Page 59 of Lost and Bound

Her body jumps, and I go to her.

“Maya.” I barely say her name or touch her shoulder, and her eyes open. The color is always so vibrant and clear, the blue reminiscent of a lake in summer. There’s trust in them, too, which I’m not sure how to read.

She blinks, fighting through the fatigue again, looking as exhausted and confused as when she first collapsed.

“Maya, it’s okay. Can you see me? It’s Arlan. You’re in your room, and your annoying raven is with us.”

As soon as she nods, I move fast, forcing my essence past her internal shields, taking liberties reserved for a union we don’t share. What I’m doing is wrong on so many levels, but she needs rest, or she might never recover.

“Se resposa.” Sarlat flows from my lips, transporting me to the small province in France where I was sired. As opposed to getting caught up in times past that are impossible to change, I drill my mind on nothing but the girl.

Her pupils dilate as my enthrall catches her psyche, twisting its way through her subconscious, holding her captive. She responds instantly, and with each breath she takes, she is weighed down by the instruction I gave her. Before she closes her eyes to drift off to a heavy, dreamless sleep, she succumbs completely. Despite bulldozing my way into her vulnerable center, shattering her inner protections, I want to shake her awake and swear at her when I see how easily she surrenders.

Maya rolls onto her side, putting her back to me, and then she catches her long dark hair and flicks it over her pillow, baring her slender throat to the world. She might just be getting comfortable, but her lack of self-awareness and survival instincts feeds the irritation burning in my veins.

Who in their right mind does that to a vampire? Surely, she can’t be that naïve to my kind. Or perhaps she is, and this is all part of her cunning disguise. Cane doesn’t trust her, and Emrys is blaming her for a dip in his energy, so maybe they’re on to something and I’m the one getting thrown by a sense of familiarity that ruins me every time I see her or hear her voice.

A ping from my laptop is a welcome distraction. I’ve already spent more time on her than is warranted.

I turn around right as the raven swoops in, the clip of his wing against the side of my face as intentional as a slap. He lands on her hip, then stares me down better than Cane on a full moon.

I flip the bird to the bird, which is more amusing than it should be, leaving him as he protects her, and return my attention to where it should be—the computer screen. I sit-down at the same time as Em walks past the camera and salutes, Cane’s wolf stalking behind him. The two of them look disheveled, but neither of them appear hurt; actually, the wide grin on Em’s face tells me he enjoyed the run-in with the Legion and probably didn’t even break a sweat.

The visual display on my screen adjusts as they walk past each camera. I don’t greet them when they climb the stairs to the front door, instead, I wait for them to come down here. Before our visitor arrived, we used this room as our command center, since the door down to the cellar is the most secure and gives us the added protection of a hidden escape route.

Speaking of which, the telltale chime of the rear entry point lets me know Bael has arrived. I turn to welcome him, but before I can take a step, her raven takes flight and swoops close enough for its wing feathers to clip my cheek again. It’s deliberate, but before I can come up with some witty retort centered around draining the damn thing dry, I hear the bird twittering and Bael’s response. Bael’s voice is as distinctive as the smell of eternal flame that trails behind him like his favorite fragrance.

I find him at a standstill in the space we use as a gym. The raven roosts on his arm, as the both of them stare and chatter.

“Is he one of yours?” I ask.

Bael doesn’t shift his focus from the raven until the bird flies off. I presume he’s going back to his watch, but I don’t follow. I get caught up in Bael’s appearance.

“Shit, are you okay?”

He waves his hand, cutting off my concern before it starts. It’s a rhetorical question, as Bael’s face is marred by fresh, vicious demon marks, and though his crisp black suit is in place it doesn’t hide how tousled he is.

I ignore his unspoken suggestion to leave him be and rush forward, supporting his entire weight. He leans heavy on my shoulder, and the colorless void of his eyes is further proof he’s hurt again.

“Who was it this time?” I ask as I lead him toward one of the benches situated along the wall.

“If I sit-down, I won’t get back up,” he warns.

“You need to rest.”

“Grab me a couple of the sparring mats, and put me in the corner of the room,” he insists as he walks toward the space we normally use.

“She’s in there.”

He chuckles, and Bael’s laughter is very much like how you’d imagine a demon to sound. Everything about him—the way he speaks, laughs, looks even—used to freak me out, but then he admitted my being a vampire used to spook him too. Thankfully, that was a long time ago, because if we’d met when we were older, the prejudice between our kinds would have ruined any attempt we made at friendship. Growing up and coming into our designation all together ensured nothing would destroy our friendship.

“Cane told you she was here, then?”

He turns to face me. Bael still has voids in place of his eyes; after a few hours, they will resemble actual eyes again, but right now, his sockets are pitch-black. I can read all the subtle cues in his expression, but he’s also grinning like he can’t believe I even bothered opening my mouth. “Yeah. He’s good like that.”

Bael’s being generous. Cane is an Alpha coming into his prime. From his point of view, conversations are a waste of time and reserved for the weak who lack conviction in their own intentions and actions.

“I put her under,” I admit as he limps toward the mats.