The Ravenous Dark, page 26
Claudine slapped a hand against the floor near Bailey's face, hovering over her. Her chest heaved with useless breath.
"Please…."
Claudine's head cocked to the side as twin rivets of black liquid fell from her eyes. "You're hiding her."
"I-I don't know what you mean."
"You're hiding her!" Claudine screeched. Panic swelled inside Bailey as she pushed against Claudine's chest with all her strength. She didn't budge.
I can't die. Not like this. Not without a fight.
With a desperate cry, Bailey smashed the heel of her hand against the underside of Claudine's chin. She was shocked by how well the move worked. Claudine's head snapped back… and the rest of her torso along with it. For a moment, neither moved. Claudine sat on Bailey's thighs, her monstrous gaze dipping to her chest.
Bailey's eyes followed, and her shock gave way to horror at the nightmarish sight that greeted her. Claudine's chest was glowing red.
"You're hiding her. You're hiding her. You're hiding—" Claudine's crazed screams cut off as gloved hands clamped onto the side of her head and twisted.
Crack.
Claudine's body went limp, but the ghastly veins possessing her—infecting her with the shadowmancer's rabidus curse—did not. They withered and pulsated as if in protest to their host's demise. The stranger released her, and Claudine fell to the side to reveal Raphael. He wore a somber frown as his gaze darted between the two.
Exhaustion flooded Bailey.
Raphael cleared his throat and held out a hand to Bailey. "She'll come back if we don't—hell and damnation!"
Raphael yanked Bailey up and behind him as Claudine's body began to convulse. Black, viscous liquid bled from her vacant eyes as her back arched like her ribs were meant to be a steeple. A second later, her chest burst open in a splatter of flesh and blackened blood.
Demon and she-wolf stumbled back from the scene, turning their backs to it. Nausea threatened Bailey again as she peeked at Raphael. His face was pale and drawn. He caught her looking.
"Are these things attracted to you or are you just lucky?" he joked weakly.
"Unlucky," Bailey corrected numbly.
She stole a glance at Claudine's body, or what was left of it. A massive hole exposed her chest cavity, and all evidence of the sinister rabidus curse was gone. Bailey gulped and scanned the hall.
"Jax?" she called.
"Over here," he replied. Jax sat with his back to one of the many pillars that lined the antechamber. A great gash sat above his brow, drenching half his face in blood. He grabbed his cane and heaved himself to his feet.
"What happened?" Bailey asked anxiously, striding to meet him halfway. Raphael followed.
"I… I'm not quite sure. I've yet to fight anything with that kind of power." He spoke his words carefully, but Bailey could see the wheels in his mind whirling as he stared off into space. "He was gone before I could stop him. He went straight through the ceiling."
"He?" That's a new development. "Jax—"
His bloodstained eye whirled to her and then to her right. "What are you doing here?"
"Merely filling in the role of white knight for our mutual friend," Raphael answered smoothly, gesturing to Bailey with a tilt of his head. Jax's eye narrowed. "I was supposed to be sparring, but my partner never made it." His eyes drifted to Claudine, and he sighed with his whole body. "It seems she must have gotten on someone's bad side for her to be condemned to such a fate."
Bailey wrapped her arms around herself as silence echoed loudly from all around. "What will we do with her body?"
"I'll ring for help. They can make sure the news is passed onto the appropriate people and take care of the body," Raphael offered.
"It shouldn't be moved, not yet. The Gunwyns will wish to deal with her." Raphael nodded in deference to Jax's advice. "I need a drink."
"Me too," Raphael muttered.
"Go and make the call. I'll wait with you until they arrive, and then we can go grab that drink together," Jax turned tired eyes to Bailey. "You're more than welcome to stay and join us. Misery does love company."
"I'll pass. A hot shower sounds like heaven right about now."
"Will you be all right getting back to the suite by yourself?" Bailey nodded, though the motion lacked any sort of assertion. Jax gave her a dubious once over.
"I'll be fine; these things only seem to come out of the woodwork one at a time. The opera must have been a fluke." Bailey's shoulders sagged. "Damn, I really am the expert when it comes to these things, aren't I?"
"It would seem so," Raphael agreed. He turned as if to head toward the training room but stopped himself short. "This wouldn't happen to be yours, would it?"
From his pocket, he drew a wadded-up cloth. Bailey's eyes widened in surprise as the scent of her sweat and Stella's blood reached her nose.
"Oh, um, yes." She took the used workout cloth and shoved it in her back pocket once more. "It must have fallen out during all of that. Thanks."
"It was no trouble at all," Raphael half-bowed with a smolder simmering in his gaze. His chestnut eyes slipped briefly to Jax. "I'll return shortly."
"Later," Bailey said to Raphael's retreating figure. She hugged Jax in farewell. The pair lingered in each other's comforting embrace before pulling apart with matching expressions of tired relief. "Don't forget to clean up your face," she reminded him.
"I won't, as long as you don't get into any more trouble," he retorted. With a forced chuckle, she agreed, snagged her duffel bag, and left him with Raphael.
Abandoning her original route with Jax, Bailey cut across the wide-open antechamber of the floor to the grand staircase. Though the subfloor remained eerily devoid of all supernatural life, the more public route yielded a modicum of reassurance to the she-wolf. If another attack came, she would see it coming.
Bailey lumbered up the grand staircase, replaying the attack in her head.
Who is the shadowmancer? Bailey caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she mulled over the question on every courtier's mind.
What did he want? Were they really a man?
If anyone else made the statement, Bailey wouldn't have given it credence, but Jax was a masterful sorcerer. One of the greatest, if not the greatest, of the century. Though he was confounded by the shadowmancer and its magic, she didn't doubt he would be able to learn how to fight him properly.
River had started that battle, to some respect, by exorcising the deadly rabidus curse from Cirian.
Bailey's throat bobbed as her thoughts drifted to William and his family. They would be devastated to learn one of their own was the latest victim of the shadowmancer. Bailey stopped at the second subfloor's landing once she reached it, leaning against a wall as her body's aches reverberated through her.
A sudden wave of fatigue hit her unusually hard, and she fought to regain her breath.
What's wrong with me?
Then the strangest sensation ran over her soulmark, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Bailey's heart skipped a beat as she scoured the hall. One moment there was nothing, and then there was Ronan. His gaze was aimed at the ground. Bailey straightened. He was limping. Bailey's breath caught as he crossed the hall three doors down from where she stood. He was oblivious to her presence.
But not for long.
XVI
He knows.
The panicked thought whirled through Ronan's mind as he lumbered toward the nearest staircase.
Jax knows.
There was a look that flashed across his face as they fought, or rather, as Jax attacked him. One that looked alarmingly like recognition. Ronan swallowed thickly. The fight was the hardest of his life, not only because he was pitted against his best friend, but because of his unruly shadow magic.
Dark magic had been rampant in the air. It pulled at him like the moon to its tides. So close to the epicenter of its gravitational pull, Ronan's shadow magic was beyond his full control.
He fought defensively up until Jax landed a particularly nasty hex to his side. Ronan was certain he had internal damage. On impulse, he parried with a move he used countless times facing the harrow hounds; arms outstretched like phantom wings, and then snapped back together. It created a gust of wind that could knock even the toughest supernatural heels over head.
With his shadows in play, the attack was more insidious.
Ribbons of darkness struck out like loosed blades. Jax sidestepped only just in time… but not before that dreaded look painted itself across his features. Ronan escaped as fast as he could, fleeing in a manner that would ensure none could follow: the ceiling by way of the in-between plane.
It was a mistake that almost cost him his life.
The omnipresent hunger that pervaded the plane latched onto Ronan in his weakened state. Oddly enough, Ronan found the leeching sensation less discerning than the malignant whispers that attacked his mind. He fled with what energy he could summon. The usual ease of his journey in the in-between flipped on its head.
And now, whether unconsciously or not, Jax knew.
Ronan didn't know what his friend would do with that information when before… before it never would have crossed his mind to worry. He paused to lean against the wall. The cool stone acted as a balm to his feverish skin.
The dark magic of the rabidus curse was growing stronger, and along with it, its ungodly allure and presence in court. And the temptation to give in while trapped in its dark clutches was building too.
Shame filled him.
Ronan knew the risk should he surrender. After the opera fiasco, Valdora explained her last-minute warning and theory. It would be a life of enslavement for Ronan. A loss of self so complete he would be but a puppet to the dark magic's every whim. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what atrocities his puppet master would make him commit or whom against.
Secretly, he feared he wouldn't be able to resist the magic at its height of power. The image of that future, becoming nothing more than a slave and weapon to be wielded against those he cared about and everyone in between, made him ill.
Ronan sighed, wishing belatedly, that he'd chosen to flee downward instead of up. Descending three flights instead of two with his left knee throbbing the way it was would be a painful feat. Not to mention his side.
Ronan probed the offended area tentatively and hissed.
He needed to tackle his problems one at a time. First, go home. He would be safe there and could tend to his wounds. Second, send a message to Valdora that he'd been unable to obtain a sample of the rabidus curse. Again. Though it was only his second attempt, he was reluctant to believe any future ones would prove fruitful. He couldn't predict where the dark magic would place him or the physical state he would be in.
They needed to find the person or persons behind the sorcery instead, or at least in conjunction with their quest to get a sample. Hopefully, Valdora would agree.
Groaning, Ronan peeled himself off the wall. His progress along the corridor was slow, and with each step, it turned more sluggish. Normally, he would never show such blatant weakness out in the open. But given the courtiers' fear of the shadowmancer—of him—the halls and long corridors were uncommonly vacant.
It was a small mercy, and one, as fate would have it, he couldn't keep for long.
"Ronan?"
He stiffened but didn't stop at the sound of Bailey's hesitant call. He clenched his teeth and picked up his pace. Ronan couldn't afford to engage with her, not like this.
"Are you seriously running away from me?" she called. Her footsteps sounded sharply after him. "We need to talk."
"I have places to be, Bailey. Another time," he replied, refusing the temptation to engage further. Briefly, he contemplated sifting into the in-between to evade her once he reached the staircase ahead. The mere thought raked a coarse shiver down his spine. The phantom sensation of having his life force sucked from him by beings unseen in the mysterious plane curbed him from the notion.
He slowed his gait reluctantly as a second realization hit him.
Outrun a she-wolf? Unlikely.
Ronan stopped and faced her. She was a mess. Her ponytail was askew. Her face flushed. She clutched a duffel bag in one hand, while the other, much like his own, was fisted at her side. Ronan averted his gaze. She wore only a sports bra and track pants. Sweat clung to her abdomen and chest. In the warm light, it highlighted the work she put into her body.
He wanted to lick it off her.
His nails bit into his palm at the traitorous thought. Despite his best efforts, thoughts such as those were sneaking past his defenses more and more lately. And as the nights progressed, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to fend off the dark magic's allure and growing presence in court on top of his need for her.
No, Ronan reminded himself harshly. Not his need, the soulmark’s.
If not for Bailey sealing them on the full moon, all his energy could go toward fighting the dark magic. Instead, he was forced to split it.
Now here she was, chasing him down, no doubt to press her luck and make her case. Ronan could think of a dozen better things she could do with her mouth than—
No. His cock grew half-hard at the salacious thought.
She stopped a few feet away from him, popping out a hip and placing her hand on it. "Well?" she raised both eyebrows at him, her gaze expectant.
He jerked his head in the direction of a nearby door. "Let's talk and be done with it then."
Ronan didn't wait to see if she would follow. He knew she would.
The room was a small, long gallery. Watercolor paintings adorned every spare inch of the walls in an assortment of sizes and frames. Their subjects were all the same. Flowers. It was an indoor garden for those who could not venture out in the sun.
The lights took a moment to flicker on, but once they did, they shone diligently on the artwork. Ronan made it a few feet inside before the sound of the door closing reached his ears. He turned and faced her, arms limp at his sides to mitigate his pain.
She said nothing as he eyed her.
"Well?"
Bailey winced at the nasty edge lacerating his tone. His regret was instantaneous. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but he was hurting from too many places to count.
"I'm sorry," she said, dropping her duffel bag by her feet to tangle her hands together. "I… I wanted to talk to you."
"Go on then. Talk."
The harsh inflection of his voice was little better than before, but it was lessened. Somewhat. Bailey flushed and came closer. After a deep breath and rolling back her shoulders, she spoke.
"I wanted to apologize. I never should have sealed our soulmark, Ronan. Not without us agreeing to it first. I know you might not believe me, but there was no ulterior motive to seduce you, and if I had the chance to take it back, I would." She bit her lip. “And I think you were right about the demons or some other magic influencing our actions. Because I never would have sealed our soulmark without you telling me that’s what you wanted out loud. Magic must have been at play.”
His surprise must have shown, for Bailey chuckled lightly beneath her breath and ducked her head. When he remained silent, she peeked up at him. The small, self-deprecating smile she wore cooled his ire and somehow soothed away some of his pain and discomfort.
"Besides all that, a girl doesn't exactly dream that she’ll end up sealing her soulmark by practically accosting them."
He swallowed and glanced away, unable to meet her vulnerability head-on. He forced a nod out of himself.
"Apology accepted, and I hope you’ll accept mine too." Ronan cleared his throat. “If I had better control over myself, I wouldn’t have led you to believe that the sealing was something I desired.” The tempestuous heat cooled entirely from his voice as he made his apology and waited for Bailey’s reply.
“I see… well, I accept your apology, too,” Bailey said in a small voice before they fell into static silence.
Ronan was surprised to find a strange peace settle inside of him the longer they remained together. The anxiety and pressure plaguing him since the full moon was dissipating.
It must be the soulmark. It's placated by our proximity.
"Thank you," Bailey blurted out, startling Ronan. Their eyes met.
"For?" he asked quietly.
"Talking with Stella. I was with her only a little while ago. We worked on her self-defense and her sonic scream."
Ronan perked up. "You did? How did it go?" He shuffled closer.
Bailey's eyes dilated at his movement, and she inhaled deeply through her nose. Her lips pinched as if holding back something. Ronan watched, transfixed. It took a deep inhalation of his own to stave off the sudden bout of hunger that rippled through him.
He cleared his throat. "Bailey?"
"It, um, it went well," she replied with a growing smile. "She actually managed to do it on her first try."
"What? Really?"
Bailey chuckled at his pleased astonishment. "Yep, and then she cried. Happy tears," she tacked on quickly. "Not sad tears."
Ronan grinned from ear to ear. Speaking with Stella the other night was a spur-of-the-moment decision, though agreed upon with Bailey well over a week prior. Ana had complained about her taking the best seat in the common's library on the sixth floor with a tower of books surrounding her. He went to her, and they’d spoken for two hours on banshee lore and her potential.
It felt good helping her. Stella was lovely, and certainly too good for the likes of this court. After sharing some about her family situation, he couldn't help but admire her perseverance.
When she learned to master her voice and use it to its full potential, the courtiers who once mocked and bullied her would think twice about doing so again.
"I'm glad to hear they were happy tears and not otherwise."
At some point during his musings, they had drawn closer. Ronan's heart beat faster as he picked up her scent. The smell of sweat was both sour and sweet, wafting from her drying skin. It made his mouth water. It made him want to reach out and touch her…
