Mercy whimpers, her arm trembling as the blood continues to run freely. Turning my attention back to her, I lift a ceremonial metal bowl to her skin, collecting the blood to use as ink for the contract. Once I’ve filled it to the brim, I place it on the desk next to the book. The quill trembles, its magic awakening, but it’ll have to wait.
Step three in this ritual is the binding. Still clutching the dagger, I drop to the floor, kneeling before Mercy and her bleeding arm. I run my nose along her skin, scenting the blood like a beastly predator. It takes all my restraint to sit back on my heels and draw the blade across my own arm.
This time, I’m forced to meet her gaze. “Let the bonding ritual begin.”
She gulps, terror washing over her and permeating the air. My eyes are a cold black void controlled by bloodlust and the hunger for the soul she promised me.
“Repeat after me,” I instruct. “I give my soul willingly to the Prince of Shadow and Bone, the descendant of Lucifer, and bind myself to him for all of eternity.”
Mercy’s eyes widen. She repeats the words, her voice trembling. Her lips quiver overdescendant of Lucifer,and a single tear slips down her cheek.
The moment she finishes, glowing red chains encircle our arms, binding us. They erupt in flames that race around our bleeding arms before exploding at the sight of the wound.
“Drink from me to complete the process,” I say, lifting my bleeding arm to her mouth.
She parts her lips, sneering in disgust, but squeezes her eyes shut and latches onto the wound. As soon as I feel her swallow the first mouthful, I bring her arm to my lips and lose myself in the bloodlust.
She’s more fucking delicious than I could have ever imagined. Each mouthful is more addictive than the last. If I’m not careful, I’ll drink too much. I slow my swallows, running my tongue across the wound to slowly heal it closed.
When I pull back, she’s ghastly pale but faintly glowing. I kiss the wound tenderly, sealing it with silent promises. With her soul hot on my tongue, I ease my way back into the chair. Time to trap her for eternity in ink and negotiate the terms of the contract. The one that can only be written in Mercy’s blood.
I dip the bone quill into the bowl of blood and it zings, drawing the magic together. It pulses through my fingertips, swirling in a sparkling gold mist around it. I slowly drag my eyes from the parchment and up to meet the Ringmaster’s satisfied smile.
“Term of the contract?” I ask flatly.
“Eternity,” he drawls, his tone taunting.
“Eternity,” I repeat, offering no challenge.
“Clauses,” I prompt.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Thinking fast, I offer a suggestion that might lean in Mercy’s favor. “To be determined by the Fates.”
“Agreed, clever apprentice.”
“Possession,” I continue down the page.
“Immediately,” the Ringmaster breathes.
I turn to Mercy, who’s curled into a ball, drifting in and out of sleep with her head resting on the arm of the chair.
“Mercy,” I say, rousing her.
“Mmmm,” she murmurs.
“How long do you need to say goodbye to your family?”
“A week,” she sighs.
“No,” the Ringmaster cuts in.
“Five days,” I counter.
“Four.”
“Four,” I agree, recording it.
“Ownership. Azrael,” I mutter, trying not to rub it in the Ringmaster’s face.
