Death sent Reapers to collect the dead and the dying. I’d never seen a Reaper, but then I’d never been dying. Battlefields supposedly swarmed with them.

It flowed over us, and around us—but not through us. We were the living.

A Reaper sought the dead.

I swallowed. “Vegard?”

“I know.” His voice was the barest whisper.

“Where?”

“All around us.”

Not the answer I wanted. One of the elves shifted, ready to run, his terror a tangible thing in the dark. Another elf’s teeth chattered with cold, fear, or both.

“Don’t run.” Vegard’s voice was low and commanding.

“Don’t even move. It will pass us by. It hunts not for us.” His words were oddly formal and awed. As a Guardian, Vegard would have done more than his share of time on battlefields. No doubt he’d seen Reapers in action.

It touched me. My breath caught in my throat, my heart faltered. The soothing and eternal cold that flowed over me was death in its purest form. It was the complete absence of life, that which drew the souls of the wandering dead into itself.

Like the souls in the Saghred.

Please, no.

I was the reason the Reaper had come.

Thousands of disembodied souls, not truly alive, not entirely dead. With the Saghred’s containments gone, those souls had become shining beacons, irresistible lures. The Reaper’s coils wrapped themselves around me, soft and soothing, welcoming and entreating. Seeking the source of those thousands, the wellspring from which it could draw them.

I was that wellspring. I was the bond servant. Souls could pass through me to the Saghred, so souls could pass out of me into the Reaper—and my own soul would be taken with them.

I was the vessel that Death had sent one of his own to empty. The Reaper wasn’t evil, it simply was. And it had a job to do, and that job was me.

Vegard realized the danger. I heard him move, felt his fear for me.

“Stay back,” I said quickly, my voice thin.

The Saghred knew what to do, and I did it without hesitation. It didn’t want to give up its souls—and I wasn’t giving up mine. I wrapped my arms tightly around my ribs and closed in upon myself, drawing every shred of my will, my essence, vibrant and burning with life, to encase myself in living armor. Life so strong that Death itself couldn’t penetrate it.

The coils of soul-numbing cold hesitated, then renewed their efforts. Insistent, probing, looking of a weakness.

And finding none.

My defiance wasn’t entirely my own. The Saghred’s power helped me block every touch, every seductive entreaty. A Reaper could quell magic, but right now the Saghred wasn’t magic. It was life. Imprisoned and tormented souls, but still alive. The stone had always existed beyond Death’s clutches, and a flash of insight told me that this was not Death’s first attempt to claim those it considered its own by right, a right that had been repeatedly denied.

The Saghred had shaken off its bonds this morning, and now Death had sent a Reaper to try to collect. Again.

“No!”

I screamed, terrified and defiant—and in smothered silence. My silent scream tore the coils that were weaving their way around me like a shroud. Death had been denied before, and it was not going to win now. My scream turned into a snarl as I held on to my life and clutched my soul; that single, screamed word channeling my rage into a white-hot fury. The Saghred had torn me from my home and turned my family and friends into targets for madmen. Mages and kings wanted my power and my freedom.

Now Death wanted my life.

“No!”

The coils loosened, the pressure became less.

“No.”

I said it quietly into the darkness, then repeated it with confidence.

The cold receded. The Reaper was gone.

It would come back.

I took one breath, then another, drew warm air into my lungs. Air that smelled of earth, and water, and life. My life, Phaelan’s and Vegard’s, and the men with us.

We were alive.

Vegard’s lightglobe flickered to life. Phaelan lit a torch.

“Is it gone?” Galen whispered.

“For now,” Vegard said, his eyes on mine.

Death was eternal; it would always be back. Vegard and I knew what had almost happened; Phaelan and his father’s men didn’t need to.

“What the hell was that?” Phaelan directed his question at me. I wasn’t going to answer him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

My throat was bone-dry. I reached for the water skin at my belt; Vegard passed me his flask.

“You take what you need, ma’am.” His voice was quiet. His eyes awed.

I did.

I swallowed and the whiskey burned its way down. “Galen, get us to Sirens.”

Chapter 10

For the rest of the way to Sirens, that tunnel was bright as day. We used every light we could strike from flint or summon from magic to keep the darkness and any creature lurking there where they belonged—away from us.

When the Reaper came back for me—and there was no doubt in my mind that would happen—he, it, or whatever wouldn’t be alone. There would be more. And when they came, what I had done this time wouldn’t be enough. The Saghred and I probably didn’t run that Reaper off; its job must have been to find me. Mission accomplished. Death must be thrilled.

“Raine!”

Any hand that wasn’t white-knuckled around a torch drew steel.

I knew that voice, but I still had a dagger in my hand, and part of me was tempted to use it. The other part wanted to run to the tall and lean goblin standing on the edge of our light.

Regardless of whether I decided to stab or hug Tamnais Nathrach, he had a lot of explaining to do. But from the way he was garbed and armed, he was expecting more trouble than me to show up on his doorstep.

He was in black leather armor from head to toe, including boots that came up to mid-thigh. I saw a few blades on him, but with Tam there were always more that you couldn’t see. The last time I’d seen him his hair had been pulled back in a long, goblin battle braid. Today his hair was loose, falling in a dark, silken curtain over his shoulders and down to the middle of his back.

Tam was silvery skinned, black eyed, and wicked sexy.

Beyond Tam was the open door to Sirens’ basement. Standing just behind him were a pair of goblins I recognized. Tam called them friends and colleagues; our family would have called them high-priced, out-of-town talent. They were dark mages, they were powerful, and dirty was the only way they knew how to fight. I had to hand it to Tam; he knew how to pick good backup.

Tam stopped just beyond the glare of our lights, his dark eyes alert to any movement that wasn’t us. “Inside. Quickly.”

We didn’t have to be invited twice.

I kept my mouth shut all the way upstairs to Tam’s apartment above the theatre stage. I thought my restraint was nothing short of miraculous.

Tam walked in front of me, which gave me ample opportunity to stare daggers into his back—and to be reminded once again that Tam Nathrach had a great ass. Yes, I’d almost had my soul sucked out by one of Death’s minions, but some things a woman just couldn’t ignore. Tam was manipulative, secretive, and you couldn’t get a straight answer even if you choked it out of him—but his leather-clad posterior was without peer.

Tam spoke without turning. “Enjoying the view?”

I put a whole winter’s worth of frost into my voice. “It’s the first thing I’ve appreciated all day.” I didn’t appreciate being attacked, used, or threatened—and I despised being terrified.

All of the above pissed me off in ways that I couldn’t even begin to describe. Though when we reached the top of those stairs, I was going to give it a damned fine shot.

Vegard and Phaelan were going to wait on the landing below, and Uncle Ryn’s six crewmen were standing guard at the foot of the stairs in the theatre. The moment we’d stepped across Sirens’ threshold, Vegard expanded his job description to include chaperone. Mychael didn’t want Tam and I in the same room. I understood his concern, but I needed to talk to Tam alone. I had some questions for him that I didn’t want Vegard—but especially Mychael—to know the answers to yet. Vegard stayed on the landing, but he didn’t like it.

I almost told him that Tam and I didn’t need a chaperone, regardless of our umi’atsu bond, but I’d have been lying through my teeth. Tam and I have always needed a chaperone. He was a not-quite-recovered dark mage. Thanks to the Saghred, I was a dark mage magnet. The two of us were an apocalyptic, magical kaboom waiting to happen.

I’ve never been one for small talk, so when Tam closed the door behind us, that was my signal.

“When were you going to tell me?” I demanded.

Tam stopped and turned, and from his baffled expression, he honestly had no idea what I was talking about.

I was only too happy to enlighten him. I was still shaking from that Reaper wrapping itself around me, and all that rage and fear needed an outlet. “What we did with that Volghul, what we could probably do to any demon anytime or anywhere thanks to a certain umi’atsu bond—when were you going to tell me about that?”

Tam was silent for a moment. “Until this morning I didn’t know what we had was an umi’atsu bond.”

“But you knew it could happen.” I didn’t ask it as a question.

“I knew it was possible,” he said quietly.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

Tam’s black eyes locked on mine. “When I saw that Volghul through your eyes, I knew a Hellgate was open on this island, and I knew how much danger you and the boys were in. At that point, I had more important things to do than—”

I stiffened. “What else have you seen through me?”

“Nothing. I knew we had a link since that night under the elven embassy, but I didn’t know it was an umi’atsu bond until that Volghul showed up. Your fear for those students, for Piaras . . .” Tam stopped, and his jaw tightened. “And for Talon—was so strong that I felt it with you. Then I could see it. A connection that strong and clear could only happen with an umi’atsu bond. Once I realized what we had, I knew I could work through you to take down that Volghul.”