Page 50 of Bound By Darkness

Cambion stands in front of the fire with his glass of mead in his hand. He laughs with Raflimir in a way that makes him appear boyish. I’ve never seen this easy, affable side of him, and I like it. A lot.

When Raflamir excuses himself, I move to Cambion’s side. He appears surprised to see me. I hold up my unbound hands and offer him the rope that Dragan untied earlier. “I understand why you feel better with me bound,” I say. It’s a peace offering. A way of saying “I’m trying to prove to you I’m not the person you think I am.”

Without a word, he sets his glass on the mantle and grabs the rope, throwing it into the fire. I feel my eyes widen in shock. I’m fairly sure it’s just the mead talking through him, but I’m impressed all the same. And relieved.

“Does this mean you trust me?” I ask, deciding to push my luck.

“No,” he replies with drawn brow. “It just means I don’t believe you’re going to get yourself into any trouble anytime soon.”

“Thank you.”

Cambion nods and takes another sip of his mead, eyes watching me over the rim of his cup. I finish the contents of my own glass.

“Be careful you don’t drink too much,” he warns. “There’s quite a bit of alcohol in the mead.”

A streak of mischief flutters inside me and I decide to take advantage of this rare moment when Cambion is actually being somewhat decent to me. The truth is that I want Cambion to like me. I want him to trust me and understand that I’m not the horrible monster he believes me to be. If he’d just drop his wallsand let me show him…“I could say the same to you,” I say with a little giggle that turns into a hiccup.

Cambion pins me with a glare that sends a wave of heat up my neck, where it settles on my cheeks. “Don’t concern yourself with what I’m doing.”

I smile to show I’m only jesting, and he exhales sharply. “I wish I could ease your burden,” I tell him, somewhat unexpectedly.

“Burden?” he repeats, eyeing me narrowly. He’s definitely more relaxed with the others but there are still huge and impenetrable walls up where I’m concerned.

“You carry so much hatred and pain in your heart, that it consumes you.”

Cambion downs the remnants of his glass, swallowing hard. He doesn’t say anything in response but walks away from me. I can tell I’ve alienated him, and I regret my decision to push him. He isn’t ready.

I know Cambion. Perhaps not in the way Dragan and Baron know him, but I’ve seen the light smiles he allows himself when no one’s looking. And Flumph told me of the way he cared for his people back in Geldingstock. Cambion can be kind. But he doles out his affection in scraps of compassion that make me wonder what it’s like to be showered in his adoration.

***

CAMBION

Something is changing.

The anger that once wedged itself between my companions is slowly dissipating.

As I lay on the too-soft bed and listen to Dragan snore from his reclined position on the floor below me, I ponder this change we’re all experiencing. Maybe it’s simply the promise of hopethat has put us all into better moods? Or perhaps it’s just the mead…

The fire died long ago, and I sit up and glare down at Dragan’s meaty head, which rests on a pillow on the floor. There’s nothing that displeases me more than snoring—a completely artless and quite vulgar trait.

I unfold my long limbs and walk to the end of the bed, where I open the large trunk which promises a change of clothing. Of course, the trunk has been magicked so whatever suits our particular taste is made available to us. I dress quickly, trying to stow my irritation at the hideous racket coming from the gargoyle. Really, I don’t understand how the demoness was able to bed him. I suppose that’s Succubae for you.

I walk out of the room, leaving the infernal racket behind me. Immediately, I hear whispered voices which lead me down the corridor toward the stairs, but I don’t descend them. Instead, I stand at the top of the narrow staircase and listen.

“We can’t, Saevel!” Raflamir hisses in a whispered tone.

It’s my old friend and his housekeeper, bickering back and forth. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to banish the hangover currently wreaking havoc on my brain. I don’t often imbibe, but when I do, the effects are tenfold.

“Variant has launched a witch hunt for them!” Saevel retorts, and my stomach drops. “He’s rounding up the angels again! And that girl is an angel. I’m sure of it...”

“We don’t know that,” argues Raflamir.

“What other creatures possess white hair and looks the way she does?” Saevel demands, and when Raflamir doesn’t respond, she continues, “Cambion is putting you in danger by asking for your help.”

I creep soundlessly through the corridor and return to the bedchamber I share with Dragan. When I walk in, the gargoyleis awake. He blinks up at me from where he sits on the floor, a perplexed expression on his pillow-creased face.

“What the hell are you doing up at this hour?” he demands.

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