Page 28 of This Wicked Bond


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“I don’t care. I’ve played this game before. The king sacrificed his servants too.”

He moves between me and the tunnel with his hands planted on his hips. Breathing deep, he seems to mull my suspicions over, wiping at the bloodied sweat beading on his brow. “I’m not the king.” When I don’t flinch, he drops his head back, staring at the stone ceiling a moment before continuing. “Listen to my voice. You know, deep down that I’m not lying. If I was, you’d feel it in your gut.” His eyes connect with mine. “Is your gut telling you not to trust me, or is it your head, and all the shit you’ve been through?”

“One of your friends has already tried to kill me. I’m not sure who I can trust.” It’s an honest answer. I’m still not entirely sure about what happened and how I survived the never cat.

“Brenn did, yes, but he’s also being punished for it as we speak, and he won’t have the chance to do it again. I promise.”

I scoff, glancing toward the empty room. “I could’ve died and you expect me just to trust that you handled it?”

“You didn’t, though, and I promised earlier that I’d tell you why.” He gestures to himself, the blood on his skin now dried and brown. “But I’d prefer to not be covered in cat blood when I do it. So, can we please go downstairs.”

Teetering the fence, I run through it all in my mind one last time, looking at all the outcomes, the possibilities, and anything that doesn’t add up. Yet I have nothing. I can’t leave the bar, not if the night is as cool as he suggests it will be up here in the mountains.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I begin to pace, and just as I’m ready to say fuck it, to go down the steps and pray he doesn’t lock me down there somehow, Loric grips my hand. His nostrils flare as my eyes reach his face.

“Asmodeus taught you how to find your way in the woods. I can only assume he’s told you how to tell if someone is lying.” He presses my palm to his chest, directly over his heart and I can feel the gentle cadence of his beating against my skin.

Asmo did. He’s guessed right. Though I don’t know his gestures to be able to tell if he’s lying, just with facial expressions or tone. However, I know what he’s getting at with this. The next sure way to tell is by their pulse or their heartbeat. If it’s steady, they’re telling the truth. If it skips or quickens, then they’re lying.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice calm and soft. It’s completely contradictory to everything else about him, but I listen. “I have no plans to hurt you. I have no intention of sending you down there or leaving you for dead. I’m honestly not sure why I’ve agreed to get you out of Solaria when I’d intended to tell Asmo to fuck off, but I can assure you the only thing that’s going to happen down there is a bath, because we both reek of copper. Okay?”

Trying to look everywhere but at him, I breathe in deep, then gently nod.

“Alright then, let’s go.” He drops my hand and I tiptoe forward, swallowing thickly as I stare down the long stretch of steps.

Here goes nothing.

The wooden steps creek under my weight and as Loric pulls the shelf over the tunnel opening, the dim light morphs into pitch black. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, let alone the stairs. Carefully, I point my toe, testing to make sure the next plank is firmly beneath my foot before shifting my weight. My fingers skid over the rock walls, ice cold to the touch, and the air grows steadily colder, as if the chill is seeping through them.

A shiver rakes through my body, making me tremble, and I can barely make out my breath condensating in the air. Then warmth wraps around me, velvet and smooth. The fur lining of Loric’s cloak tickles my cheeks as he settles it over my shoulders and I tug it close.

“Here, let me get in front,” he says, tapping my shoulder.

Flattening my form to the stone wall, he squeezes around me, our bodies pressed tight as he works to shift in front, to take the lead. It’s hard to make out his face in the dark, but his glowing eyes are unmistakable, casting white light over his cheeks and contrasting his eyebrows.

“You can see?” I adjust the cloak and my dress now that he’s made it past me on the stairs.

“Yes, and you’ll be able to soon, once you and your beast learn how to share.” He grips my hand, guiding it to his shoulder. “Hang on. I’ll guide you down. It’ll brighten up as we go deeper.”

Fisting the linen fabric, I take tentative steps behind him, stuck on the idea of there being something else living inside of me. Another being. “Share what? A mind?”

“A body. Shifters have a beast that lives inside of them, that can take control, just as we can shift into their forms. Once the two of you learn how to co-exist, you can work together. You can partially shift, or feed off each other for power. Or, like tonight, they can protect you when you can’t protect yourself.”

That doesn’t sound too bad. It’d be sort of reassuring to know I’m not alone. “Like a friend for life.”

“Sort of. As great as it is, they can get annoying too. Their personalities tend to be more primitive and their needs more primal. Sometimes, it’s like all they care about is survival, procreation, and power. They don’t form emotional attachments to others outside of who they choose as a mate, but we, as people can. Sometimes those wires can get crossed and they’ll put your needs before the people you care about.”

The stairs are twisting as we go farther down, like they’re spirally around a column. Just barely, the darkness begins to lift. It’s not enough to see where I’m going, but I can slightly make out Loric’s silhouette.

“Like a protective pet you share a body with, then?” I ask, almost losing my footing as my boot slips off a thinner stair thanthe others. Loric’s body is unyielding as he pauses to let me get my balance, and the chuckle that leaves his throat seems to echo off the stone walls.

“My beast will hate me for saying it. I’m not sure he’ll take well to being called a pet, but yes. Very similar to that.” There’s an airy tone to his voice and it tugs at the corners of my lips–infectious, in a way.

“Your beast is a he, then?”

As we turn the column, the shape of Loric becomes more defined, but the light isn’t yellow or white. It’s not even amber like fire or torches would cast. It’s a deep, bluish purple.

“Yes.” He stops and turns to face me, and my balance wobbles as my hold on his shirt is taken away.

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