Page 57 of Bound By Darkness

Hmm…

Flumph hovers beside me, eyeing the newcomers with open suspicion, and I admire him for it. I wish I could wear my heart on my sleeve such that Flumph does. But one falter on my part and I risk angering my companions. I feel as if I’m constantly walking on eggshells around all three of them—Cambion, most of all, and Baron, least of all, but even with him, the feeling is still present. Regardless, it feels as if my survival depends on this frail bond between the four of us, even as I try to convince myself otherwise.

Cambion and Aima laugh together, and the two of them are equally beautiful. Her darkness balances his lightness. They would have made a very attractive couple; I can only imagine what their lives would have been like if Aima had never chosen Theren.

Kolvar, the Satyr, crass and arrogant, makes me uncomfortable. It’s the way he looks at me—like he wants to force himself inside me and won’t take no for an answer.

He has large horns that curl back from his brow. Gold hoops decorate his ears and septum, and dark coal lines his honey-colored eyes. His inky black hair is long, and his beard nearly as long, coming to a stop at the center of his muscled and bare chest.

Nothing much was made of the fact that Aima speared him with her knife. He howled in pain and then simply removed the blade, tossed it aside, and carried on as though being stabbed was a commonplace occurrence.

After a few minutes, I notice his hand has healed itself. Thus, his blasé reaction begins to make sense.

Kolvar, though larger than his Satyr brethren, is not the largest male in the room.

That honor is bestowed on Pyre, who looms over the others, casting a shadow on the table and blocking the light of the sun that streams in through the cracks in the shutters. Though Pyre isn’t quite as broad, he’s even taller than Dragan, which is a feat in and of itself. There’s something about Pyre’s ominous presence that pulls me, makes me want to know more about him. I feel as though I can trust him, that he’s a good sort.

Of course I have no basis for these feelings but I feel them all the same. And, by now, my intuition is really all I’ve had to rely on.

Pyre reaches out and braces each of his hands on the table. Black runes cover his pale hands and wind up his muscular forearms, forming labyrinths of spells I can’t understand.

“He a necromancer,” Flumph squeals. Dragan nods to confirm the sprite’s exclamation.

“And a skilled archer. I’ve never seen anyone match his talent with a bow,” Dragan offers.

“Why does he wear the mask?” I ask. Flumph looks just as intrigued by the stranger as I am. Dragan spares a brief glance at the hooded figure and sighs.

“Squirrels?” Flumph asks but neither of us respond because, as usual, Flumph makes sense only to himself.

“Variant,” Dragan answers. “Not unlike Raflamir, Pyre was also tortured. He was the last of us on the battlefield, using his undead army to hold off Variant’s forces while the others wereable to retreat. He even tried to fight Variant when Cambion and I were taken. His loyalty to us nearly cost him his life.”

As if he senses our eyes on him, Pyre faces us. He stares at me and I return his gaze, thinking this might be a test of whether or not I’m as weak as I appear. We hold one another’s stare as he brings his runed hands upward and pulls the mask from his face. It clatters against the table as he lowers the hood on top of his head.

His long, crimson hair is braided away from his face, shaved on both sides of his head. His eyes are white with just a tinge of ice-blue and, after a moment, I realize he’s blind. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice it earlier.

Then he wasn’t staring at me?I wonder to myself.

Perhaps not, because as I watch him now, he stares unblinkingly around the room. Still, he follows Baron’s words as if he can clearly see the vampire and, eventually, his white eyes land on mine again and he holds my gaze.

“How are you able...?” I ask unthinkingly, slapping a hand over my mouth to cover my outburst. But I’m too late.

Pyre’s thin lips twitch into a breathtaking smile. He’s blind, yes, but unnaturally handsome. The rune on his forehead and the scar beneath his left eye don’t distract from his ethereal beauty.

“The spirits,” he answers. “They speak to me. They are my eyes and I am their voice.”

A chill courses up my spine, as if a ghostly caress slides across my skin. I’m fairly sure it’s Pyre’s doing.

“Pyre is extremely powerful,” Dragan says as he leans over and the heat from his breath fans across my cheek.

I can’t explain why I do it, but I reach out and touch one of Dragan’s hands where it rests in his lap. At the same time, I’m hit with a vision so strong, it takes the wind out of me.

I see images that make little sense as they race in front of my eyelids, each fighting to take control in the picture of my mind’s eye. Finally when the pictures begin to settle, I recognize Dragan, only this vision of Dragan reveals him as his younger self.

As I watch, Dragan removes his clothes and the picture pans down to reveal a woman in his bed, underneath him. She’s beautiful with long, flowing black hair that cascades out across her silk pillow and matches the black of her eyes. Dragan kisses her but there’s something in his expression that stands out. Something that makes me realize whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t want to be doing it.

The woman reaches up and loops her arms around his neck. She smiles and says something to him that I don’t understand. He doesn’t respond but his jaw is tight and his eyes appear angry. He breathes in deeply and then shuts his eyes tightly. At the same time, the woman reaches down and begins stroking his already enlarged cock.

I swallow hard as I focus on his hard length. Jealousy begins to wend inside my stomach and I have to chase it away in order to pay attention to the images before me.

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