Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

contempt than usual. Not only that, it also held a healthy dose of fear, which was rather well-placed. Bernard’s miraculous recovery two months ago had been a terrible, terrible setback. He had been reconnected to his Companion, Roanna, and had found her shortly thereafter, tracing her to Modena House, a forsaken human asylum the mentally infirm.
    If only Danata had killed him, instead of letting him roam the castle babbling stupidities and sowing turnips. With a severed link, he had been but an empty husk that got in everyone’s way. The ripping process always made essenceless creatures out of those strong enough to survive the shock of separation. They became Voids, simpletons who deserved the mercy of a swift knife to the heart. But Danata had deemed his death unnecessary, and now, due to her misplaced sensibilities, her Regency was in danger, and Veridan’s quest for more power in need of expediency. All thanks to that girl and her Keeper.
    “No,” Veridan answered. “He should be just fine. I expect him to make a full recovery. I have . . . my means.”
    “Heal him, then.” Her violet eyes grew hazy as she regarded the figure on the bed.
    He hadn’t expected her weakness for the boy. Maybe she was also struggling with past memories of Mateo. Odd how after all these years, they each seemed to be developing a conscience.
    “Heal him!” she repeated. “Give me back my son, so I can return my full attention to Bernard and Roanna.”
    “As you should.”
    Veridan sat on the bed, more than ready to put an end to her nonsense, not to mention his own daily chores of administering nourishing spells to keep the boy from wasting away.
    The Sorcerer’s manicured fingers unfastened the small ivory buttons of his shirt and retrieved his talisman. The onyx at the center seemed to move, the blackness inside twisting like a whirlpool in an oil pit.
    He spoke an incantation. When it finished, a black plume of smoke rose from the gem into the air and floated right above the boy, leaving the onyx back in its normal state.
    What was Ashby’s life essence floated in midair for a fraction of a second, then shot toward the unconscious body and greedily seeped in through the half-opened mouth, nostrils, eyes and ears.
    Veridan smiled. If he’d held any doubt as to whether or not this was the right life force, it was immediately dispelled at the sight of the willingness with which the energy traveled into the boy. With the wrong vessel, it would have never been this easy.
    They waited in silence for a few minutes. The boy remained the same, giving no signs of snapping out of his coma, in spite of the bit of color that seemed to return to his face.
    “Well?” Danata said, putting in one word the weight of her full expectations.
    Veridan stood and buttoned up his shirt. “It might take a few days.”
    “A few days? I can’t wait any longer!”
    “You should have thought about that before you ripped his vinculum.” Veridan walked to the window once more. “But you have always let anger cloud your judgment.” Not that he was complaining. He had benefited from her temper more than she could ever imagine.
    “He defied me. I couldn’t let him do that.”
    “And you didn’t. But stand by your actions. If you don’t, guilt will get the best of you.” He straightened his cuff-links and examined his perfectly manicured fingers, trying to show indifference and hide the fact that he, himself, had felt pity for the boy.
    “You are right,” she begrudgingly said.
    He looked up from his polished nails in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to agree. The woman was certainly losing her edge.
    Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. Danata looked displeased but gave the order to come in, all the same. She’d been spending too much time in this chamber, so much that her advisers had opted to come here when there were pressing matters that needed the Regent’s attention.
    Vitorio Carso Pestile—the pretentious dolt