“Wednesday?” Mikhail had been fasting longer than she thought. She had to find a way out of this, fast. She put all other business aside. “Tell me everything you learned about blood bonds with Master Wilhelm.”
They sat on the long leather sofa. Where Mikhail had told her the story of Roland and Illysia.
Dominick stared into the middle distance as he downloaded his report. “It takes only one taste to initiate the process. The intensity of the early bond is directly related to quantity of blood consumed. Onesided consumption leads to obsession, and eventually death. Two-sided consumption forms the bond. The bond is strengthened and completed by feeding so continuously from one another that the two parties permanently alter one another’s chemistry. After bonding, they are not individuals anymore, not in any true sense.”
Alya shuddered at the idea. “That doesn’t make any sense. How do we—they—feed off one another exclusively without starving?”
“It’s a lean time, to be sure, but that bit only goes on a few days, then they can feed normally again. Apparently in the old days the bride and groom were fattened before marriage to prepare for the bonding.”
“Like calves. How romantic.”
“There’s a spiritual component too, which I couldn’t make head nor tails of. But as you know, I’m a practical sort.”
“Physical is enough for me. How do you break the bond?”
He shook his head. “You can’t. It’s called‛ The Unbreakable Tie’ by all the historic sources. Master Wilhelm confirmed this. He says it can’t be undone once initiated.”
“He’s wrong. I know of at least one way. One of us can ex the other.”
“Roland’s Choice. There’s that, but I didn’t exactly categorize that as a solution.” Dominick leaned back against the cushions, solemn. “I take it this means you’ve fed from him?”
“I fought out of that place on the strength of his blood.”
“Escape at a price?”
The idea that Mikhail might have trapped her shook her for a moment, but she dismissed it. She hadn’t tasted any deception in his blood. In that moment, all he’d wanted was for her to live. He’d been ready to give his life for her. Now the question had changed. Would she give up her whole life for him?
Not likely. She’d ingested some of his goodness, but she hadn’t turned into a saint.
She went to her study and dug around for her old address book. There were other options. She dialed a number in Bali, hoping it was still good. Hoping Sevrin was sober. What time was it there? It didn’t matter. Sevrin never slept.
“Sevrin, I need you to counter a spell for me.”
The shrieking of his damned parrot collection almost drowned out his response. “Fuck me dead. Is that you, Alya Adad?”
“You know it is. I’ll pay you in gold.”
“What kind of spell?”
“A blood bond.”
“Break up destined mates? You can’t do it, at least not after blood’s been exchanged. Is that what we’re talking about here?”
She told him it was, and he belched long and loud. “Major juju, that. You got astrological forces, chemical adaptations, and nasty dark shit I don’t know half enough about. Don’t know of anyone who does.”
“This is important. I will pay you anything, just to try. What do you want, Sevrin? Just to try. I would do…anything.” She took a deep breath, knowing how many years he’d wanted her, and how decidedly she did not want him, and continued on, weaving both suggestions and compulsion into her words. “You know I’d be indebted to you.”
Her compulsion skittered across his Teflon defenses. “Tempting, but no can do. Don’t fancy frying my brains in the attempt, darling. No one screws with blood bonds.”
“There must be someone willing to try. Tell me. I don’t care who they are.”
“There’s no one. Believe me. But nice to know I’m on your mind. Next time you’re in Bali, we should get together, for old time’s sake––”
Alya threw her phone across the room. “Fucking git.”
She’d just debased herself for nothing. Sevrin was the most unscrupulous, reckless sorcerer in the world. If he wasn’t crazy enough to try the spell, she didn’t know who would. They knew all the same people, anyway. If he said no one would try it, she had to believe him. If she had years, she could search the world for a counter spell, but she didn’t have years. She had days. Hours, even.
Dominick appeared in the doorway. “Any orders?”
“I have to fight him.”
The words just popped out of her mouth. One of them could escape this curse and go back to their normal lives. They’d been destined to fight it out since he’d walked into her office. And if they fought right away, before Mikhail got weaker, the fight would almost be fair.
“With all due respect, sir, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Then you marry him.”
“If only I could.”
He was joking—and not joking. “Don’t ever be telling me you have a crush on the lad.”
“Your Irish accent is execrable, sir. And yes, I think I do. I like him a lot.”
“Fantastic.” Alya buried her face in her hands. “He’s seduced you and my cat.”
“Faustin was up at first dark, not today, but the night after the rescue. Before I was up. He could scarcely walk, but he was restoring your defenses. He disposed of the bodies. He set everything to rights, not me. And you should see the mods he’s made to your security system.”
She raised her brow at the idea of Mikhail mucking with her security system, and hitched it higher at the idea Dominick would allow him to do so.
“We’ll go over all his changes, of course. But it’s not back door stuff. It’s just smart.”
“So he’s a good security man. A good housekeeper, even. I hire useful men. I don’t need to marry them.”
“He cares about you.”
“It’s an illusion, don’t you see? He has no choice but to want me.” After thirty years with a curse gnawing on his brain, he’d do anything to complete the bond. Even fancy himself in love with her.
“But it seems you have a choice in the matter.”
“I won’t submit to the bond.”
“In that case, how do you know he’s not exercising choice, too?”
That bit of logic made her brain twist. Her stomach grumbled, making her peevish. “I don’t care. I know what I want and what I want is not to be the wife of goddamn Mikhail Faustin!”
Dominick clasped his hands behind his back. “Sir, you’ve always listened to my opinions, which is more than most princes would do. All I’ll say, and it will be the last I say on the matter, is that it would be a shame for the two most promising princes in generations to kill one another when there may be alternatives.”
“Just suppose I do this. Say I marry him. What are you going to do when House Faustin moves west to claim its new territory? Ah, I know. Perhaps you’ll find a role in the civil war that breaks out as a result.”
After the wedding, she’d be nothing. In a legal sense, she’d hardly exist. All her property, including her territories, would go to him. The families who’d sworn fealty to her would not be happy about that. Behind closed doors, she’d reassured several patriarchs she’d never marry before signing treaties with them.
“Perhaps he’ll agree to let you keep some—”
“Stop. Listen to yourself. I don’t rely on anyone’s benevolence.”
“A prenup?”
“Human law? Right. That’ll hold water. And no matter what he agrees to, he’ll be squeezed on all sides by his council, his families, and his own father. Old Faustin is an acquisitive bastard if there ever was one. I can’t give an inch to those people. They hate me too much.”