Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,47

his attention her way.

With a wrench, he pulled his consciousness partway free. While his mortal body continued to bow over the spell, reading off the words with careful precision, his spirit-self looked up into her face. Such a strange face. Such a strange, beautiful, terrible face. Every feature so exquisitely sculpted from twining vines and silken rose petals that one could almost mistake it for the real thing. For Helenia as he had known her years ago.

She smiled at him. And that smile was so familiar it cut him to the quick.

I see I have your attention.

“What do you know, Helenia?” Soran demanded, impatient and abrupt.

La, what a ruffian! Is this the gentlemanly Soran Silveri, son of the Lord of Roseward? She leaned over him, the vines that formed her body twisting and twining with every move she made. The dark pits that were her eyes gazed into him, beckoning and deep. She fluttered rose-petal eyelids. But then, I always liked this ungentlemanly side of you so much the better. I liked the Soran who could make me cry out in fear as well as ecstasy. I liked—

“Enough of this,” Soran snarled. His mortal body halted over the spell, the words suspended on his lips while his spirit-hand lashed out and caught her by the throat. “What do you know? Tell me now.”

A slow smile spread across her face. Tendril vines grew from her shoulders and wrapped around his hand and wrist, coiling up his arm. Soran squeezed, threatening to break the stems making up her neck. Thorns broke against the nilarium coating of his hand.

Kyriakos, the Thorn Maiden purred.

Soran set his jaw, squeezing harder. “What do you know?” he demanded again, grinding the words through his teeth.

I know what you know, my love. I know the fears spinning through your mind, the nightmares in the shadows of your soul.

She leaned toward him. More briars crawled up from the ground, wrapping up the legs of his chair, winding around his knees, around his waist.

Word must have reached Kyriakos by now. He will have heard rumor of Hybrid magic close by. He is coming—

With a strangled roar, Soran’s spirit lurched out from his body, dragging the Thorn Maiden with him. While his mortal self hunched over the Rose Book, his true self, his soul-self, tore the briars and branches in half, ripped them into handfuls of roses, and scattered them on the floor. But each time, the Thorn Maiden reformed, recreated her womanly shape, seductive and vindictive, her arms always reaching out to enfold him.

He couldn’t fall for her games. He couldn’t let himself be distracted. It was too easy, too natural to surrender to his violent instincts, to throw himself into this savagery. But that wasn’t the way to beat the Thorn Maiden.

He had fought this battle too many times to give in now.

Soran jerked his head roughly, pulling himself upright at the desk. The images and sensations of the spirit realm faded into the depths of his mind. He still felt the vines wrapped around his body, the thorns gouging into his skin. But he knew them for what they were: dreams, nightmares. Not part of this mortal reality.

She hadn’t escaped her bindings. Yet.

With an effort Soran refocused his eyes, his mind. The words took shape, the magic spilling from the pages of the spellbook. He worked them with expert care, reaffirming the restraints, the chains.

Slowly the slithering vines retreated, creeping out of his mind and back into the nightmare realm where they belonged. But the Thorn Maiden’s voice lingered long, whispering in his ear:

Kyriakos is coming. He’s coming for her. He’ll be on your shores tomorrow . . .

Nelle slept badly that night.

She always knew when the Thorn Maiden gave Mage Silveri a particularly difficult battle. On those nights, Nelle sensed her presence as well—a dark, shivering nearness that crept into the edges of her dreams. The subtle tap, tap, tap at the door, eager for admittance but unable to barge through.

Every hour or so, Nelle woke with her heart in her throat, sat up in her bed, and stared across the chamber at the door. But the instant her eyes opened and consciousness returned, the presence vanished. Which meant Silveri was winning his battle. As long as he reaffirmed the binding spell, the Thorn Maiden could not manifest in physical form.

The sixth time she woke, Nelle didn’t bother lying down again to sleep. It was still dark outside, but when she peered out the window, she saw