Bound

Chapter 28

"No more interruptions," Simon ordered. With a feather-light stroke, he brushed his fingers across Dean's shoulder just as he turned to attack. Dean's entire body went limp in response. He buckled sideways, crumpling to the floor where his head cracked off the hard wooden surface.

Simon rested the tip of his boot against Dean's cheek. He nudged his head back, angling it to where he'd slung Nyah to the chair. "Best seat in the house. Considerate of me, no?"

From his prone position, Dean could finally see a thin strip of Nyah's face. Her eyes were shut, blood smeared her cheek, and as his focus raced over her slumped body for signs of injuries, he realised the jeans and sweater she'd worn earlier had been replaced. Rage burned as he took in the pale blue dress. The mere thought of Northfell touching her made his breath rush through gritted teeth, and when his attention landed on the thick rope binding her bruised feet, the force of his rage sent spittle flying onto his chin.

Northfell chuckled at his distress.

Beyond the knotted rope, Dean saw markings on the floor. Nyah's chair sat in the centre of a pentagram. Close beside it, a short distance from his paralysed feet, another pentagram had been daubed onto the boards. A female body lay in a rumpled heap in its centre. It wasn't hard to guess considerable amounts of fluid had been used to draw the pentagrams, and the lingering scent of lycan blood made him want to shudder. Slowly but surely, the horrors of what had been forced upon Michael and Blake became more apparent.

Simon's booted tread interrupted Dean's growing revulsion. He strolled closer, purposefully grinding the immobile fingers of Dean's right hand under his heel. Pain flared, but the cry died in Dean's throat, a hissing breath the only sound his useless body could release.

An angry tide tore in and out of his nose as he followed Simon's movements. From his skewed viewpoint, he watched him set two items set beside the outer ring of the pentagram opposite Nyah; an ornate knife with a curved blade and a simple metal chalice.

"Time for the guest of honour," Simon announced, lifting a book from a table. "And he's a handful," he smirked, clearing his throat with a reverent cough before bowing his head to read.

The guttural-sounding words were meaningless to Dean as he stared around. He couldn't let this happen. This was the part where Northfell summoned a demon. Begging his legs to obey the order to move, he glanced down at his limp limbs, the veins in his face bulging as he strained to incite a tiny movement from any part of his body. Nyah's as good as dead, he yelled at his pathetic form. Move! Get up!

A choking stench of sulphur overrode the stink of lycan blood. Dean's struggle against the paralysing spell came to a halt as a watery green fog unfolded inside the circle. It swirled around the still body, curious coils prodding for attention as it swelled.

From somewhere deeper than the foundations beneath them, something else rose too, the vibrations of its approach thundering ominously. Dean's head rattled against the floor, but despite his juddering vision, could clearly see the snaking mist had intensified enough to envelop the crumpled figure. When the quaking dropped off, he watched in dread as the figure stirred. In a single motion of fluid elegance, it rose to full height as if tugged upright on strings.

"Yes?"

Distorted beyond anything human-sounding, the throat of the red-haired girl worked as her head turned to face Simon. It sounded as if the single, nettled utterance was comprised of two voices; the young woman's own natural voice and that of what Dean could only guess belonged to the demon possessing her body.

"Yannek." Simon tipped his head half-heartedly. "Welcome."

The girl lifted her nose towards Simon and sniffed at the air.