“But I’m not Svartan.”
“Svartan or not, I think that’s what’s happening.” Trillian lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes, a haunted look crossing his face. “When souls mate, nothing can undo the link.”
I stared at him. He wasn’t bullshitting. From the core of my gut, I knew that what he said was true.
“We haven’t even had sex yet,” was all I could say.
“I know. But think about what it’s going to be like when we do,” he murmured, then quickly straightened himself as the strange man reappeared.
The man ignored me as he handed Trillian two small medallions.
“Wear these. They will block your signatures from everyone. While you wear them, you will appear as dwarves. They will only last for a little while, so you’ll have to work fast.”
Trillian nodded, then stood. He inclined his head. “The blood-debt is paid. You are free. But next time we meet, before raising your sword, think back on our discussions. Perhaps you won’t be so hasty to have my head. You killed my sister already. That’s the only member of my family you’re touching.”
The man stared at him, conflicting emotions running across his face. After a moment, he said, “While I value our debates, know this, Svartan. If I had it to do over again, I’d kill her again. No woman refuses me. And next time we meet, I’ll be coming for you. Don’t ever darken the doors of this guild again, lest you find me here.” He nodded to the door. “Once you walk out of this building, I owe you nothing.”
Trillian shook his head, smiling grimly. “As you so wish,” he said, and led me out of the room. As soon as we were in the hallway, he draped one of the medallions around his neck.
“Mother pus bucket,” I said, staring at him, still dazed from our tryst. He looked like a dwarf, complete with long beard, short stature, and rugged appeal. He was still handsome—no spell could take away that gorgeous demeanor, but he was definitely a dwarf.
He blinked. “I assume you learned that from your mother?” he said as he draped the other medallion around my neck. “Well, you certainly look better as yourself, but this will do quite nicely.”
I glanced down at my arms and legs. Yep, I looked like a dwarf, too. A dwarf with really big boobs. Of course, a lot of dwarven women were busty. I glanced back at the chamber. “Mind telling me what the Hel we’re going to do about what happened back there?”
“Hush, leave it until we’re outside. Leave all questions until we’re outside.” He led me down the stairs and out the front door. Then, quickly, he tugged on my hand and we raced back toward Calisto’s. I prayed that we were right, and that Roche would be on his way up to his room. Trillian had just sacrificed a huge marker for this, and I didn’t want to see him wasting his get-out-of-jail-free card.
Chapter 6
Night was sweeping away the dusk, leaving a solid layer of stars overhead. As we slid through the streets, Trillian kept hold of my hand. My mind was racing with thoughts of Roche, of finally catching him and skewering my boss when I told the YIA that he’d been in on the perv’s escape.
But, overshadowing everything was the lingering tingle of my skin, the memory of what had happened between Trillian and me. There are legends that sometimes a Svartan will meet another Svartan with whom the mesh is so right that they spontaneously bond. For good. It’s rare, but it does happen.
His words reverberated through me. What did this mean? But I already knew. Something—by fate or chance—had brought us together. I’d known since our first meeting. And now we were bound, whether for good or ill, I didn’t know yet. My father was going to have a field day with this one.
“There,” Trillian whispered. “Calisto’s.”
As we watched, a figure emerged from the gloom. He was the right size and shape and an alarm sounded that yes—it was him. I clutched Trillian’s arm.
“It’s Roche,” I said. “I know that energy!”
We waited until he’d entered the building, then we slipped past the rawhead who had passed out, an empty bottle of booze on the counter. The stench of stale vomit filled the air.
As we tiptoed up the stairs, I steeled myself. Roche was up there. Roche, who liked to carve up women and children. Darynal’s warning came back to me—Roche wouldn’t play by the rules, so I wasn’t going to either. Whatever it took, I was taking the dude down. Hard.
As we reached the top of the stairs, Roche had already disappeared into the room and we could hear the sounds of fighting from behind the scarred door.
“Come on! Darynal’s in danger.” Trillian slammed open the door and rushed into the room. I followed.
“Stop or I’ll kill him!” Roche whirled, holding Darynal by the throat, a knife with a glinting razor’s edge poised at his jugular. He stared at us for a moment, looking totally confused. “Who the fuck are you?”
Darynal was limp, but alive. I could tell he was doing his best to relax into the hold, a good way to fool your opponent. Only Roche wasn’t the sanest peach in the pie, so what might work on a normal psycho wasn’t necessarily going to do the trick for him.
First things first—get Darynal out of Roche’s grasp. I whipped out my knife from the sheath circling my thigh. The leather strap looked like it was fastened around the illusionary trousers I was wearing.
Praying my voice had changed along with my looks, I said, “Give us all your money—jewels, whatever you got.” Yep, my voice had deepened, thank the gods. If we played guards-and-bandits, we just might confuse him long enough to throw him off guard.
Trillian took my cue and pulled out his own knife, a dangerous-looking kris. “Whatever beef you got with this guy, we don’t care. We’ll go through him to get to you if you don’t give us your money. Now!”
Roche frowned, but apparently the magic of our disguises was top-notch and he slowly lowered his knife and pushed Darynal to the ground. “You can take my pack over there.” He nodded to the table.
“Empty your pockets on the bed,” I said with a snarl, waving my blade toward his face. As he began spilling his pockets on the bed, I suddenly felt the energy shift. The camouflage was breaking. Shit, we just needed a few more moments. While Roche was focused on Trillian’s blade, which was dancing around his midcenter, I dropped my knife and whipped out the death scroll from my bag.
I had barely unfurled it when the illusion broke. Roche bellowed and grabbed for what looked like an amulet around his neck. Trillian thrust with his blade, but Roche darted away from him. He caught hold of the pendant and stared at me, his eyes gleaming as he shouted something in sorcerers’ tongue. A whirling orb of energy blasted out of the talisman.
A blink of an eye till impact. No time to leap out of the way. I steeled myself for the flames. But before I could stop him, Trillian pushed me to the side and took the blast right in the chest, shouting as the magical flame burned through his clothes.
“No!” I swung around to face Roche, bringing up the scroll. “Enough mayhem. Enough murder. Enough! Mordente dezperantum, vulchinin, mordente la saul ayt Roche!”
Time seemed to slow. My voice hung heavy in the air, the words trickling out like honey on a cold morning. Roche’s eyes grew wide and he dropped the knife. His head fell back and his mouth opened, as a black smoke poured out of his throat. Above our heads, a swirling vortex opened and sucked the smoke into it. With one last solitary shriek, Roche tumbled forward as the vortex closed.
Ignoring Roche’s body, I dropped to my knees beside Trillian. “Trillian, Trillian, are you okay?”
Darynal kicked Roche once, very hard, then joined me.
Trillian groaned, wincing with pain. There was a platter-size burn on his chest—the material had melted to him. “I’ve been better.”