Jory Strong - Inked Destiny

“She consumes you, Lord,” Liam said, voice urgent, determined. “Order me to kill her!”

The magic blazed a trail for Cage though he didn’t need one, given his close proximity to Quinn. He pushed through the opening in the chain link fence, urgent now with the scent of blood, Kestrel awake and hungry, the sound of a man crying, a body dragging chilling him to his core.

He did not limit himself to human speed in order to reach Quinn. Knew by the soaked front of Quinn’s clothing and pool of blood spreading next to him that only the magic held him to this life and this body.

Cage scooped Quinn up, taking in the three dead, one of whom Kestrel had hungered for outside Saoirse. Pity moved through him when he recognized Derrick, beaten and broken but dragging his body forward in an effort to get to his lover.

There was no time to offer comfort. And reassurance was premature even this close to water.

Cage raced forward, hurling Quinn into the bay.

Behind him Derrick screamed. A heart-wrenching, primal sound of such anguish that it silenced even Kestrel’s demands.

A wordless scream left Eamon and this time Cathal’s head snapped back as pain ripped through him as though he were being eviscerated from the inside out.

“Eamon. Lord. Order me to kill her!”

“No.” Cathal gasped. “Trust her.”

“No!” Liam urged, tensed and coiled like a panther ready to spring. “No! Today’s events demonstrated that the magic controls her, not the other way around. Accept her loss for the good of those who call you Lord.”

Another wave of pain clawed through Cathal. Pulsing simultaneously to what was happening to Eamon. Building, building, then suddenly condensing, shattering in his chest.

Cage watched as the bubbles rising to the surfaced ceased, the body disappearing, sinking.

He caught himself holding his breath and forced an exhale, guilt settling into his chest with the next inhalation.

Brother. The sense of it was stronger now.

He had not been his brother’s keeper here.

It wasn’t too late. Not yet, though he could guess what the magical channeling was doing to the seidic changeling who’d made this possible with her ink. In the end, this might cause her death.

Jacko tried to use the car to get to his feet, but left only a smear of blood against metal next to concrete blocks and rusted axel. His thoughts drifted, sliding into the past with the memory of stabbing a shank into the last guy he’d killed in prison.

What was the motherfucker’s name? His thoughts blurred. He could remember the blood wet on his hand and wrist.

Reality blurred, he looked down and blood gushed out faster, his heart pumping hard at seeing the gut shots, his fingers splayed across his stomach though his intestines were leaking out.

Motherfuck. He dug into his pocket for his phone, hearing Cyco say, “I’m about finished my business. You done?

“Jacko! Jacko!” The shout brought him back. He shivered. Fear coming when he realized he was shaking, so cold now he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Couldn’t actually feel much of anything.

Motherfuck, they weren’t going to find him curled up in a ball. They weren’t going to say he went out like a pussy. When they talked about him, they were going to say he was a man.

“Dead. Guy showed up.” The words were slurred but he kept going, forcing more of them out. “I took him out. Need you to finish Cathal Dunne.” Couldn’t believe the asshole had survived the launcher attack.

“Him. His woman. Anybody else who’s with him.”

“Good,” Jacko said, the phone dropping away as the numbness spread and all awareness ceased.

Etaín opened her eyes to tranquility, if facing a Dragon could be tranquil. It rose from the water, creating a ripple, and in that ripple Etaín saw Eamon on his knees, body bowed, rigid, his image thin, appearing more apparition than solid man while Cathal—

Agony engulfed her at seeing him prone, still, sightless eyes staring at nothing.

There is always a price to pay. He is human, mortal born, not created to be conduit or vessel for magic.

“No!” she screamed, the sound of it reverberating, making her aware of the ebb and flow, the serration of her own heart, still beating while Cathal’s was silenced.

Clever changeling. The sigil of servitude appeared, writ in the air like a fiery brand. It’s what I can offer you now. There’s still time for your human. Take it and return to him, transformed into what you were meant to be.

Trust me to do the right thing , the words spoken before racing to Cathal mocked her now, everything inside her saying no price was too high to pay for Cathal’s life. But those moments when she’d lost control of her limbs, when the ability to speak had been choked off at the Dragon’s will, were too visceral.

This servitude was another name for slavery. And that slavery would extend to him.

Not slavery. The honoring of a promise. The righting of a wrong.

At what ultimate cost? In the water Eamon continued to fade, as if her touch was draining him of magic and gift, his accusation ringing in her ears that the lives of those who depended on him as Lord would worsen because he’d tied their future to hers.

“No,” she said, concentrating on the complex shapes Eamon had painstakingly taught her, building the sigil segment by segment in the hopes it would allow him to get free of her.

Sire!” Liam urged again, enough control finally returning that Eamon was able to speak.

“No.” The answer came from his heart, more gasp than word.

Liam’s face reflected understanding and grief even as he moved to disobey, willing to give his life for his lord’s. But Myk and Heath reacted as well, as if anticipating it, grabbing Liam, risking his gift, struggling though that struggle lasted only moments before Etaín’s body stilled in human death and the flow of magic abruptly stopped.

Eamon felt as though his own heart had been ripped out of his chest. Searing pain spread through him, growing in intensity as moments passed instead of the barely perceptible seconds that had marked his own change, the tattoos on his arms inert, nothing more than ink, giving him no way to call her back.

“Fight, Etaín, fight.”

The lake, the Dragon, the burning sigil and the complex one she’d been building disappeared in a white burst and an echo of pain. Nothingness followed, an inky blackness that drained into the vines on her arms, and in its wake she again faced the Dragon—except this time there was silence. So she was dead now too.

Cage smiled when the water began churning violently, smoke rising from its depths along with bubbles and blackened debris. The thrashing continuing, creating a whirlpool that sucked them back in. A light show of color only he could see as a Dragon battled to regain a human shape, to make sense of facts and divergent realities, though those born in this rare, rare manner were born old.

Behind him Derrick sobbed, the slow scrape of his body marking his determination to reach his lover even now. Quinn had chosen well. Or the seidic had with her ink.

Cage turned away from the water, using his true speed to reach Derrick, offering comfort with a whispered, “He lives, and so will you,” before offering merciful oblivion with a spelled charm he’d gained from Eamon.

In front of Etaín, the water rippled again. Only instead of images of Cathal and Eamon, the slaughter at the bar was replayed and she felt the phantom flare of heat at her wrists and along her arms, burning hot and fierce as Vontae and his killer became aware of each other. I woke and you shared in my awakening. Not your gift to see the endpoint of magic. Mine.