Page 52 of Bound By Darkness

I stand up and grip the bloody fool by the lapels of his long, duster jacket and try to talk some sense into the blithering savage. “We aren’t taking anyone hostage, you fucking ape!”

“Then what do you propose we do, you fucking dandy?” Dragan spits the words back at me and breaks my hold on his jacket. “I told you this was a bad fucking idea!”

“Let’s talk to them first,” I suggest as I return to the bed and take a seat again. “See if we can get anything else out of them before we access desperate measures.”

“Fine,” Dragan scuffs bitterly as he eyes me with heated irritation. “But, if talking gets us nowhere, we’re doing things my way.”

“Talking will get us where we need to go.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“I am.”

He throws his hands into the air and shakes his head, throwing open the door as he disappears into the hallway.

***

Dragan and I meet Raflamir at the table for breakfast. Eilish, Baron, and the sprite are still within their bedchamber and Inotice Dragan looks up the stairs repeatedly, his expression one of concern. The stupid fool is just as head over heels for the Succubus witch as he was before we discovered she was demon. Good thing I’m now in charge…

Saevel walks out of the kitchen and offers us coffee and tea. Her smile seems tight and forced, as though she wishes she was anywhere but here, with us. She fills our cups, then makes herself scarce by keeping busy in the kitchen.

“I overheard part of your discussion with Saevel earlier,” I address Raflamir, deciding not to beat around the proverbial bush. Raflamir’s eyes go wide.

“Saevel did not mean what she said,” he assures me as he shakes his head and raises his hands in a supplicative sort of way. He glances at Dragan a few times which leads me to believe he’s fearful of the brute.

“I would hope you wouldn’t turn on your own kind,” Dragan interjects as he eyes Raflamir.

The elf clears his throat and shakes his head. He’s perspiring along his hairline and picks up his napkin to blot the sweat away. The sounds from the kitchen cease and I imagine Saevel is listening in on our conversation, which is just as well. She needs to understand we know where her loyalties lie.

“Tell us what you know,” I request.

“I don’t know much,” Raflamir responds with a shrug. “There was an announcement early this morning that Variant is amassing his forces to hunt you down.” He takes a deep breath.

“And?” Dragan pushes him.

Raflamir faces Dragan and nods. “Anyone aiding you will be punished.”

“We won’t tarry here long,” I promise.

He nods again, then continues. “Variant’s been kidnapping fae, not just angels.”

“Why?” asks Dragan.

Raflamir shrugs. “For reasons only known to Variant.” He takes a deep breath and faces each of us. “He’s becoming unhinged. Even the sentries of Earlann whisper about the instability among his supporters.”

“This means he’s insecure and desperate to appear as though he’s still in control,” I explain. Dragan and Raflamir both nod in agreement. “In some ways, this is an advantage.”

“But it also means traveling undetected will be close to impossible, and meeting with allies is even more risky,” Dragan points out. “Anona and the rest of Variant’s lackies will be hot on our trail.”

“Not to mention the bloodthirsty mercenaries,” Raflamir adds.

“Mercenaries?” Dragan echoes.

“They’re the worst of the worst,” says Raflamir with a clipped nod. “Bounty hunters, essentially. They’ll make Anona look like your fairy godmother.”

Dragan appears deep in concentration. Just then, Eilish and Flumph appear at the top of the stairs, with Baron right behind them. Eilish is dressed differently today—no longer wearing a gown. Instead, she wears tight blue trousers which show off her small waist and wide hips. The trousers tuck into high brown leather boots not unlike my own. On top, she wears a slim-fitted, long-sleeved white cotton shirt, which does little to conceal the swell of her cleavage. She’s braided her hair behind her, drawing extra attention to her lovely, heart-shaped face.

She smiles to us all as she approaches the table, the sprite flitting around her all the while. Baron doesn’t offer any form of greeting, but simply takes the furthest seat from the rest of us, as he did last evening, and leans back into his chair, watching us with little interest.

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