Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

“I’m not here to try, although I will gladly take every blow you need to hurl,” he told her gently. “Some actions are unforgiveable. And before you ask, no, I will not take you home again.”

“You fool, I don’t want to go home,” she hissed. Surprise flared in his feral gaze. He had not expected that. “But I do want to set the record straight, and when I do, you’d better try to do something sensible to help fix things, or I swear to God, someday I will find a way to burn you to ashes.”

“I see the passion of which you speak,” he whispered.

Glancing at the doors again, she said rapidly, “I have no idea how much time we might have, so I’m going to cut to the chase. Morgan is bound by a geas. Everything you wanted to have happen when you kidnapped me can’t happen.”

Those words were the first blow she had struck that caused him to look shocked. He breathed, “What are you talking about?”

“You thought you would try to drive a wedge between two people who partnered together in crimes.” A resurgence of rage made her punch him in the chest. She said between clenched teeth, “Well, it’s not going to happen! Morgan is as much a prisoner as you were—as I am right now! He was never going to tell you about it. The geas prevents him from telling people. The only way I know is because I guessed from certain things he said. Once I knew about the compulsion, the geas loosened its hold and we were able to talk about it.”

“Could that have been true all this time?” he muttered to himself as his gaze clouded, dark with doubt and memory. “I saw them fight like they hated each other, but lovers play at those games. She plays at those games. The pretty smiles and the deadly rages… both are carefully constructed acts. Behind all the sound and fury, she watches with unceasing care for any opportunity to mold fate to her advantage. And never forget Modred. He is the willing sword to her hand.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never forget Modred,” she said, breathing hard. “Not after what he did to me. But right now, we’re not talking about him or Isabeau. We’re talking about you. There’s only one way for you to get what you want. And you still want it, don’t you… to break the tie that binds Morgan and Isabeau together?”

His gaze snapped back into focus. “I want that more than my conscience or my soul.”

Searching his gaze, strange though it was, she saw nothing but sincerity.

“All right,” she said. “Isabeau wears a knife on a gold chain around her waist. It’s called Azrael’s Athame, or maybe Death’s Knife. Have you heard of it?”

“No.” He frowned. “I remember that old knife in its scabbard. It shines with darkness.”

“Who is Azrael?”

He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised again, apparently at her ignorance. “Azrael is Lord Death, one of the seven gods of the Elder Races. Sometimes they’re also called Primal Powers. There’s also Taliesin, the god of the Dance, who is first among the gods because dance is change, and the universe is constantly in motion. Then there’s Inanna, goddess of Love; Nadir, goddess of the depths or the Oracle; Will, god of the Gift; Camael, goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.” He paused, taking in her growing impatience, then added almost chidingly, “Unlike the gods from other religions, the seven Primal Powers are very real and active in the world.”

“You sure about that?” she asked cynically. She was not in the mood for any detour of proselytizing.

“Oh, I am quite sure,” Robin said in a soft voice that was, nevertheless, unshakable in its conviction. “I have heard Lord Death’s horn sounding the call for his Wild Hunt, and the baying of his hounds on a windswept night. It’s never wise to be away from shelter when Azrael rides at the death of the year. That is a sound I will never forget, although…” He frowned. “I have not heard the Wild Hunt in many years now.”

His words caused a shiver to trickle down her back. “Well, Morgan said the knife Isabeau wears is a very old, Powerful magic item.” Driven by a sense of urgency, she talked faster. Their luck couldn’t possibly hold for too much longer. “Apparently, she struck him with it, and she not only bound him somehow with the geas, but it turned him into a kind of lycanthrope. He’s the one who creates her other lycanthropes.” Pausing, she added slowly, “He called them Hounds too. It’s not that common of a word in the United States, so it stood out to me.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed. “Hounds created by Death’s Knife,” he murmured. “I would like to get to the bottom of the truth behind that tale.”

“So do it,” she hissed. “The only way to break Morgan and Isabeau apart is to free him from the geas. He’s trying to do it himself, but he keeps getting pulled away from his research to save my useless ass because of you! But he can’t help to free me, because he’s been forbidden to help prisoners escape. And he’s running out of time.”

“How so?” Robin asked quickly.

Voices sounded outside the doors. One of them was Kallah. Robin’s form shimmered and transformed into a black cat again.

Picking up the cat, Sid switched to telepathy. I can’t tell you right now. You’re just going to have to trust me. For God’s sake, go find him and see what you can do to help! I’m not leaving Avalon without him. Lifting the cat up, she stared into its wide green gaze. You and I—we’re never going to be friends, and apparently, you can survive just fine without my forgiveness. But I will forgive you anyway, if you help set Morgan free.

Because without her kidnapping, she would never have met her Magic Man. She would never have experienced the night they had just shared. She would never have gazed into his eyes as he moved so deeply, so gently inside her, or experienced the profound emotion with which he held her.

Everything she had endured to reach this point had suddenly become worth it, all the pain, the terror, and the uncertainty.

Just as Robin had not struggled against her blows, the cat hung limp in her grasp, not struggling against her hold.

His telepathic voice sounded oddly gentle as he said, That is no small thing you offer, Sidonie Martel.

I know, she replied curtly.

As she strode toward the doors, carrying the cat, one of them opened, and Kallah walked in, carrying an outfit over one arm. Kallah raised one eyebrow as Sid dropped the cat outside the room.

Sid watched the cat race down the hall, a sleek black streak of speed. When it had disappeared around a corner, she shut the door, turned to face Kallah, and said, “I have no idea how that got in here.”

“Cats are everywhere,” Kallah said indifferently. “They keep the castle free of mice and rats.”

“Pity they can’t do the same for the underground prison,” Sid said, ending each word with a delicate bite. When Kallah frowned at her, she shrugged. She couldn’t care less what the other woman thought.

“I have news for you,” Kallah said as she walked over to the table.

Sid followed. “Let me guess, this evening I’ll be playing in the great hall.”

Kallah paused. “Yes, how did you hear?”