Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 13

I sit at my desk in the library while my mind dissects our conversation. Nothing about it has been helpful. Instead of making any kind of progress, I’m stuck stumbling on. Just as he told me. It annoys the hell out of me that I have no way of changing that.

It annoys me even more that I continue to stumble around in the dark. Magic is the only thing that will protect me from him. And it most definitely feels as though I need to be able to do exactly that. The way he acts and reacts... it brings me back to that feeling I had when I first saw him—like a trapped mouse at the mercy of a hungry snake. If I can’t protect myself, he’ll be sure to destroy me, one way or another. But protecting myself is only going to be possible if I ever manage to get strong enough. Going by his earlier words, there is a way. I just need to find it.

It’s not just about my safety, though, it’s most definitely about leaving. This place, this prison, isn’t as secure as it ought to be. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to leave and wouldn’t have been able to bring Sophia, Isra, and me here. All I need to do is find a way to break out.

Which leads me to something else that I need to consider. Where will I go? My old home is gone and, seeing the weird flow of time here, my time period will be too by the time I get out.

Letting out a deep breath, I decide to take it one step at a time. First, I need to get a better grip on my magic and develop it further, or nothing else will matter. Second, I need to find a way to leave by finding or creating a spell that will take me out here so I can start over somewhere and build a new life for myself.

And thus, I continue to search book after book for anything that might be able to help me improve or give me an edge. The hard part lies in that I don’t want to rely solely on blood sacrifices. I’m not yet desperate enough that I’m willing to lose one or multiple limbs in exchange for freedom. Especially since I’m unsure if I’ll be able to regrow them, I’d rather not take the chance.

Writing my own spell it is, then.

Gathering piles upon piles of spell books, I set to the massive task of dissecting as many spells as possible. Category by category, piece by piece, I pick them apart to learn about their makeup. It leads to playing around with different kinds of offensive and defensive spells. I spend time learning more about the language, trying to become faster at casting spells. At the same time, I work out a few more custom spells and fine-tune my healing spell. Next, I design a protection spell that is tailored to both my own body and mind to provide the strongest protection possible, including the option to still move things around to further tailor it to specific situations.

The more I research and write, the more I conclude that the destruction of my earlier notes might not have been such a bad thing after all. The original plan was to repurpose the spell that I used to go and see Henry. It was going to be the base for a spell to escape. According to my current research, though, that spell was seriously flawed. I was lucky to come out of it with only my hair turning white. The likelier outcome would have been my death .

Turns out that when a spell receives an insufficient sacrifice or ends up being stronger than anticipated, the backlash can be enormous, just like he warned me it could be... Meaning it’s better that I start from scratch because working with a broken baseline can only end badly. Also meaning that I either need to use bigger sacrifices or find a way to use a continuous sacrifice. Like an open vein that keeps feeding a spell as much as it ends up needing.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, running my hands through my hair before dropping one to the pendant. My mind wanders to Sophia and how she had accepted that she was never getting out of here. Part of me would rather die than spend the rest of my life here, but going by Isra’s situation, that’s not likely to happen either. He probably won’t let me.

Thinking, I curl my body forward, place my arms flat on the tabletop of the desk and rest my chin on top of them. My eyes are on the fire, my mind bouncing all over the place. Why did he even need three of us? When Sophia was around, she seemed to be the only one that mattered to him. Why did he even bother with Isra and me?

Then again, I would be dead now if he hadn’t come for me. That scares me just a little bit more.

I’m as lost and confused as I was during my first days here. Even though I know my way around this place, that’s all I know. And to top it off, I miss Sophia’s companionship. In the end, perhaps that’s the hardest thing about this whole situation: having no one but the man who kidnapped, imprisoned, and… abused me? The man who gave me a second chance at life.

I groan in frustration, burying my face in my hands as my hair curtains around me. I’m tired, so very tired. It makes it hard to focus, which means that shadows start to creep into my field of vision. They’re moving around me, lurking between the bookcases and giving me a headache. My chair scrapes against the hardwood floor when I get up, only adding to my building headache.

I need air. Only, there is no air here, not really.

Stepping out, I find the garden equally alive with shadows, rustling with the leaves of the trees. There is the sound of wings in the distance. It’s a soft flutter, not that wild, all-consuming flurry that usually takes everything over.

His anger that brings darkness with it.

Needing to know, I walk toward the sound, momentarily forgetting about everything else. He’s just reaching for the door to his hallway when I find him, his wings disappearing with a single flutter. I wonder where he goes when he’s not here. I can’t imagine there being something, or someone, out there for him.

He enters his quarters, closing the black doors behind him, and I focus my left eye on where he was standing. My eyebrows raise when I find lingering traces of his magic. It’s faint, swiveling around and quickly fading into nothing. I walk over to it and reach out, carefully touching a sliver of his magic with my finger. Channeling my own magic into it, they connect.

My ice-blue magic shows me to the place of origin, where he initially cast the spell. It leads me to Sophia’s quarters, and I wonder why he’s so casually leaking magic for me to follow back.

Perhaps he wanted me to find this. I drive the thought away with a shake of my head and cast a revealing spell.

My magic absorbs his and traces back the spell that he used, showing it to me in a faint mirror image of the original. The result is vague, and parts of the circle are missing, likely because of the time that has passed since the spell was cast. It leaves me with no idea of the actual spell itself. But it’s something, because it’s the first real proof that there is a way out of here. It has me perking up, a flutter settling in my stomach at what this might mean.

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t hear his approaching footsteps until they stop right behind me. He clears his throat, but doesn’t speak when I turn around to face him. The way that he looks at me makes my stomach turn, and I take a few careful steps away from him. Why does that pull fail me whenever I need it the most?

His eyes light up with the gleam of a predator spotting prey, his magic hanging thick in the air around us. My body trembles and, before a single coherent thought can form in my mind, I turn and run. I barely make it five feet before his hand grabs my wrist. His hold on me is so strong and tight that it feels as if he’s going to break the bone.

“I told you that you’re mine,” he hisses.

He did tell me that, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to accept it.

“Aqlo adohi salman teloch.” The words slip from my mouth before my mind is able to fully catch up.

It’s a simple spell, really, especially against him. It forms rings around the tips of his fingers and strips the skin right off the hand that is clasped around my wrist. It’s just enough to make him yank his hand back. I pull away, running fast and far.

My breathing is erratic, and my heart beats wildly in my chest as I sprint away. I’m already cursing myself for not stripping off all of his skin. My own thoughts are screaming at me with such force that I don’t hear the spell that he casts. It only misses me by a stroke of pure luck and completely pulverizes the tree right next to me. The force of it startles me and almost knocks me off my feet. It takes all that I have to keep my footing, to keep running.

Hastily, I put up a protection around me, only to see it immediately shatter from another one of his attacks. He casts his spells so fast and so intensely that I have a hard time keeping up. He was definitely holding back before. I’m dead if one of those touches me.

Fear clutches at me, and sweat trickles down my back as I run, hastily weaving protection after protection. It’s only a matter of time until I’m not fast enough. My half-finished protection ends up backfiring upon collision with his attack. It goes straight for my left arm, and I clench my jaw in an attempt to bite back the pain.

My arm goes numb, and I’m too terrified at this point to look at it. It's a blessing that this is all the spell did; I could just as well have lost the whole arm altogether. Zigzagging between the trees, I manage to avoid a few more spells. I’m unable to catch my breath for a single moment, and the exertion is starting to make me dizzy.

I know it won’t be long before he gets bored of playing around and decides to go in for the kill. Because there is no doubt in my mind that that’s what he’s doing—playing with his food like a cat playing with a mouse. And I stupidly made the mistake of running away, as if I don’t know that running from a predator is a bad idea at any given time.

Lifting my right arm, I draw my magic to my nails and extend them into razor-sharp, ice-blue claws. With a single swift flick of a finger, I manage to open up my wrist, memories flooding my mind at the sight of it. Retracting my claws, I frantically push them back down. A full-blown panic attack is the last thing that I need right now.

Blood flows profusely, dripping over my arm and down into the grass. All the while I keep running, getting closer and closer to safety. Or, at least, that’s what I’m hoping. I don’t know if there is anywhere here that I’ll truly be safe from him.

My right arm starts to feel numb from the blood loss, urging me on. I raise it and cast my spell, praying that my current defense will hold out long enough. My effort will be in vain if it doesn’t.

“Aai grosb cnila pasb oiad teloah.”

The circle flickers in ice blue and bloodred. When it spins toward him, I already know that it isn’t enough. Sure, it knocks the wind out of him and shatters one of his legs, but the last of my strength leaves me at the same time. Meaning that I have to focus all that I have left on running. No more looking back and casting spells. Just running and hoping that his leg is damaged enough to buy me the time that I need to drag myself to the library.

His cold laugh sounds behind me. He enjoys the chase, how I desperately try to put up a fight. That’s how I know that I’ve already lost.

Opening the doors to the library, a black shadow approaches me from the corner of my left eye. He’s already caught up with me, and I have no plan whatsoever. I can’t keep fighting him off; I’m simply not strong enough.

Two steps over the threshold of the library, his hand closes around my neck. “Got you,” he purrs in my ear.

Naturally, I do the first thing that comes to mind, kicking against his injured leg. He growls and lets go of me for a split second. That’s all I need to break free from his grip. Unfortunately, he recovers quickly and pushes me with such force that I fall right into one of the bookcases. I smack my head against the wood and go down, instinctively using my right arm to break my fall. Which it does, but it also rips open the cut on my wrist further, spilling blood all over myself and the hardwood floor. My left arm is still a useless piece of bone and flesh, and my right arm has now become equally as useless. It takes a lot of willpower and rapidly fading strength in my legs to hoist myself back up. I lean heavily against the bookcase, my breathing labored as I smear even more blood everywhere my arm touches. I grit my teeth against the pain, against my body that tries to give out on me.

His hand is around my neck again before I manage to do anything else. His grip is firmer this time, determined not to let go of me. He lifts me up by the neck, my feet leaving the floor, and slams me face-first against the nearest desk, breaking my nose. The intense pain makes me see stars. Darkness lurks in the corners of my eyes, ready to take me into its embrace.

With one hand still on my neck, his other pulls my right arm behind my back while he keeps me pinned to the wooden tabletop of the desk. Despite all the pain that I’m already in, I still feel his finger as the digit digs into the cut on my wrist. He smears my blood around my neck, lifting up my head to do so, after which he unceremoniously drops it back onto the desk. I black out for a fraction of a second, pain ringing in my ears from what has to be a concussion at this point. My vision starts to blur again and, from the corner of my eye, I faintly see him lick my blood from his finger.

He casts a spell, his voice nothing but a cold whisper. “Grosb ialpurg lu i pamis adrpan bliors.”

My blood heats up against my skin, and my neck is pinned down to the desk. It acts like a collar that keeps me in my place. He has the audacity to use my own blood against me in a binding spell, the asshole.

My hands are still free, and I claw at him with my right, my nails making contact. He sucks in a breath when my nails rip his skin. Then he chuckles and grabs me by my wrists, snapping my arms against my back.

“Fight me. Fight me as hard as you can,” he encourages.

I snarl and kick at him in response. He uses my movements to swiftly place himself between my legs. He pulls my arms back even harder, straining my neck against the binding spell that holds me down. He then proceeds to use the same spell to lock my hands so that he can use his own freely.

His eyes roam over my back as I lie there defenseless against him. So much pain courses through me that I almost start to feel numb to it. Blood drips from my broken nose, pooling under my face. With every drop that drips from any given wound, I come to realize more and more that my heart rate is starting to spike for a completely different reason. One that I don’t like and don’t want, but can’t deny, nonetheless.

His hands finally let go of my wrists and slowly slide down my back to my legs, then under the skirt of my dress. His fingers lazily caress the insides of my thighs. “You like it rough, love.”

Not a question, but a statement. The added endearment definitely rubs me the wrong way. Even more so because he isn’t wrong. Not completely.

“Get lost,” I spit, refusing to let him notice that his touch affects me. That his statement holds more truth than I would like to admit.

He just laughs at my remark, utterly unimpressed. “You should be more honest with yourself,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my whole body trembling in fear of what’s undoubtedly about to come next.

“Please, please don’t.” My voice is so quiet that I’m not sure whether he heard me or not.

To my surprise, he steps away from me, and my body instantly misses the heat of his. My eyes fly open, blinking rapidly. I try to look at him over my shoulder, but the constraints are so tight that it’s impossible.

“What—”

“Everything can be a weakness, even your own blood,” he says behind me. “Anticipate and make sure that, next time, you have a way out.”

He tightens the bindings, and a pained groan leaves me. I start to feel dizzy, the blood loss finally catching up with me. My vision blurs and I taste blood in my mouth, not sure where it even comes from.

I blink again, sluggishly, faintly aware of a hand moving on my skin, and then I fade away.

O pening my eyes, my chest constricts painfully when I notice that I’m not lying in my own bed. A rush of heat sweeps through me upon recognizing the dark bedroom as his.

“You couldn’t stay unconscious for another minute, could you?” He glares at me from where he sits next to me, bandaging my badly wounded left arm.

Choosing to ignore him, I take a tentative look around the place. The only light in the room comes from a candelabra that holds three candles and is placed on the bedside table. The small flickering lights prevent me from clearly seeing the look on his face. I do notice that his arm is bandaged, as well as the leg that I injured. Part of me is proud that I managed to do so, even though it hasn’t really been hindering him.

“You should worry more about yourself,” he says. His yellow eyes pierce my own when they meet, and I avert my gaze.

I look at my right wrist, which is also tightly wrapped up, while he finishes up on my arm. My nose seems fine, as non-magic-related injuries heal considerably faster. I could tell him that I have a healing spell that makes even magically inflicted wounds heal like regular ones. But to hell with that; let him patch up the damage that he’s responsible for.

I continue to scan the room while he silently tends to me. Wrought-iron floor candelabras like the ones in the red room are scattered around, candles burning in them and providing enough light to make out the rest of the room.

Looking around, I have a feeling that the walls are the same burnt umber as they are everywhere in this place, with dark-brown wooden skirting boards and that same matching hardwood floor. The bed that I’m lying in is a large four-poster in the same wood, with black sheets, soft and fluffy, underneath me.

In front of the bed, on the other side of the room, is a sitting area with comfortable-looking sofas and a coffee table, all in dark-brown wood and black fabric. A large part of the floor on that side of the room is covered with a thick black rug with bloodred markings on it.

On my right is a large built-in closet in the wall. Next to it, in the far corner, is the door that leads to the hallway. On the left, behind where he sits, I spot a fireplace that currently isn’t being used. The same wall holds a door that I know leads to a bathroom.

“Looks like you’re getting stronger.” His voice breaks through the silence, his words catching me off guard.

My eyes snap back to him and then quickly drift off again when I find that I’m not sure how to reply to his remark. Earlier, I desperately tried to defend myself and failed, so I don’t really see how I’m getting stronger. I feel myself deflating a bit, his words taking some of the tension that still lingered inside me.

Throwing a glance at him from the corner of my left eye, I clearly see his bloodred skin. To my own surprise, I find myself mostly curious about it.

He chuckles, his eyes lighting up when he catches me looking at him. “Your eye sees right through my glamor, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” There is no denying it, and I’m not going to lie about it either—he would know.

“I suspected as much, but she would never tell me.”

I look up at him and close my right eye so that I’m seeing him only through the left one. The vision is blurry, his glamor clearly stronger than whatever makes this eye see through it, but there is no denying that his skin is bloodred. “This is what you really look like?”

“It is now.”

There’s more there, but I don’t dare to ask. “Why hide behind a glamor? I didn’t take you for someone vain.”

He laughs at this and, for the first time, it almost sounds genuine. “Because it gives too much away. ”

“Did Sophia ever… see?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the first of them, taking into consideration that Isra probably thought she was going mad.” He regards me for a moment.

“If you think that you can handle it,” he adds unexpectedly, “then I’ll release the glamor.”

My heart misses a beat at this, and a strange kind of heat creeps up in my chest. There is no hesitation in me when I nod.

He looks me over, something akin to approval in his eyes. There’s a flicker of black magic, and the glamor melts away.

The next moment, both of my eyes see him for who he really is, with his skin the color of blood. My breath catches at the sight of it. A thousand and one different thoughts run through my mind, only one truly sticking out from the rest of them: No, not nearly as unsettling as I initially thought.

“Looks like you can.” He smiles and, for a moment, it makes him look like a completely different person. He seems… relieved?

“You might just be…” His voice trails off, and then he’s on the bed next to me, kissing me.

My eyes widen in surprise, and I struggle to get away from him. Even though it’s a soft and sweet kiss, I don’t want it.

I struggle, and he fists my hair and forcefully pulls my head back in response. The pain makes me gasp, and his tongue slips inside my mouth. I try to push him off of me as his grip grows even tighter and more painful, but I can’t get him to budge; he’s too strong. And I’m too weak, always too weak.

Not knowing what to do, I bite down on his tongue. He doesn’t flinch, not even when I taste his blood in my mouth. His lips linger a moment longer before he breaks the kiss. He shifts his body away from mine, and the look he gives me while doing so isn’t one I expect. His eyes glow with something that looks akin to approval, perhaps even a sliver of respect.

“You’ve got some bite to you after all,” he says with a smirk, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His tongue darts out to lick it away, and a gasp catches in my throat.

He gets up from the bed and I let out a quiet exhale, my head falling back in the soft pillow. I briefly close my eyes, his voice reaching me from across the room.

“Rest, love. You need it.”

I swallow and nod, not even trying to open my eyes again. There’s only one thing, one thought, that still manages to pop into my head: What if this is all just a test?