“Damned convenient skill, that.”
Lucian shrugged, not sparing him a glance. “It has its moments.”
“Brother, you just turned a sorry excuse for a blanket into a fucking length of heavy chain, and then changed portions of it into perfectly sized metal cuffs. I’d never have to worry about packing again.”
Lucian shook his head, using his power to connect a length of chain to the piece that ran between her ankles. Once that was complete, he started raising it along the back of her legs, until his hand hovered just beside her wrists.
“I’m going to need you to adjust your hold so I have room to work,” he muttered.
Ronan did as he was told, watching silently as Lucian repeated his trick with the chains around Effie’s wrists. Although she was now fully bound, Ronan did not let go of her.
Lucian braced himself, taking a deep breath before rounding her and staring down into her sneering face.
“I hate you,” she spat.
“Likewise.” And it was true. Lucian despised the being that had taken residence inside her. He could not wait to destroy it. “Which is why I’m going to enjoy this.” Grasping the bit of cloth in his hand, Lucian grabbed her jaw and pried it open, holding her in place as he shoved the gag in her mouth.
“Without something to tie around her head, she’ll eventually find a way to spit that out,” Ronan murmured.
Lucian nodded, eyes already searching the floor.
“Can’t you just waggle your fingers and make something appear?”
He raised a brow. “I don’t make things appear, Shield. I change the nature of something that already exists.”
“Oh.”
Not seeing anything that he could use, Lucian’s eyes lifted to Ronan’s single braid. Not waiting for permission, Lucian simply grunted, “Sorry.”
Ronan’s eyes went wide as Lucian grasped the bottom of his hair and severed a chunk of it. It wasn’t much, but Ronan bellowed as if he’d been burned. By the time Lucian’s hand was held up between them again, the red tuft of hair was a long piece of fabric in the same color.
“You going to cry over a little haircut?”
Ronan glowered at him. “At least warn me first.”
“Why, so you can try to talk me out of it?”
The other man silently seethed, nostrils flaring as he sucked in angry breath after breath. Finally, he looked back at Lucian. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to grow that out?”
Lucian rolled his eyes. “Stop pouting. Consider it your contribution to the task.”
Ronan sighed. “Not much I can do about it now.”
Although silenced, the fiend that was Effie had no trouble communicating the depth of her hatred for him. She stared up at him, brows low and nose scrunched in a silent snarl. Unable to withstand looking into that face for long, Lucian tied off the second piece of fabric, and moved to the side.
“Come on, let’s go.”
At first, Effie refused to budge, but Ronan had no issue tugging on the length of chain and threatening to drag her. Begrudgingly she fell into shuffling step behind him.
Lucian kept his eyes trained ahead, not wanting to add this to the other images that were already seared into his memory. He had more than enough of them to keep him awake at night. No use adding to the nightmares.
“What caused this?” Ronan asked after they’d taken a few steps.
“Shadow bite.”
“But . . . when?”
“Before you arrived.”
“Her scar.” Ronan sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you telling me this whole time—”
Lucian gave a terse nod. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand. How could we not know?”
“Remember Tinka?”
Ronan took a shuddering breath as he connected the dots. “We mistook the symptoms, explained them away, when in reality . . .” Ronan took a couple more steps before speaking again. “But that still doesn’t explain how this is even possible. Rowena created Shadows by feeding off the souls of those she turned. That required Spirit magic. How in the name of the Mother are the Shadows replicating that? No one else alive, save Helena, has any claim to the Spirit branch.”
It was Lucian’s turn to fall silent, turning over the question in his mind. “Some of Rowena’s initial spell must still run through the ones she personally turned. Like an echo . . .”
Ronan scrubbed his free hand down his face. “Are you telling me that the Shadows have access to Spirit magic?”
“No,” Lucian said slowly, processing the answer even as he gave it. “I’m telling you that whatever tainted magic she used to turn the Shadows left a stain on those who remained after her death. That is the source of the corruption and why it continues to spread.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Lucian was only barely starting to understand himself. “Rowena fed off of her victim’s souls. Since she is the source of all of this, it’s my assumption that the corruption creating the Shadow-touched works in the same way. In order to take hold, it must first tear through its host’s soul, unable to fully claim them until the entirety of their humanity is destroyed. That is why some take longer than others to turn. The stronger they are, the purer their essence, the harder it is for the corruption to take root. Unchecked, eventually it will win.”
“Lucian, if her soul is gone—”
“It’s not gone. Not entirely.”
“But how can we save her if—”
Unable to stand hearing the words uttered out loud, Lucian cut him off again. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
“Lucian.” Ronan’s voice was soft, filled with an emotion that only stoked the anger and pain Lucian was trying so hard to ignore.
“Stop,” Lucian said, the word a threat.
Lucian should have known it was futile. The Shield never backed down from a fight, he only altered the nature of his attack.
“If we don’t find the answer in time . . .”
White-hot pain erupted in Lucian’s chest, but his voice was devoid of emotion when he replied, “Then we do what needs to be done.”
Chapter 6
The world tilted on its axis and Kieran groaned. He had no idea how long he’d been out this time. It could have been six minutes or six hours. Everything had become a blur, which meant he could just as easily be losing entire days now.
“He’s still alive,” an unfamiliar voice drawled.
Kieran tried to force his eyes open, but they were crusted shut. Somehow he managed to make his right eye open into a narrow slit, but the light was blinding after being cocooned by the dark, and the mysterious shape above him was indistinguishable.
“Leave me alone,” Kieran said. Or tried to. It came out as an indecipherable slur. His voice was dry and cracked.
Voices continued to speak above him, but he could only make out fragments of what they said. It was too hard to concentrate for long.
“. . . dehydrated . . .”
“. . . do with him . . .”
“. . . get . . . base . . .”
He felt hands grab him by the shoulders, and a survival instinct he didn’t realize he still had flared to life. Kieran had been waiting for death to claim him. Had been hoping for it. At least it would put an end to his misery. So why was he attempting to fight off the potential means of his death?