Runebinder

“I...”

But there wasn’t anything else for him to say. He hadn’t tried to save them. He hadn’t wanted to save them. Something else had taken control.

She sighed and walked over to the edge of the roof.

“Derrick is an asshole,” she said. She glanced at Tenn. “And I think he’s scared of you.”

He frowned. “What?”

She didn’t look at him, just kept staring out at the shifting rain and shadows.

“Everyone felt it. That much power... Hell, I was there, and even I don’t believe it.” She paused, took a breath. “It should have killed you.”

“I know.”

“What did it feel like?”

It wasn’t the question he expected.

“Honestly...it was terrible. I’ve never felt so much pain.”

She nodded to herself.

“Fire can be like that, sometimes. It burns through you. But it feels good, in a way. All that pain makes you feel alive. Even if it does nearly kill you.”

“Yeah.”

Except it wasn’t like that. Not really. Fire was about rage. Water just felt like drowning in misery. And delighting in it.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. Again, not the question he expected.

“Yeah.” His stomach rumbled with the thought. Derrick had sent him up here immediately after their meeting, and Earth was still ravenous. “Starving.”

“I’ll grab you something from the storeroom. I think they have Twinkies down there.”

She walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

He wanted to ask her something, anything. He wanted to talk, to have someone help him understand how the impossible had happened. Instead, he stayed silent. He knew she wouldn’t have any answers, and he didn’t want her thinking he was crazy as well as dangerous.

She left, the roof door slamming loudly behind her, and he went back to his watch.

It was nearly impossible to see anything in the darkness, but he was out here to sense more than see. Necromancers would use magic to lead the Howls in their army. Most turned to the Goddess of Death for power or immortality, to be on the winning side of this constant battle. There really wasn’t a middle ground—either you used magic to fight the Howls, or you used magic to create them.

Tenn figured they were all insane. The Dark Lady was just a myth. The trouble was that the necromancers took the idea of her seriously. Their cult was what had caused the Resurrection—the day the first Howl was created. Tenn never quite understood the event’s name—Resurrection—since Howls could only be created from the living.

Really, it didn’t matter if She was real or not. Her followers were dangerous either way.

Footsteps sloshed through the puddles behind him. He didn’t turn around, assuming Katherine had taken the stairs at a run.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it, Tenn?”

It wasn’t Katherine. It wasn’t any voice he knew.

He spun around, staff raised and ready.

The man in front of him was a stranger. Despite the freezing rain, he wore dark jeans and a thin white shirt unbuttoned to his waist. The fabric clung to his body like some romance-cover model, accentuating his perfectly chiseled chest and stomach, his smooth olive skin. Chin-length black hair hung in loose waves and twined over his ears. Everything about the man screamed sex and desire and danger, from his broad shoulders to his low-slung jeans. Even his copper eyes glinted seduction. Tenn’s heart raced, but whether from fear or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

“Who are you?” Tenn asked. He took a half step back, then realized he was already too close to the edge. Thunder rolled overhead; he could barely hear it over the thunder in his own blood. “How did you get up here?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side, the smile never slipping, as though he were examining a plaything. Or a tasty appetizer.

“How civil.” He ran a hand through his hair, and even that movement seemed perfectly executed. His voice was low and husky, a bedroom murmur. “He asks not what, but who.”

In the blink of an eye, he stood an inch before Tenn, his face so close their lips nearly touched. Copper irises filled Tenn’s vision. The guy’s heat sent sweat dripping down his skin.

“My name, young Tenn, is Tomás.” His voice made Tenn’s heart beat with lust.

The name rang a bell Tenn didn’t want to recognize, a tone tolling destruction. He knew he should push the stranger away, should use the staff lodged between them to force a retreat, but he couldn’t budge. Tomás was still as stone and just as immovable. He burned like a radiator; rain hissed and steamed, and Tenn’s skin seared with the nearness. The heat. He should push him away. But the heat...the heat...it made him want to draw Tomás closer.

Something clicked in the far corners of his mind, and Tenn knew precisely what he was facing and just how screwed he was.

“Incubus,” Tenn hissed through clenched teeth.

Tomás’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?” The words dripped venom.

The copper eyes. The heat. The perfect seduction. Tomás was a Howl birthed from the Sphere of Fire, a demon craving human warmth. And like all incubi and succubi—their female counterparts—they preferred feeding through more lascivious acts.

“You’re...an incubus.” Even before the words left his lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Tomás’s eyes sparked red.

“Incubus?” His composure cracked. Model became monster, and Tenn’s desire turned to fear. “You dare call me incubus? Monster? Demon?” Tomás grabbed a fistful of Tenn’s hair and yanked his head back. Where Tomás’s flesh touched his, Tenn’s skin turned to ice.

“I am more than any incubus, little mouse,” Tomás whispered. His lips just brushed the nape of Tenn’s neck, sending ice and flame across his skin. “And you would do well to remember this.”

He let go, and Tenn stumbled, nearly careening off the roof’s edge. When he steadied himself, Tomás was a step back, hands clasped behind him and an insidious smile slashed across his perfect face.

“The army is coming,” he said. His words were calm, and a frightening juxtaposition to the rage that seemed to lurk within. “They will be here before dawn. You cannot stop them. If I were you—and I’m most assuredly grateful I am not—I would be gone before they arrive.”

Tenn tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized just how fast his heart was pounding, just how much he wanted to run. But whether he wanted to run away from or toward Tomás, he couldn’t tell. Fucking incubus. They were renowned for their ability to draw desire from their victims. He couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

Howls didn’t reason. They didn’t talk or tell you their names. Howls killed. The fact that Tomás didn’t follow any of these rules scared the shit out of Tenn.

Again, Tomás’s head cocked to the side. The grin didn’t slip and, for a moment, he just stood there, considering, as rain dripped down his delectably disheveled hair. Tenn kept his focus on the man’s eyes; he couldn’t be trusted to let them wander anywhere else. It already took all of his concentration to keep his thoughts focused, to not imagine what the man would look like naked, or how they would feel pressed against each other.

His pulse doubled every time he considered it.

“Because,” Tomás finally said, “my sister, Leanna, has an interest in you. And what she desires, I, too, covet.”

That name rang a bell, this one louder than the first. Leanna was the Kin who controlled America. The one who ran the Farms and dictated where the necromancers attacked. For many, she was an embodiment of the Dark Lady herself.

Tomás’s name clicked into place.

Tomás was also one of the Kin, one of the six most powerful Howls in the world—the direct descendants or creations of the Dark Lady. They were the ones who ran the world now; the monsters who had humanity under their thumbs. Tenn’s eyes widened.

“Bingo,” Tomás said. “Tell the boy what he’s won.”

“What the hell?” Katherine yelled. The roof door slammed shut.

Tenn looked past Tomás at Katherine, who was holding a covered plate. The next moment, Tomás was beside her, a single hand around her neck.

The plate fell to the ground and shattered.

“You will be inspired, I think, to tell others you have seen me.” Tomás didn’t raise his voice, but it still cut through the rain, as if aimed for Tenn’s ears alone. “Perhaps to warn them of my presence. Perhaps to try and save yourself. That would be a very bad decision.”

Tomás barely moved, but the crack that resonated said enough.

He let go, and Katherine crumpled to the roof, her neck crushed.

Tomás stepped forward, not even looking at Katherine. Tenn wanted to throw up. Bile twisted in his stomach, but with Tomás’s every step toward him, the sensation faded, replaced by a growing desire to pull the man closer, to tear the world down and bathe in blood and flame. Tenn forced down the imagery. Or tried to.

“I have marked you, Tenn. I will follow you everywhere you go. And if you so much as speak my name aloud—” he was now so close that Tenn’s skin burned “—I will kill everyone you tell. Slowly. In front of you. I will make you wish I let you die.”

He smiled sadistically. Tenn couldn’t take his eyes off Katherine’s limp body. Tomás had killed her, not by draining her heat, but by snapping her neck. He’d killed for the hell of it.

Until now, Tenn had thought Howls only killed for food.

“What do you want from me? Why?” Tenn’s voice shook, but it still carried. That was enough.

“I want you to do your job,” Tomás said. His grin widened. Any larger, and it would split his face. “A job you are proving more than capable of doing—killing the minions of the Dark Lady.”

Thunder crackled overhead. Tomás burst into giggles.

“Oh, She is watching. Yes, She is.” He looked up into the sky and raised his hands. “But what do I care, Mother? What do I care, when you are dead dead dead?” He hopped around when he said it. One rotation, and he snapped back to attention, calmly staring at Tenn with his head tilted to the side. “You will help me. But you cannot do that if you stay. Your friends cannot beat this army, Tenn. Not when the army is coming for you.”

Tenn opened his mouth to speak, heart thudding with Tomás’s final statement, but Tomás was there again, faster than lightning, faster than anything human. One hand gripped Tenn’s jaw. The other snaked behind his waist, pulling their hips close. Tenn couldn’t help the moan in the back of his throat. Tomás very clearly noticed.

“Run along, little mouse.” He bit Tenn’s lower lip. Fear and shock and desire pulsed through Tenn’s chest. When Tomás let go, it took all of Tenn’s control not to bite back. “Run before the monsters get here. I want to make sure you live long enough to play with.”

Then he was gone.

Tenn staggered at the sudden loss and fell to his knees. Once again, he couldn’t stop staring at Katherine’s body. He could no longer hear his thoughts in the drowning silence and rain. Gingerly, he touched his own neck, feeling Tomás’s handprint burning ice-hot. He hunched over and heaved.

He cowered there, curled over in the rain, his knuckles dug into the concrete.

He waited for Tomás to reappear.

He waited for Katherine to wake up, for it all to have been a dream.

He waited.

Katherine stayed dead.

The nightmare stayed reality.

And on the horizon, he felt a surge of power flare.

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR THE BRIEFEST moment, Tenn thought it was the enemy attacking.

There was no one else out there—at least, no one from his troop—that could use that much power. A power that was racing toward the outpost, strobing against the sky like lightning.

Tomás had barely been gone a minute and Katherine was dead and what the hell was going on that everything was falling to shit so quickly?

He jumped up and ran to the edge of the hotel, ready to send out a signal, ready to scream that they were under attack, when he realized the power was coming from the west. From Outer Chicago. And there was no way the enemy could be coming from there. Not when Outer Chicago was ringed with outposts like his to keep it safe.

Light flared as the door burst open, and Derrick ran up beside Tenn, followed by two younger recruits. Fire flickered to life all around the edge of the roof, casting garish shadows and splays of light over the crew. Whether the fire was for defense or a beacon or just from Derrick’s anger, Tenn wasn’t sure.

Derrick didn’t even look at Katherine’s body. He was too trained on the sky. The others, though, they lingered. Kneeled at her side. Tenn looked away.

They would say he did that, too. They would say he killed her to hide the evidence of his treason in the field.

“Commander...” Tenn began, not knowing what to say, but Derrick cut him short.

“They’re here,” Derrick muttered.

“The army, sir?” one of the recruits asked.

Derrick glared back at him.

“No, idiot. The fucking cavalry.”

That’s when Derrick noticed Katherine.

He turned back to Tenn. Tenn had seen his commander angry before, but never like this. Derrick’s jaw was tight, and full flames swirled around his hands and from the burning Sphere of Fire in his chest.

“What the hell have you done?” he seethed.

Tenn didn’t get the chance to answer.

Lightning flashed above them as a gust of wind buffeted the roof, sending Tenn to his knees.

He blinked away the afterglow, his ears ringing with thunder.

There were three of them—two guys and a girl—all in pale clothes and white trench coats, all emanating more power than Tenn had felt in his lifetime...save for what he’d wielded that afternoon.

The blond-haired guy stepped forward. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and his pale, angular face bore a dozen half-healed scars. Something about that face made Tenn’s heart flip, almost with recognition, but he was positive he’d never seen him before in his life. The man didn’t speak at first, his arms in front of his chest. He looked like he was assessing their value.

He looked like he didn’t enjoy what he saw.

“Outpost 37,” he said. “I’m Jarrett, captain commander of Outer Chicago. I’ve been sent here to handle the rest of this mission.” His eyes looked over all of them again. Maybe it was Tenn’s imagination, but they seemed to linger on him.

“And one of you has fucked up.”

* * *

“This is madness,” Derrick said, chasing behind Jarrett. Tenn and the others followed them down the steps. The other newcomers were silent, ghosting behind them all. Easy to forget, if not for the shivers they sent down Tenn’s spine every time their cold eyes raked over him.

“What do you expect when your orders are disobeyed so flagrantly?” Jarrett replied. He was taking the steps two at a time, his pale undercut glowing red in the light of Derrick’s angry fires.

Even with fear lodged in his gut—surely this would get him discharged or killed or worse—Tenn was mildly impressed that Jarrett knew the word flagrantly.

“This is my outpost and my troop. You can’t just waltz in here and—”

Jarrett stopped and spun, and before Derrick could blink, Jarrett had him pinned against the wall, one hand to Derrick’s chest and the other holding a dagger to Derrick’s neck.

“This outpost is owned and run by Outer Chicago,” Jarrett said. There wasn’t the slightest hint of emotion in his voice, which almost seemed worse than Derrick’s anger. “And that means we own and run you. You screwed up, commander. That is why we are here. So I suggest you take your cocky attitude and shove it somewhere dark and quiet, because the army is nearly here. And, quite frankly, I’m more than happy to throw you out there as bloodbait. I can promise you that Cassandra won’t give a damn if you’re gone.” He resheathed the dagger and patted the side of Derrick’s face, smiling. “Understood?”

He stepped back, turned and continued down the steps until they reached the bottom floor. Derrick seethed silently behind him, fires flickering in and out. Once in the lobby, Jarrett gestured to the strangers he brought with him.

“Devon, Dreya, go secure the perimeter. I want troops every hundred yards. Keep them tight and close to base. You know the drill.”

The two strangers nodded in unison. Tenn had to believe they were related, despite the contrast in their appearance. They were both tall and lithe and angular. But the girl was paler than ivory, with long willowy fingers and silvered hair that reached her waist; paired with the white coat and faded jeans and sweater she wore, she looked like a specter. Even her blue eyes were nearly gray. But the boy—her brother—was darker than night, with choppy black hair and a burgundy scarf wrapped around his face, leaving only his blue eyes bare. So blue...it must have been their use of Air. Tenn tried not to stare. He’d seen plenty of people subtly changed from the element they used, himself included, but he’d never seen transformations so distinct. Neither seemed to carry weapons, which meant their magic was impossibly powerful.

The pair strode toward the hotel exit. Then Air opened in their throats, and they flew off into the night.

“You don’t need to change our formation,” Derrick said when they were out of sight. “I already have scouts in position.”

“We don’t need scouts,” Jarrett said. “We know the army is coming. And they know where we are. We need our ranks close. Otherwise, our fighters will be swallowed up one by one.”

Derrick said nothing.

“And you,” Jarrett said, turning his attention to Tenn. “What are you?”

It wasn’t so strange a question. Not anymore.

“Earth and Water. Sir.”

“That one’s a fuckup,” Derrick interjected. “Nearly cost us the whole mission this afternoon, which is probably why you’re here. Went against orders.”

Jarrett eyed Tenn up and down, a hint of...something...in his pale eyes. “He doesn’t seem the insubordinate type. What happened?”

“He—”

“I was asking him,” Jarrett said quietly. Why was his voice so familiar? “What happened today, soldier?”

“I used magic. Against orders.”

Jarrett’s eyebrows furrowed.

“And why did you do that?”

“I didn’t,” Tenn said. “It...it used me.”

“He’s clearly crazy,” Derrick said, “or just trying to save his own a—”

The Sphere of Air opened in Jarrett’s throat, harsh and pale blue, and a second later Derrick slammed against the wall. Jarrett didn’t even gesture or take his eyes off Tenn.

“What’s your name?” Jarrett asked.

“Tenn.”

Jarrett’s eyes narrowed.

“And you say your Sphere...what? Acted against your will? Used itself?”

A lump lodged in Tenn’s throat, but he forced himself to speak.

“We were surrounded. Only two of us left. I was prepared to die. I swear. But Water just...took over. Before I could stop it...” Tenn took a deep breath. Saying it again felt like insanity. “It killed every single Howl surrounding us. In a heartbeat. Before I could try to stop it.”

Jarrett didn’t say anything. Not for a long time. And whether Derrick was silent out of newfound respect or some sort of invisible gag, Tenn couldn’t say. Tenn didn’t care. He couldn’t take his gaze off Jarrett. Not because he was scared—though he was, definitely—but because there was something about the way Jarrett looked at him that sent electricity through his veins. Like Jarrett knew his secrets.

It should have made him feel like he was being appraised. Instead, he felt, in that moment, like the center of Jarrett’s universe.

He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

“Is this the first time it’s happened, Tenn?” Jarrett asked. Just hearing Jarrett say his name sent another course of energy through his veins. It was nothing like what he’d felt around Tomás, but the intensity was just as sharp.

“Yes. Sir.”

“Call me Jarrett,” he replied. He lowered his voice. “When this is over...we’ll talk again. At length.” He looked Tenn up and down. “I want you to stay out of the fight. The reports say you don’t have many healers out here, so we’ll need all the Earth mages we can get. And if your Spheres are acting up, I think it’s best you stay out of battle.”

Jarrett patted him on the shoulder and left. Derrick slumped down from the wall, rubbing his throat. He didn’t approach Tenn, but the glare he shot over was enough.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” he rasped. “You killed her, and now you’ve damned all of us.”

He spat on the ground.

“You’re no better than a fucking Howl.”

He walked out, and all light went with him.

There, in the darkness, Tenn began to wonder if it would have been better if he’d died.

* * *

It was sometime past midnight. The troop was assembled and the orders had been given. Tenn was back on the roof of the hotel, most of the troop stationed to the city or field beyond. Katherine’s body had been...removed. He didn’t ask where, or by whom. No one told him. No one told him anything.

Especially not the two Hunters he’d been stationed with.

Devon and Dreya stood farther back. They’d been there when he arrived, and when he tried to introduce himself, they stared at him like he was speaking a different language. He shrunk under Dreya’s hawk-like glare and didn’t try speaking to them again.

The rain pounded down harder now, but he barely felt it. It was a perk of being attuned to Water, though it didn’t necessarily make up for the emotional backlash. You took what you could get. Like Tenn, the cold and the rain didn’t seem to bother the newcomers. He looked back to them. They stood on opposite sides of the roof, both open to Air as they scanned the sky.

Neither of the twins spoke as they stood there, waiting. Minutes churned to hours. The night deepened. His nerves sharpened to daggers with every drop of rain. He wasn’t just waiting. He was waiting to die.

No. He was waiting for something else to go horribly wrong.

He stiffened when Dreya walked up next to him. She stood by his shoulder, staring out at the abandoned town. She was almost a head shorter than him, though she seemed much taller.

“You say that Water used you,” she said. Her voice was soft, barely carrying over the rain, but it was perfectly enunciated.

He nodded.

“That should not be possible,” she continued.

“I know.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, so he took that as his opportunity.

“Why are you here?”

“Because you need us.”

It was not the response he expected. She had to be lying—they were clearly here because of him, to take him away. They were just guarding him to ensure he didn’t escape.

“Then why just the three of you? If you’re here to stop the army, why didn’t they send more?”

She laughed. It was high, and childish, and completely belied her serious demeanor.

“We are more than enough, Tenn,” she said. “Besides, the Prophets did not send us here to save your army. They sent us to save you.”

He couldn’t speak. The fear in his chest prevented it. The Prophets were a group of mages dedicated to understanding the fifth and elusive Sphere of Maya—the one Sphere you couldn’t attune to by choice. It had to choose you. No one had seen the Prophets, no one knew how to contact them, but many battles were won or prevented by their guidance. Tenn didn’t know how anyone learned what the Prophets decreed. He’d never wanted to ask.

The future wasn’t something he wanted to know too much about.

“You are being noticed,” Dreya whispered. She reached out and touched his neck. Right where Tomás had gripped his throat before. “That is a very dangerous thing.”

Fire blossomed on the horizon, a red stain on night’s canvas. He didn’t have a chance to speak.

“That is the first line,” Dreya said. In this new light, her damp hair glinted rose. “The army is near.”

Tenn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d spent the last week waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall, and here it was, at last.