The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher
14
“He did what?” Rogan bellows, his rage bouncing around the narrow street and causing other pedestrians to look over or scamper away.
I look around, slightly embarrassed, and hold my hands up to Rogan, indicating that he can be pissed but maybe let’s not announce it to the fine residents of Fenella Street, Glasgow.
Fury floats in his green gaze, but he quiets as he tightens his hold around my shoulders. He hasn’t stopped occupying every inch of my space since Muda popped us back into his house and then promptly kicked all of us out when the guys tried to attack him. I don’t blame them though; that demon really could use a lesson or two in manners.
“I told him no, and he didn’t bring it up again, so it’s probably fine,” I tell Rogan and the others, but Rogan’s eyes narrow on me, and if I had to guess, it’s because he just felt the trickle of trepidation that I was trying really damn hard to hide from him.
“I thought I knew about demons and what to expect, but I’m starting to think that we have no idea what we’re involved in right now,” Marx confesses, and I sigh, wishing I didn’t agree with every word he just spoke.
“The crux of my demonic education was to stay the fuck away from them. I’ve never even heard of the Accords,” Elon adds.
“I’ve heard of them,” Prek declares. “I’m sure only because it was part of my first case with the Order, but when I tried to pull up any information on what was in them, I could never find anything other than a file of fully redacted text. I pulled Muda’s information from an Order sergeant’s personal notes. They were scanned into the system from a notebook he kept. They were barely legible, but after staring at them—and a ton of other random documents—trying to piece together information, I saw the name and address sort of just pop out at me.”
“You could have warned us,” Rogan snaps at Prek reprovingly, and I stiffen.
“If I had any idea that there was anything to warn you about, I would have,” Prek barks back, clearly frustrated with all the blame coming his way. “I had no idea the guy was half demon. The title Linker was written next to his name, but I never found any information in the Order’s databases explaining what that meant. The sergeant who wrote the notes is dead. I thought Muda was simply a knowledgeable mancer, not a High Demon Ambassador.”
“It’s fine,” I cut in when Elon opens his mouth probably to argue some more. “It was an honest mistake. Marx is right, none of us have any idea what we’re dealing with, and I think it’s safe to say that’s on purpose. Either way, my complaint is filed. Dyad determined it was valid, and hopefully that means one less threat breathing down our necks.”
Mumbles of agreement sound off around me, and we grow quiet as we walk steadily toward the loading docks of Tesco and the ley line that will whisk us far away from here. The sun has long gone down, and it feels much colder here than I thought it would. It’s the kind of chill that slowly gets its clutches around you, and before you know it, you feel as though you’ll never be warm again. I shiver and Rogan wraps himself around me even more. I appreciate his efforts to make sure that I’m okay, but he’s making it difficult to walk.
I chuckle as we start to trip over each other, and despite how annoyed and angry I can feel that Rogan is, his quiet, warm laughter joins mine.
“Is that it with the demons then? They investigate the demon Jamie was working with, and we’ll never have to deal with it again?” Elon asks as he wraps his light jacket even tighter around himself.
“Muda said there will be a trial and that they may or may not require my attendance,” I tell him, trying not to cringe as I prepare to tell him the rest.
Rogan stops, pulling me to a stop next to him, and bends down until our eyes are even. I take a deep breath, letting his smell wash over me and the feel of his hands ground me.
“What are you not telling me?” he asks evenly, and I close my eyes and pull in a fortifying breath.
“They gave me a mark,” I blurt and then hurry to explain when first confusion and then fury shutter down over Rogan’s face. “They said if I’m required to attend the trial, it will summon me. If not, it will simply disappear. Then I’ll receive word somehow of the outcome of the trial. Although Muda made it seem that the only possible outcome would be the other demon’s death. It appears he broke several laws,” I state, and I look past Rogan’s newly enraged face to find three more sets of outraged stares.
Crap.
“You have a mark. A mark that can be used to summon you anywhere...like a demon?” Rogan demands, his voice eerily calm, and the timbre of it causes goose bumps to rise on my skin and heat to pool low in my belly.
“On the top of my foot,” I concede and watch as Rogan closes his eyes and does his best to calm the storm of rage I feel building through our tether.
“What the actual fuck, Lennox!” Rogan shouts at me, making me jump.
And clearly this asshole needs better calming techniques.
I narrow my eyes at him, pissed that he’s dumping his shit on me. I get that he’s scared and worried; I know I’d feel the exact same if a demon had stolen him away from me. However, if he thinks I’m going to just stand here and take this, that it’s okay for him to behave like this toward me, all because I can feel what’s at the heart of his issues through our connection, he’s got another thing coming.
“You know what, Rogan?” I snap. “You can just fuck right off. Seriously, off you fuck, because I have hit my limit with this shit. You act like I had all these amazing choices and instead went with the most fucked up one. This is our best shot at getting one more threat off our back, a really fucking serious one at that,” I point out.
Fury boils through our connection, and we both stand there seething. Elon tries to get Rogan to leave it alone and start walking again, but Rogan ignores him. Both Marx and Prek look like they wish they had a bowl of popcorn right now.
“You want to be pissed? Go for it. You want to feel scared and helpless? Great, join the club. Rage away if it helps you process things and work through them. But don’t you dare forget who I am to you and the kind of treatment and respect that deserves,” I yell at him, my heart pounding painfully in my chest as my throat tightens and my eyes sting.
I watch as my words strike him like physical blows, and he steps back away from me like he’s struggling to absorb the impact. I’m reminded of the brutal arguments we’ve had in the past and am suddenly worried that we might be adding this one to our future. I’m all for the passion and the heat, but I’ll never be okay with the disrespect Rogan is dishing out when he behaves this way.
“I am not the dumping ground for your frustration and anger. Figure out a better way,” I tell him, my tone soft and quiet.
Pain fills Rogan’s gaze, and he drops it to the ground for a beat before lifting it once again to mine. “You’re right. I’m sorry. What just happened scared the shit out of me. It was bad enough the first time they ripped you out of my arms,” he confesses, his eyes fixed on his hands as though he can still feel me slipping away. “Watching it happen again, I just…I couldn’t...” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Knowing they’re going to do it again, it’s like living through my worst nightmare over and over again,” he admits, his voice haunted and his eyes filled with anguish as they connect with mine.
My heart aches at what I see in his face, and I wish I could keep all that pain and worry from settling inside of him.
“Lennox, I know you did the best you could. I’m just afraid for you, for me, for all of us,” Rogan explains, and he suddenly looks exhausted. “None of that should be taken out on any of you though. I’m sorry for losing it. None of you deserved that.”
I’m taken aback by the immediate apology. The Rogan I know usually takes longer to realize he’s being an asshole. Typically, he storms off, needs to brood for a while, followed by some light pouting around, and then maybe he’ll own his shit and say sorry.
Rogan steps closer to me and cups my face in his palms, tilting my head until I’m looking up into his repentant eyes. “I know what you are to me, Lennox. I’ll do better,” he reassures me, kissing me softly and giving me a chance to taste his apology in addition to seeing it written all over his face and hearing it in his earnest words.
I pull him closer, opening up to him and reveling in the searing requisition he’s making against my mouth. This is the passion I want to see and to feel, I tell him through our bond, filling it with satisfaction and need. His tongue teases mine, and I can almost feel it between my thighs. Heat dips straight down to my clit, and as he wraps his apology around my tongue, and I nip and suck my forgiveness right back, I grow needier and wetter and gain a clearer understanding about why makeup sex is so fucking hot and so fucking important.
I want to climb him right now and demand that he take me against the cool stone of the building on our left. I don’t give a shit if I lose an ass cheek to frostbite, it would be well worth it.
A loud and very obnoxious “awwwwwwww” fills the chilly night all around us, and Rogan and I reluctantly break apart to look over at Marx, who’s wearing an overexaggerated look of adoration and delight. “Like, aren’t you two just the cutest,” he declares in his best teenage girl voice.
“Fuck off,” Rogan grunts at him, and Marx chuckles.
“But, like, you totally are,” Marx goes on, laughing and refusing to give up the taunt.
“Right?” Elon starts, and I crack a smile, not able to help myself. “I was full on swooning just now. All that emotional growth and concerning commitment to PDA, like for real, for real, talk about romance city,” he plays along, nailing Clueless’s Cher Horowitz.
I bite back the as if that wants to sneak out of my mouth.
Marx reaches out for Elon’s hand, and then they start to skip down the sidewalk together. “I hope we can be lucky enough one day to get mouth-fucked against a building,” Marx calls out over his shoulder, throwing me a cheeky wink.
Rogan’s stoic demeanor finally cracks, and I catch a smile ticking at his lips.
Elon sighs loudly and dreamily as they make their way hand in hand. “If only we’ll be so lucky as to find someone with such an assholic nature as Rogan Kendrick.”
I bust out a loud laugh at that, and Rogan rolls his eyes at me before pulling me tighter to his side and tickling my ribs in retaliation. I squeal and wiggle away, tossing him a heated look of challenge before sprinting after Elon and Marx.
“You guys are so fucking weird,” I hear Prek declare on a resigned sigh.
I smile even wider as Marx and Elon both coo a high-pitched, dreamy, “Rogan Kendrick,” as though he’ll be the name they doodle all over their notebooks this year.
Suddenly Rogan takes off after me, and I squeak in surprise and book it in the direction of the ley line. The back of Tesco is empty and quiet, the sound of my running footfall echoing off the pavement and bouncing across the white walls of the back of the building. I can feel the levity in our connection as well as the growl of challenge accepted as I hear Rogan gain on me from behind. Before I can make it, he grabs me by the waist and swings me around. I shriek and laugh and weakly try to fight off the attack of kisses he applies to my neck and cheeks. His scruff is tickly, and I make big plans for it when we get home.
“You win, you win,” I shout out through peals of laughter as my bladder threatens to ruin the good time we’re having.
“Ahh and what do you have for the victor?” he whispers deeply in my ear as he pulls me flush against him.
We’re dipped in the shadows of the building behind us, both breathing hard, his chest pressed against mine. I want him so much that slight movement against my peaked nipples is making me wet as fuck. He’s hard against my hip, and it’s all I can do not to reach down and discreetly say hello. He kisses my neck just below my ear, and I barely bite back a moan. I check for the others, not wanting them to overhear anything I’m about to say. I see that they’re further down past the building, over in a patch of grass near the ley line.
With a salacious smile, I thread my fingers through Rogan’s hair and pull his ear down to my mouth.
I look around to make sure no one can hear us, and then I saucily whisper, “How about I spend the night riding your cock so hard and so good that you won’t be able to stop screaming my name and coming inside my wet pussy.” I nip his lobe while my quiet promises sink in, and then I pull away when he groans quietly in approval.
The other guys are all talking animatedly about something, but Rogan only has eyes for me right now. As he runs his gaze over me, his pupils are so big that there’s barely any green to his heated stare at all anymore. His breathing is shallow, and he watches me like he’s ready to consume me right here and now.
“I vote we leave them here and come back for them later. I can’t handle a long car ride home with these two eye-humping each other the whole time,” Marx whines, and Elon chuckles as he pulls up the ley line app on his phone.
I blush, feeling bad about making shit awkward, but Rogan makes it so damn hard.
Literally.
Gah, I’m hopeless.
“He’s right,” I tell Rogan, feeling completely embarrassed. “We shouldn’t be allowed to be around people until we learn to behave. We’re the couple I always mimed gagging behind to make the other sufferers in the group feel less uncomfortable. How did we go so wrong so fast?” I demand, thoroughly overdramatic. “What have you done to me, Kendrick?”
He laughs, and I can tell by the look on his face there’s a sexual innuendo locked and loaded on his masterful tongue. I press a finger to his lips.
“Your brother is right there,” I remind him.
He rolls his eyes and sighs against my finger. I take it away tentatively and huff out relief when nothing cringy slips out of his full lips.
Man, I need to get home and in a soundproof room alone with this man STAT.
Elon clicks on a button in the app, and I hear the resonance of the line we’re jumping to begin to hum out of his speakers. I listen for a beat, trying to focus on the sound and feel of the line so we can apparate home. Instead, a wide happy smile sneaks across my face as I realize something. Rogan notices and threads our hands together as he leans down.
“That better not be because you’re thinking dirty thoughts?” he whispers playfully in my ear.
I swat at his shoulder with my free hand, shaking my head no with a laugh.
“It’s nothing really, it’s just that we totally rocked our first fight,” I tell him, the smile I’m wearing growing impossibly wider.
Rogan’s quiet for a beat, and in my periphery, I catch Prek closing his eyes and pulling a deep breath into his lungs. I watch as he silently and almost meditatively aligns his magic with that of the ley line before us. The moment the two frequencies connect and match, it’s as though Prek has put himself into hyperdrive, and the ley line grabs a hold of him and his magic and yanks him away. I study the faint trail of light that’s left in his wake until it disappears altogether in a matter of seconds. Elon looks around to make sure we’re all ready. After the rest of us give him a confirming nod, he exits out of the ley line app on his phone, closes his eyes, and then he too is pulled away into the line.
Rogan watches Elon leave, always looking out for his brother, and then he turns back to me. “We did rock our first fight, didn’t we,” he agrees, teasing me about my word usage, his smile now matching mine.
“We’re like totally nailing this relationship thing,” I rib, my Valley girl accent mocking the one Marx and Elon were just doing.
Marx eyes us and shakes his head, an amused grin stretching across his face. “I’m happy for you, man, but don’t forget that you have the car keys. Don’t go getting any bright ideas about ditching us and sneaking off with your girl.”
I laugh and roll my eyes at him, but Marx misses it as he focuses on the force of power in front of us, and then just like the others, he’s there one second and gone the next.
Finally alone, Rogan wastes no time in leaning in for a deep toe-curling kiss.
“Totally nailing it,” he agrees, sounding like the turtle from Finding Nemo, and before I can crack up, he squeezes my hand and we both match the hum of our magic with that of the line, and it easily pulls us in.
I quickly adjust the resonance of my magic to that of the line I want to travel to and then hold my breath, ready for what comes next. It’s far less traumatizing now that I know what to expect. I’m prepared for the stomach lurches and sudden death drops. The tingling sensation isn’t alarming anymore, and I know to expect the scrambling of my senses for a beat after the ley line ejects me at my destination.
I can’t feel Rogan’s hand anymore, but I know he’s there. I can feel him through the tether as he goes through his own rollercoaster ride back to Gallywough, Tennessee.
My feet hit pavement, and I only stumble slightly before getting my footing and managing to stay on my feet. I can’t see it yet—not until my senses catch up with the fact that I’m once again stationary and they don’t need to shut down for protection anymore—but I can picture the parking lot we drove into and the large field next to it. The grass is short and patchy, and tall trees border the clearings and the road that leads up to them. There’s a public restroom tucked into the far end of the paved lot, and I decide I should check out the facilities or risk peeing my pants if there’s another serious laugh situation on the way home.
Bright light suddenly shocks my senses as my eyesight starts to kick back in. It’s as though I can feel the bone-chilling cold of Glasgow as well as the deep kiss of night melt away, and in its place, early evening marked by a mild sun and much warmer temperatures blooms right in front of me.
Surprisingly, I don’t feel nauseous or blobby this time around, which is a miracle in its own right.
Man, I’m getting good at this witch shit.
My eyes still work to adjust and focus, and it takes a few seconds more for me to feel Rogan’s hand in mine again. His grip is strong, and I give it a quick reassuring squeeze.
We are totally using a ley line to go to Bali when all this war shit is over.
I turn to tell Rogan just that when my ears pop, and all at once I’m bombarded by sounds. Confusion lurches through me, and I look around as though I can make sense of the cacophony I’m hearing, but my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. Screams and booms, shouted orders, and panicked cries surround me.
My hand tightens in Rogan’s as fear overwhelms me, and then in a blink, my eyes adjust and all I can see is chaos. Order members are everywhere. They’re swarming the empty field and parking lot. I can just make out Rogan’s car before visibility is cut off by running bodies. Elon, Prek, and Marx are surrounded, and now soldiers are running at me and Rogan. Warning explodes from me to Rogan through our tether, but before I can do anything more than fill with consternation, I’m hit with a force so strong that it tears me from Rogan’s hold.
His angry, terrified shout rings in my ears, and I’m afraid that we’ll never stop being torn apart like this. I call on my magic to try and stop the elemental witch who’s trying to fling me into the trees. But another gust of wind takes hold of me, only this one quickly drops me hard to my feet in the short grass. The landing is jarring, but nothing hurts and I’m not currently kabobbed on a tree, so I’ll take it. I look up to find Prek’s russet eyes tracking me maybe twenty feet away and a soldier running up behind him, ready to attack. I shove bone magic out into the mayhem, and when I sense the wards of the woman who’s running up on Prek, I shatter them around her, and then without missing a beat, I snap her neck. Prek whirls around to see the woman’s body slump to the ground, but there’s another soldier quick to take her place, and Prek shoves a hard gust of wind at them, blowing them off their feet and knocking several other attacks out of the way.
Shock rings inside of me, and I look down at my hands.
How the hell did I do that? How did I break through her projections like they were nothing?
Taking advantage of my momentary distraction, someone slams into me hard, and I go bouncing back on my ass. I pull my magic all around me protectively, and the chaos trying to overrun me quiets slightly.
I look around frantically trying to process what the fuck is going on.
How the hell did the Order find us?
Shoving magic away from me again, I search for Rogan, Elon, Marx, and Prek. My power hits other barriers and protections as it goes, but unlike the demons, these barriers feel more like egg shells than the steel walls I’ve encountered before. Without a second thought, I start to crack the shells, reaching inside and shattering bones as I go. I shove away my alarm and my worry about how I’m doing this, and move as quickly as I can. Fear and instinct drive me as I desperately try to find Rogan and the others.
In my gut, I know this level of power is because of what Jamie did to the Osteomancer line of magic, but I drop-kick that knowledge away. I’ll question it all when we’re not fighting for our lives.
Order members swarm me like an angry colony of wasps, but I manage to get back on my feet as they bounce off the walls of magic I’ve erected around myself. I drive the hoard away from me, turning bones into powder, snapping spines, and pulverizing skulls as I go. I should feel sick, but all I feel is enraged. All of these soldiers, sacrificing themselves for a bunch of power-hungry monsters. I don’t want this, but the High Council just ripped the choice right out of our hands.
If they’re going to attack, then I’m sure as fuck going to defend.
Fighting to move closer to the ley line, I finally feel the others. I force more power out of me to help fortify their defenses and slowly try to get closer to them.
Screams and pain and the sounds of fighting are all I can hear. I taste death and magic in the tainted air. Gray clouds cover the sky, as though they’re trying to shield the heavens from such brutality, and bones snap and fracture all around me. I hate that the sound is music to my ears, but each agonized bellow means I’m one step closer to Rogan and the others. More Order members pour out from the trees, and I want to scream in frustration as the numbers keep tilting in their favor no matter what we do.
I search for Rogan in the throng of clambering bodies, desperate to see that he’s okay, but I can’t find him. I can feel his wrath and determination through our bond, and my boost of protective power is helping him, but I don’t know how long we can all keep this going. Right now, I feel strong and formidable, but I’ve never tested the well of my power. As a Source for the Osteomancer line, I know I’m working with more than the average mancer, but I also know it’s not infinite.
The call of blood magic sings in my veins, as though it’s begging to be called on and put to work. I can feel Rogan fighting though, and I’m worried that if I call on his power, it will fuck him up somehow or leave him vulnerable. Instead, I start collecting large pools of bone magic at my core before sending them out in brutal waves intent on crumbling defenses and destroying every bone in the magic’s path. Limbs tilt at odd angles. Bones rip free from skin. Bodies fold into mush as I reduce their osteo matter to pulp. I attack vital organs with shards of a mancer’s own skeleton, bodies piling up around me like a defensive wall and a warning to the next attacker who tries to traverse it.
I shove the bodies all around me off to the side, trying to create a barrier of death to stem the flow of soldiers from pouring in on that side. Bellows of rage bleed out into the overcast evening, but still the Order members keep coming. I feel animal bones lying patiently in wait throughout the forest we’re surrounded by, and I command them to come to me. I infuse them with the ability to claw, bite, buck, and stab in death, like they would have in life. The rest of the less lethal bone bits, I break into sharpened points, ready to pierce through anything and everything that comes for me and the others.
A fire begins to blaze in the distance, but I ignore the smoke for now, intent on dealing with the more immediate threats. I finally catch sight of Elon, and relief slams through me when I see that he’s holding his own, the wake of his devastation almost a match for mine.
A group of soldiers scream as they charge me, their magic battering against my walls of power, frantic and desperate. Before they can even get close to my protective cocoon, I send missiles of antlers through the air and pierce their skulls with them. The group falls dead before their bodies even hit the ground. Marx steps into my view, and hope ricochets through me. If we can get close enough to each other to regroup, maybe I can hold them off long enough to jump the ley line somewhere else.
I press closer to Marx and Elon, gritting my teeth against the effort it’s taking me to crush so many protections at once. I try not to let the sheer number of soldiers gunning for us overwhelm me, but a pit in my stomach opens up and alarm crawls over my skin all the same.
I’m so fucking close though. Less than ten feet and Elon, Marx, and I will be together again.
Wildly I start scanning the horde for Rogan again, hoping against hope that he’s somewhere close by. Something to the right catches my attention, and my manic gaze lands on a familiar face. He’s dressed in an Order uniform, not looking nearly as suave and in control as he did in the crisp cranberry-colored suit that day the High Priestess cornered me in an Order interrogation room. His dark brown hair is disheveled, and he’s watching the fight with a disgusted look on his face like he expected our immediate and utter annihilation and doesn’t understand how it hasn’t happened yet.
I recall that he’s a Contegomancer, a very dangerous one, and I switch the direction I’m headed in from trying to get to Marx and Elon to this fucker instead. Maybe if we cut the head off the snake…
I don’t get time to finish that thought before the High Council member snaps something to the line of Order members next to him. I follow his tight gaze, and that’s when I notice the guns.
Horror and shock explode through me, and I can’t even scream a warning to anyone before the deadly cadence of semi-automatic fire erupts everywhere. The line of Order members fires into the bedlam, taking down any moving target with no care to whether it’s friend or foe. Bone white sparks start to burst all over the walls of magic I’ve encased myself in, and the threatening ping of bullets fills my ears. I whimper, helpless and terrified, as I feel the same metallic assault against the shields I’ve wrapped around the others. I’m stopping the bullets, but for how long?
Hysteria tries to take over as I reinforce all the barriers I’m holding around everyone. A fervid, stinging power wraps itself around my protective walls of magic and starts battering away at me. It feels acidic and repulsive, and I want to tear my magic away from the contact, but doing so means dropping my barriers. I grit through it, but it gets infinitely worse when that same magic begins to assault the barriers protecting Rogan and the others. The other magic starts to scald me, and I scream with the effort it takes to fight it off, but it’s stuck to my power like cloying, corrosive sap, and I can’t get it off. More bullets fight to pierce my magic and end this battle, and tears begin to sting my eyes from the pain and the struggle it takes not to give into it.
Fight, Lennox!I snarl at myself, refusing to give up. Show these fuckers what you’re made of.
Just when I reach into myself again, demanding more power to combat the bullets and the burning of the Contegomancer’s magic, something strange happens. My magic suddenly feels wild, like it’s trying to jerk free from my control. I struggle to hold onto it when pain erupts in my thigh, and I’m knocked to the ground. I cry out, looking down frantically to find blood pouring out of my quad. I recognize the familiar heat and burning sensation that a bullet causes, and I immediately know I’ve been shot...but how?
My protections were up, I was… I look up, agony welling in my chest as a primal scream rips out of me. I reach for my magic, trying to get my protections back up. Somehow I lost my hold when I got hurt, and now each and every one of them is vulnerable. My terrified eyes find Marx as I rush to get barriers back around him and the others. His eyes widen with shock for a fraction of a second, the sound of gunfire drowning out my soul wrenching plea, and then a bullet rips through his forehead.