The Adversary by Thea Harrison

Chapter Nine

When she next came aware, she heard two voices talking quietly.

“None of us could have predicted this,” Death said. “That the dragon, who was terminally possessive and loved the material treasures of the world beyond all else, would come to yearn eternally for what he could never truly hold onto: the soul of another. All things die, brother. Sooner or later, they all die.”

“Get out of my fucking face, you morbid bastard.” Dragos’s voice sounded ragged and very tired.

She became aware of other things. Dragos held her in his lap, her head cradled in the crook of his arm. The sun had risen high enough to turn the morning hot. Being held by him was her absolute favorite thing in the world. She could while away countless hours simply resting against his side.

“I knew she would be your doom,” Death said. “I just wish—I wish you hadn’t fallen in love.”

“Why?” Dragos asked. “You did once.”

“Yes, and she died. And I’m not Wyr. In any case, that happened a very long time ago. It’s ancient history.”

She had never heard Dragos and Azrael talk together like this before, and she was afraid to hear what they might say next. Opening her eyes, she contemplated Dragos’s harsh profile. He looked… bleak. Unutterably lonely.

“He’s wrong,” she said and watched Dragos’s expression flare to life. “You can always hold onto me.”

His body clenched, but he cradled her as though she were spun glass. There were tears in his eyes. Dragos never cried. “I thought you were gone.”

“I’m so sorry.” She wrapped an arm around his neck. “I was, but I’m back now.”

It’s going to take a long time for that to be better, he told her telepathically.

We will have that time and so much more, she whispered.

His mental voice was nearly inaudible. Swear it.

I swear it on my life.She kissed his cheek, his chin, his lips. He rested his mouth over hers, inhaling her breath, exhaling his. Sharing life. It was as intimate as anything they had ever shared. Finally, reluctantly, she pulled back and asked aloud, “Where’s Liam?”

“He turned into a dragon and flew off. The sentinels are tracking where he goes. I told them I would catch up, but I couldn’t leave you yet.” He pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Now I can go with you.”

He said fiercely, “No. No way in hell, Pia. The only place you’re going is into a hospital bed under heavy guard.”

Taking a piece of his short, silky hair, she wound it around her fingers. “I dissent.”

“You almost died! For fuck’s sake—your soul left your body!” Rage vibrated through him.

But she knew him very well, and knew that his rage really stemmed from fear. “Yes, well, that was actually intentional.” When his head reared back and he stared at her in equal parts fury and incredulity, she lifted one hand quickly. “Not by me! I didn’t do it! The seraphim did, because they had things to say. Our thief’s name is Senusret. A very long time ago, he summoned and killed one of them, and trapped its soul in his wand thingy to imbue it with the seraph’s Power. They want the soul of their seraph back, and I said we would help them. There’s more…” She paused, thinking of the tree and the dancer. “Honestly, I’m too overwhelmed to talk about it.”

“You tell me everything,” he said with quick jealousy. “Every breath you took. Every word you said, everything you thought. You don’t get to go that far away from me without repercussions.”

He was so fierce, she almost wanted to smile. Almost, except his pain was too recent and still too raw. “I will, I promise. But that’s not urgent, and Liam’s situation is.”

He took her by the shoulders. His hard hands were not quite steady. “You. Almost. Died. There was spinal damage. Organ damage. You ripped your own hair out.”

Frowning, she absorbed all that. After a moment, she said, “Yeah, but I actually feel fine? Shouldn’t I be feeling shaky or something?”

“Yes, you should.” He narrowed his eyes. “How fine is fine?”

In answer, she rolled off his lap and onto her feet, then executed a little jump into a “ta-da” stance with her hands up. “Fine, apparently.”

He rose more slowly, staring at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing jazz hands.” She waved her hands at him.

After a tense, unsmiling moment, he said, “Do it again.”

“What, this?” She hopped into another “ta-da” position, hands out. “See what I mean? Jazz hands. Dragos, I get that I shouldn’t be, but I’m really fine. Like, I could run a marathon fine. Maybe that was a parting gift from the seraphim.”

“I’ll take it.” Grabbing her by the hand, he hauled her into a tight hug.

When he didn’t let her go, she shifted a bit. Then wiggled some. “Honey, what are you doing?”

His arms loosened, and with obvious reluctance, he let her go. “Grace said we needed to ask your soul to come back, and then we needed to pray. I’m not any good at either asking or praying, but I did my best. So I thought I should also say thank you.”

Oh, her heart. Every time she thought she couldn’t love him more, somehow he made it happen. Taking one of his hands, she kissed it.

Then she looked around. Azrael had vanished (no surprise there; it’s who he was and what he did). The front of the nearby house she had grown to hate so much was a wreck (yay!). Some of their friends (but none of the sentinels) were gathered on the lawn in front of the house, standing or sitting on the ground and watching them.

Eva stood close to Linwe, wearing a backpack (which looked odd) and holding hands with the young Elven woman. (Oooh, their romance appeared to have progressed!) Even from that distance, Pia could see the tearstains on Eva’s face. It made Pia’s heart hurt to look at her.

She said softly, “Oh, baby girl.”

Eva broke away from Linwe and raced over to her. “I hate you.”

It made no sense, but Pia didn’t mind. She heard the real message behind the words, and it was one of love and pain. She hugged Eva tight. “I know you do. I deserve it.”

“You really do.” Eva’s voice was thick. “What the fuck was that fight? You tore your hair out—you lost a chunk of your scalp. You bit him? I was so fucking proud of you until you almost died. Then I was over it.”

“I was too.” Thinking about the fight, at least the part she was conscious for, made her shudder. “Why are you wearing a backpack?”

“Because of that psycho harpy,” Eva spat. “These are the null spell shackles. I had my hands literally full keeping your bloody skull straight while Carling and Bel worked on you, and we all thought you were going to die, and then Aryal threw these at me and told me to guard them. I’m going to hurt her for that. I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”

“That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.” She rubbed Eva’s arm, frowned, and went telepathic. How much did I bleed?

Her blood was too full of magic. They could never afford to leave any of it around, because if it were found by the right curious individual, they would be able to discover what her Wyr form was.

Don’t worry about it. I handled it. I burned everything except for what got smeared on your clothes.

While they talked, Pia watched over Eva’s shoulder as Morgan and Sidonie walk out of the house. As they drew near, Morgan asked, “Is it acceptable to approach now?”

“Yes,” Dragos said. “What is it?”

“First, felicitations on your recovery,” Morgan told Pia. “We have been deeply concerned for you.”

Beside him, Sidonie gave Pia a slanted smile and mouthed, “Sometimes he’s a little old-fashioned.”

For a brief moment, the little interlude pulled Pia out of her worry over Liam and she felt completely charmed by the other couple. “Thank you.”

“Secondly…” Morgan had a pack over one shoulder too, which he unzipped and opened. “When Sidonie and I realized that our god-king had possessed Liam, we slipped away. You see, Liam hadn’t gotten very far before Bayne caught up with him. Not very much time had passed, and it had to have been eventful, because Number Four had disappeared and so had the artifact. I was pretty sure they couldn’t have gotten far—and I was right.” He pulled out a slender object wrapped in leather, and as he held it out, he unwrapped it, making sure not to touch what was inside. “We found Number Four’s body along with the artifact in a cave high on a bluff. He hadn’t had the time to do anything more elaborate.”

Pia moved close to Dragos as they stared at what Morgan held. It was a scepter (of course it was, because what else would that jerk have used?), and a deep, radiant Power emanated from it. With a pang, she thought of the dead seraph’s soul, trapped in it.

“What are you saying?” She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Here’s what I think happened,” Morgan said. “Our god-king—”

“His name is Senusret,” she told him.

“Is it?” Morgan’s glance was quick and alert. “Interesting. I’d love to know how you learned that. Anyway, as we’d discussed earlier, Senusret must have laid his contingency plans with Number Four as soon as you were both pulled out of the sinkhole. And then Number Four followed orders. He killed the other guards, retrieved the soul repository, and ran.” He turned to Dragos. “Meanwhile you made Senusret so uncomfortable, he finally relinquished his stolen castle and fled. When that happened, the soul repository acted like a magnet and drew him back to it. Probably at that point, he possessed Number Four and took control of the scepter. At least that’s what I would have done if I were him. And then Liam showed up.”

“And we know the rest from there.” Dragos took the scepter, handling it like Morgan had, through the leather. “Thank you, Morgan. Your help has been extraordinary.”

“It was truly my pleasure. I know you had misgivings about giving us asylum when we moved to New York. I’ve been very happy to repay that decision with any help I could.”

Peeling back the leather, Dragos studied the gold scepter. Pia waited as long as she could stand it. Then she murmured, “He’s taking Liam further away every minute. Can we give this to the seraphim and go after him now?”

Dragos’s gold gaze narrowed in thought. “Every time he has possessed someone, they were near this—me, probably Number Four, and then Liam. He needs this as an anchor and to move from body to body, correct?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “Now that he has no living body of his own, the soul repository is critical.”

“So if we get rid of the repository, he loses the ability to possess someone else. But what happens if the repository is in another realm? Can it still draw him back into it?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Morgan admitted. “For a soul, distance is very different from what it is to us.”

Dragos met Pia’s gaze. “If we gave this to them now, Senusret might be able to possess a seraph. And in any case, I’m not willing to let him escape to another realm. I want this fucker gone for good. We have to figure out a way to drive him out of Liam. Maybe he’ll leave more willingly if he knows this is close by.”

Morgan said carefully, “If you make things uncomfortable enough for him, he could choose to voluntarily leave Liam, like he did with you.”

That bad, bad feeling was back in the pit of Pia’s stomach. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Liam’s too Powerful, and he loves power too much. The only way he’s going to leave my son is if he’s forced to.”

“So we’ll force him.”

“But how?”

“We’ll find a way.” Dragos’s features set with ruthless determination. “We have the shackles, and we have the scepter.”

Something invisible brushed along Pia’s arm. This time, instead of being freaked out by it, she felt oddly reassured. “And we have the seraphim, for whatever aid they can lend to us.”

Dragos met her gaze. “Let’s go get our son back.”