Bound by Shadow by Anna Windsor Page A

said someone from behind him. Probably Cynda, but he didn’t know for sure. “You’re the one who should worry.”
    The women started to move clockwise, walking, walking the room into a spin, and Creed sank into confusion once more. New questions came, along with more heat, more dizziness, more heaviness, until the voices joined, stronger than time, older than reality.
    What kind of other? they demanded. God, so loud. It hurt his head. Pounded his brain.
    “A bad one,” Creed mumbled, and he knew he couldn’t refuse to answer. He wasn’t even sure he was still standing up, but he had to be, right? The other flailed, and Creed imagined himself holding that untamed energy by the throat. He would not let it out. Not now. No way.
    Does Andy know what you are?
    Andy. Protect Andy. “No.”
    Who sent you?
    “I sent me.” He needed more water. He needed to lie down. Was he lying down?
    Why did you come here tonight?
    Creed blinked at the distant shapes of mirrors. Colors swirled from one piece of glass to the next, surrounding him, holding him inside the brilliance, forcing him to speak. “To see Riana.”
    Riana. Yes. Riana. Control the other. Don’t let it harm her. That’s what he intended—to control himself, and keep her—keep all of them—safe.
    Did you make the Asmodai?
    “Asmodai.” Colors. Too many colors. Was the water drugged? “What’s an Asmodai?”
    Are you one of the Legion?
    “I’m NYPD. OCU. Detective Second—”
    Are you one of the Legion?
    “Legion of what?”
    Who was talking to him now? Which woman? Was Riana still in the room? Creed fought to regain his mental balance, but reality shimmered at the edge of his thoughts. The other shredded at his gut, charred his throat, his blood, his consciousness, but he had it contained until one question stabbed into the center of his mind.
    Where did you get that ring?
    The other surged forward so fast and so hard that Creed lurched into full awareness.
    He was still on the table. Fire still burned atop the earth in the lead groove on the table, and someone had added a bit more water. A breeze made the tops of the flames twitch, and the light seemed to blaze in the few uncovered mirrors reflecting the room and the women who had him captive. A single wind chime in front of the door tinkled softly, like a faraway admonition.
    Riana stood inside the circle, only inches away from him. Her face shimmered in the candlelight. Sweat glistened on her forehead. “The ring,” she repeated. “The crest of the Legion. Where did you get it?”
    Anger and fear dug at Creed, wounding his insides almost as much as the other. His mind speeded up again, and his senses spread out across the room. Merilee smelled like the ocean and fresh rain. Cynda, like fire and smoke and light sandalwood. Neither woman was aroused.
    Riana was, but she was holding herself back. Creed breathed deeply, taking in the rich aroma of her juices, the hints of jasmine clinging to the dark curls around her face. He tried to speak, his heart to hers.
    “Go.” He jerked away as far as he could move. “It’s always been mine. Don’t touch it.”
    His voice, but not his voice. The other was coming.
    Riana stepped even closer to him.
    “Get back,” Creed heard himself snarl. “Now!”
    “Take the damned thing and get it over with,” Cynda said. “I’m tired. And way past hungry.”
    “Leave…the…ring…alone,” Creed managed through clenched teeth. Between exhaustion, increasing pain in his wrists and arms, the muddling questions, the spinning room, and the roaring of the other in his mind, he thought he might crack down the center.
    Riana once more locked her eyes on his.
    She seemed to be considering. Weighing his statement. Perhaps doubting herself a fraction.
    Creed did his best to put all of his emotions into his gaze. “Don’t, Riana.”
    Her lips trembled into a frown. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, her pained voice so quiet he barely heard it. “I have