Luna." His breath catches as he stops his next words short. The visage of confidence he attempts to conjure not meeting the mark. He swallows and tries again. "I know you can."
I give my affirmation silently. I have to succeed. Jax was right, if I don't, we wouldn't make it out of this place alive. A dozen speeches spin up inside my head, begging to be released and give Jax the reassurance he seeks, but none will do. A shroud of silence envelops us. It is filled with fragile reassurance that we will survive; battle wounds and all.
Our solace is undisturbed for what may be several hours until the noisy creak of the cellar door startles us awake. Jax is dazed as he acclimates and rubs the sleep from his eye to survey the scene.
"Is it Keenan?" I ask, peering down the darkened hallway. Trepidation worms its way into my heart.
"No." Jax clears his throat to dislodge the slumber that clings to his voice. "Listen closely," he whispers through the bars, far more alert than he was seconds before. "There's only one set of feet. When one of us returns, we're always accompanied by another.”
"Oh," I whisper, not hiding my disappointment or dismay. The tinkling and rapid clicking overhead signals the arrival of additional light long before any deign to turn on.
The footsteps grow louder until our guest appears, Adrian. The stout feeling of my dread grows, along with a grave sense of numbness I cannot fight. It gathers into a tight bubble inside of me, cutting off my next breath as a sudden tide of depression crushes me that is not my own.
As the floodgate of our connection opens, it takes me a long second to fully absorb Adrian’s state of dress.
"Adrian... why are you covered in blood?"
There is no quiver to my voice—no sudden inflection or break to curdle my tone. What conquers the desolate space is a hollowness that penetrates me all the way to my bones. Adrian considers his hands that are caked in a dark red, then the generous splatters of red on the rest of his clothes. I examine his expression only to reel from the sight. A smear of blood covers half his face. The five lines undoubtedly depict what kind of struggle arose while he was away. I swallow, following the lines across his face and down his neck—
