“No.” Ward didn’t even spare the page a glance, and received a nasty shock in retaliation.
Katar cast her a sharp glance. “This sigil will help you cast magic. If he doesn’t do what I say, I don’t have a use for him.”
Meaning he would kill him.
She highly doubted the sigil did anything of the sort, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t risk Ward’s life over it. This wasn’t the first time someone carved magic into her—she would deal with the consequences.
“Do it.” A muscle in her jaw clenched at the idea of wearing another mark.
Ward approached her slowly, reluctance in his every step. “This will bind you to him. If any harm comes to him, you will suffer the effects as well.”
Meaning she couldn’t kill the bastard, and she barely bit back a snarl. “Do it.”
With an abrupt nod, he picked up a knife. The blade bit into the flesh of her shoulder, and she clenched her fists to stop from flinching, blood dribbling down her back as she watched Katar cut a similar sigil into his own arm. Once both sigils were completed, Katar spoke a phrase in what sounded like a bastardized version of Latin. Magic snapped in the air, searing along the fresh lines of the sigil, sealing the wounds shut and locking the spell into place, leaving the newly carved sigil feeling like a third-degree burn.
“Sit.” Katar stared at her expectantly, and she raised a brow at him. A compulsion to do as he said tickled at the back of her mind, but it was one she could easily ignore, the magic weak.
Anger darkened his face. He muttered something under his breath, and a spell crashed into her. She staggered back a step, the breath knocked out of her, the crushing weight easing after a few seconds as the spell broke apart.
Morgan sucked in a breath of air, only to receive another blast of magic. After an hour of one spell after another, her endurance was at an end. She was exhausted, phantom pain riddling her body, tremors making her muscles quiver pathetically.
“Interesting.” Katar went from angry to curious to determined, then he finally appeared pleased, which didn’t bode well for her.
She barely resisted the urge to shove interesting up his ass, but glanced at Ward and Atlas watching from the sidelines with stoic faces. If she put up a fight, they would die. She could possibly kill Katar before he could get to them, but she couldn’t be sure the sigil wouldn’t kill her before her immunity to magic would break the spell connecting them.
“Place your hand over the flame.”
Morgan jolted at his order, so busy staring at the guys, she hadn’t heard him approach. Resting on the table sat a lantern with an exposed, dancing flame.
“I don’t heal quickly. It’s not one of my talents,” she warned, but he didn’t seem to care. Waiting impatiently for her to obey, he kept his finger hovering over the button to the shock collar.
Gritting her teeth, she thrust out her hand, the flame licking at her palm. Pain seared across her nerve endings, and it was everything she could do not to yank her hand back. But after a few seconds while she expected her skin to blister, crack and burn, the opposite happened. Her skin seemed to accept the heat. She could feel the warmth from the flame, but the expected pain vanished. The same thing happened when she touched Ascher—his heated touch didn’t hurt her.
“It’s the phoenix. You have successfully merged with him, and he’s protecting you.” The avarice in Katar’s expression twisted knots in her stomach.
“We must test your blood.” After he nearly drained her dry, Morgan staggered over to the guys and watched while Katar used her blood in one experiment after another…only to fail. He rampaged through the room, breaking glassware at random, when his eyes fell onto them. He snatched up the last syringe, and strode toward them with a feverish expression.
She couldn’t allow him to use her blood on anyone. She was too afraid about the consequences. “If you’re wondering if it will save you from the infection—it won’t.”
“Explain.” Katar scowled at her, irritation making him more dangerous.
“You infected Atlas.” She pulled his shirt away from his neck, and already black lines were spreading over his skin. “He’s had my blood, and it didn’t stop him from become infected.”
“Maybe it wasn’t the right combination. The right kind of tests—”
“He’s my mate. If my blood was going to work on anyone, don’t you think it would be him?”
Insanity flashed in Katar’s eyes for a few seconds, then he screamed in rage and threw the last syringe with her blood against the wall, the glass shattering upon impact. He then stilled, staring blankly at nothing, and she knew whatever came next would be even more implausible and increasingly hazardous.
She needed to distract him. After a glance around the room, studying the experiments, her chest tightened in dread.
“You’re not making a cure, are you?” He was too happy with his tests, and they were no closer to the cure than ever. “You plan to go back to Tartarus.”
“If we can complete the ritual, we’ll be able to save the realm and take control of its magic.” He gave her a beautiful smile. “We were interrupted the last time, but this time, with you, it will work.”
“You tried last time, and not only did everyone else die, the fog descended over the realm. What happens if another plague is released?”
“That wasn’t my fault. I chose the wrong people. That’s why they died and I didn’t.” Katar began to scurry around the room to collect supplies, oblivious to the disaster he’d created. “It doesn’t matter if another plague is released. If you fail, you will be dead. If we can’t fix the fog, who cares what happens next? Everyone else will be dead as well…or wish they were.” He laughed, as if destruction of the realm was an exciting adventure.
When he seemed satisfied with everything, he headed for the door, turning at the last second to wave her forward. “Come, we must go.”
“No.” She refused to cooperate any further with his cockamamie scheme. If she was going to accompany him, they were going to do things her way. “I’m not doing a damned thing without my men.”
Katar smiled as he walked toward her, so the slap to the face that left her ears ringing took her by surprise. She straightened, using the back of her hand to wipe off the trickle of blood from where her lip split.
“You’ve already infected Atlas. He’ll die regardless. If you want my assistance, I will need my men to protect me.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Give me incentive.”
He narrowed his eyes dangerously, before they slid toward Ward, but she was already shaking her head. “He’s not my mate. I only met him two days ago. If I was him, I would run off at the first opportunity. And before you think about infecting him, you’ll be in the same situation…why would I help if he’s going to die?”
Katar scowled, then began to pluck at his lips, mumbling to himself as he paced. He stopped so suddenly that his robes swished around him and gave her a blazing smile. “You’re quite right. Let’s go to the games and watch your companions.”
Her stomach churned at his cheerful tone, his expression so full of glee, she began to doubt the wisdom of her plan.
In trying to save her team, she feared she might have inadvertently plunged them into even more danger.
Chapter Twenty
When they exited the room, Katar left them in the hands of the captain of the guard and a contingent of soldiers before hurrying off to do what he called “important business”. No doubt getting ready to travel to Tartarus. One glance at the guards, and Morgan knew they were miserable but resigned to their jobs. If she and her men tried to escape, they would receive no aid from that quarter.