could make contact, the rope went taut, and his hands curled into fists. Another slew of Trienian curses coming from his lips.
Quinn stepped back.
“I’ve never heard of a Maji that could do this,” Quinn said softly.
Thorne removed his cloak and extended it toward her. She wasn’t cold, at least not from the weather, but she took it anyway and tired it around her naked shoulders.
“This was no Maji,” Thorne said solemnly.
Quinn lifted a brow. “No?”
It only took one look at him to know that Thorne was very much aware of what they faced.
“This is blood magic,” he said. “Of the darkest kind. Only our most ancient of incantations and spells even hint at power to this degree.”
The creature pulled at its bindings again, but the six of them held true. With her and Thorne here as well, it was contained.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” the Cisean leader said, never lifting his own red eyes from the creature. “But I think the men might be right. Whatever this is, we don’t understand it. Death would be kinder, Quinn. It’s what Vaughn would want.”
“I don’t believe death will kill it,” Quinn said. “Which means killing him would be for nothing, and it would likely enter someone else. It knows that without something to cling to, I can kill it.”
Thorne mulled it over. His thick fingers trailing over his braided red beard. His expression was torn because there was no right answer.
Their moments of indecision were a mistake.
The creature within him seemed to sense that its future was being debated, even if he couldn’t understand the words. His arms and legs went slack, granting the rope just enough give before he dove to one direction.
The Ciseans weren’t expecting it when he rolled sideways. The rope got tangled and several men lost their footing. He dragged the closest one down beside him and wound one of the ropes around the man’s neck.
Both Quinn and Thorne sprang forward, but it was too late.
Vaughn bit into the man’s flesh, tearing a chunk from where his shoulder and throat met. Blood poured from the wound as he tossed him aside and backed up.
It was hard to tell where he looked exactly when his eyes were solid black, but when his head turned a fraction and Quinn followed his line of sight . . .
There, standing in front of a discarded halberd, was the boy.
The soul eater child.
The demon lunged, for the weapon or the kid, Quinn wasn’t sure, but she followed after him.
Her hand grasped one of the ropes still tied to his wrist. She pulled it taut, and his body jerked to a stop. Her shoulder protested the motion, and Quinn wound the rope around her wrist, pulling tighter. He wheeled around, and she was ready to strike.
She was prepared to end this if she truly had to, though she would do as much as she could to avoid that.
But in all her calculations of what to do, it never occurred to her that the boy would reach out. That he hadn’t come because he was scared, but because he was drawn.
“Nobody hurts Quinn,” he said.
And for all her great power . . .
For all that she could do and be and destroy, she wasn’t able to stop him.
Vaughn’s eyes went black, turning green once more, a glassy sheen covering them. His knees buckled. He stopped pulling.
Quinn’s lips parted. The word “no” not coming out even as she screamed it inside her mind, unable to see past her own horror.
Vaughn was dead.
His soul, and the beast that corrupted him, had found a new master.
The corpse fell to the ground. Unmoving. Behind him, the little boy stood there, pale blue eyes narrowed on it. Beneath his skin shadows swirled. She knew that her friend was there, and fury rose within.
Quinn lifted her hand, red clouding her vision—
Warm, calloused fingers closed around her wrist.
“Don’t,” Thorne said, and as fast as her rage came to her, it drained away.
She turned to him, and he dropped her hand, stepping away. His red eyes flared brighter. His expression turned stoic, leaning on the verge of losing control.
“You stole my rage,” she said.
“You would have killed him,” Thorne said through gritted teeth. “The boy cannot help what he is any more than you can. He does not understand what he’s done. He sought to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection,” Quinn said.
“No, but in the mind of a child that clearly cares for you—you did.” Thorne closed his eyes, and Quinn let him