His brows drew down in a sharp scowl. “Binding you to him.”
“Has to be. Need a mortal to bind him. Keep him imprisoned. In Hell.”
“Then I’ll do it.” He reached for the shackle.
“No.” She struggled to stop him, yet her arms refused to move.
“I goddamn
“Someone has to anchor him.” The effort it took to speak made her dizzy. “Cannot let it be you.”
For a moment, he only frowned at her. Then his eyes narrowed, his expression turning shrewd.
“What—?”
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then gently laid her down. She levered herself up, watching him as he stood and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Know why the other Hellraisers turned against you, John?” he called toward the portal. “Because you were never one of us. Not truly. We pitied you. No one else would have you. Skulking around Whitehall like a beggar. An outcast.”
John remained at the doorway, though he still did not cross the threshold. “The four of you were privileged to have my company!”
Bram gave an ugly laugh. “Tell yourself whatever lies you require. But the truth persists. Without the Hellraisers, you would have been another forgettable man, scrounging for crumbs of recognition. Forgotten. Hell,” he sneered, “you always had to pay for your quim. No woman would willingly spread her legs for you. Only your coin could make them endure your rutting.”
With a jackal’s snarl, John plunged through the portal, sword upraised. Bram stood ready for the attack. Their swords clashed, the sound ringing over the screams of the damned. Bram’s fury seemed renewed as he attacked. He and John fought, their bodies blurring with speed, the combat furious. Their fight circled the Dark One, who continued to tear at the shackle binding him.
Bram lunged and knocked away John’s blade. Yet John continued to fight, grappling for control of Bram’s sword. They each planted their feet in the ground, pushing against each other.
Bram held John steady, and threw her a glance.
Shaking, exhausted and riddled with pain, Livia pushed herself up, onto her knees. She mustered the dim filaments of her strength. Wrapped her magic around the other shackle, and sent it straight to John.
It snapped around his ankle. Binding him.
Like the Dark One, he screamed and pulled at the binding. It would not open.
Livia felt herself topple. Before she hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her up. She did not care how much it hurt, all that mattered was being held by Bram, feeling the solidity of his chest and pound of his heart against her cheek.
He sprinted toward the portal. The Dark One screamed as he saw them running. More fire poured from the Devil’s hands. Bram dodged this attack, and kept his body between her and the flames.
Then they were on the other side, back in the underground temple, the coolness of the air a fresh torment.
“The door,” she whispered. It needed to be closed for the binding to work, yet she had no strength left. Even breathing cost too much. She turned her head to see John running toward the portal. If he made it back to the realm of the living, her spell would be rendered useless, John and the Dark One free to wreak devastation.
A whip of fire lashed out. It snapped past her and Bram, flicking through the gateway to Hell. The whip pushed John back, keeping him on the other side of the portal.
Livia stirred and looked over Bram’s shoulder. The Hellraisers all stood within the underground chamber. Each of them were battered, their faces and clothes covered in grime and blood. Yet they were all there. Zora wielded her lash of fire, using it to prevent John from crossing back. The whip carved patterns of light as it snapped, and Zora bared her teeth with the effort.
Anne stepped forward, raising her hands. A powerful, chill wind blasted through the chamber. The tempest roared toward the open portal. It gathered around the door itself and began to push the heavy stone shut. Whit and Leo pushed on the door, aiding Anne’s wind.
John and the Dark One both stared with wide, disbelieving eyes as the door swung closed. Horror blanched John’s face—and understanding. He stretched out, reaching for the door. But not in time. Just before the door shut, a look of utter despair crossed his face. He had lost.
The chamber shook as the door slammed shut.
“Must be . . . bolted,” Livia gasped. She held out her hands to Anne and Zora.
The women hurried forward and clasped her hands. Drawing on Anne’s cold, Livia employed it to create metal, which she forged using Zora’s fire. She shaped the magic into a substantial lock, which appeared hovering in the middle of the chamber. The Dark One’s new prison. This she fastened to the door’s bolt. It made a heavy clang as the tumblers slid into place.
Like dissipating smoke, the door vanished. The lock remained, and fell to the ground, but it and the chamber itself dissolved soundlessly. A scent of dry stone filled the air as the ruined temple also evaporated. Until everyone stood at the very edge of St. George’s Fields once more.
Chapter 18
The giant rift in the ground had closed. Heaps of demon bodies lay across the field, yet already they rotted. Within hours, they would likely be nothing more than stains upon the grass.
Bram didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman in his arms. Her breathing was too shallow, her skin too pale. Burns covered her, angry and red.
“A physician,” he snapped, laying her down gently upon a patch of clean grass. “A surgeon. Fetch someone.
He did not see the exchanged glances between the others.
“There isn’t time,” Whit said, and Bram hated the pity in his friend’s voice.
“Then I’ll doctor her.” He tore off his coat and wadded it beneath her head. Glowering up at Anne and Zora, he snarled, “Tear your petticoats. I need to bind her wounds. Stop
He poured through all he knew of field surgery. One could pull out a bullet, sew up a wound, and hope the injured soldier survived. But this . . . Horrible burns, and her breath rattled, as though a broken rib had punctured a lung. What could he do to help? He was no damned sawbones with an Edinburgh education. At best, all he knew was how to keep someone alive long enough to reach a surgeon. Yet even he knew she wouldn’t last that long.
He started when someone lightly touched his shoulder. Zora.
“There may be a way.”
“Anything.”
Zora knelt beside Livia. She motioned for Anne to sit at Livia’s head.
“And us?” asked Leo.
“Hope.” She turned to Bram. “Once I was poisoned by demons, and verged on death. Livia used her power to help Whit heal me. Partially. They gave me strength enough to see the job done, myself.”
He clung to her offer of tenuous optimism. “What do we do?”
A rueful shrug from Zora. “Let our instinct direct us. Lend her back the power she gave us, that she may find the rest of the way herself.”
Bram took Livia’s hand, careful to keep from pressing against her burns. Zora took Livia’s other hand, and Anne pressed the very tips of her fingers to Livia’s forehead.
There were more hands on his shoulders. Bram glanced up and saw Whit and Leo standing close. They wore similar looks of empathy, and he saw in their eyes, their faces, that they too had seen their women imperiled, and knew what Bram suffered.
Of all the deeds the Hellraisers had ever done together, all their revelry, the dissolution, even their moments
