Page 68 of Soulbound

She looks like me....

Lord Tremayne circled the altar with a knife in one hand, and a grimoire in the other. He kept droning the words in that hideous language, until something began to appear above the hexagram.

Silence chilled the room. Tremayne's eyes lit up when he saw the shimmer in the air. "Come forth!"

A heart of darkness began to form above him, turning into a malevolent black cloud, and the bloody rune in the middle of Tremayne's head suddenly glowed.

The black cloud swirled over Lord Tremayne's head, and he opened his arms wide, looking up and staring into the heart of the cloud. "One night I grant thee," he boomed. "Use me, my lord. Let me beget the child that was prophesized."

The black mist began to swirl, then plunged down, entering her father's mouth and ears. He roared in pain, his body jerking, and then the mist was gone, and he froze.

Cleo's mother opened her eyes. "My lord?"

Tremayne grasped the silver cup on the altar with both hands, lifting it to his lips and gulping it down. Blood dripped down the sides of his cheeks, and droplets of it dripped off his chin and spattered on his white shirt.

"Tremayne? Did it work?" her mother whispered.

He slowly lowered the cup, and his eyes were pure black. Whatever this was, it was no longer her father.

"Give me my child," her mother whispered, tugging at the drawstring of her nightgown. "Give me the child he cannot."

Tremayne went to her, capturing her chin and lifting it harshly. "You little fool. Do you have any idea what you have wrought?"

"You have one night," her mother cried. "Use it, or begone."

He tore her mother's nightgown clean down the center, shoving her onto her back. Her mother cried out, fisting a hand in Tremayne's shirt as she drew him down over her....

Cleo whirled away from the room, slamming the door behind her as her mother cried out again. Her ears were ringing. What did this mean? What had her father summoned into himself?

A demon, said the little voice of intuition inside her.

Her mother....

The black queen?

No. No. She'd died. She'd died when Cleo was two, in a carriage accident. Her father had always said....

Her father was known to lie.

"Cleo?" a woman whispered. "Are you there? Can you hear me?"

She twisted and turned. Something was pinning her down. Hands upon her wrists. Her heart started racing. The vision vanished and she found herself in the dream plane again, the skies as dark as midnight. Not a blank canvas, but one filled with possibility that could take her anywhere she wanted to go.

"You're safe," the woman added. "Your husband is here. He's holding you down so you don't thrash. Can you hear me?"

She stared up at a night sky with a thousand stars. One of them flickered a little brighter. Not stars, but souls, she realized, as she drew nearer. The bigger one flamed into a beacon. Sebastian.

"I can hear you," she whispered.

"I've got her." A cool palm rested on her forehead. "Come back, Cleo. Come back before you burn yourself out."

Tears leaked wetly from her eyes. She'd finally found the black queen. And it hurt. It hurt so much.

Why did she leave me?

"Hush," Sebastian murmured, drawing her into his arms. "I'll never leave you. I promise."

Cleo blinked back into the real world, and found her wet face pressed against his shoulder. Her ruined ball gown was crushed up between them, and his coat was smoke-stained and scarred from the battle downstairs. How much time had passed? They'd won, hadn't they? She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart.