Free Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) by Bec McMaster

ache echoing in his left temple.
    Would this ever end? He couldn't deal with this weakness of his right now, not with so much sorcery spilling through the air.
    Dragging a bloodied hand over the marble lions in the foyer, Lady Eberhardt strode on. The first lion tore its head free from its marble paws, its eyes gleaming with golden light. Chips of shattered marble scattered over the floor as it shook out its mane and gave an enormous roar. Its twin, standing in silent entreaty across from it, stretched, shaking free of its casement. They bounded after Lady Eberhardt, their heavy paws leaving cracks in the tiles behind them.
    Sorcerous constructs were creatures of power with no autonomy, indeed no mind, no will of their own. He'd heard rumors of golems created out of clay by rabbis, with a Word of Power carved into their foreheads to animate them, and these were somewhat similar.
    Constructs could be formed of anything—leaf and mud, metals, stones, shadows, sometimes even blood and flesh, if the sorcerer in command belonged to the Grave Arts. Those were the hardest to control, for the flesh still remembered what life was and craved the taste of it. Nine years ago, Sir Alastor Walton brought over a dozen zombie constructs to life, and when he lost control of them, they'd torn half of the East End to pieces. It took forty sorcerers to destroy the zombies since the cut off pieces kept trying to reform, and eventually they'd had to burn them all. Sir Alastor had been tried by the Order and executed, and the Prime had pledged to the Queen that creating constructs of flesh were now forbidden and that it would never happen again.
    Bam. The first assault against the wards shook the entire house. Bam. Bam.
    The sheer weight of the sorcery nearly drove Lucien to his knees. Slamming up his inner barriers, he clung to the bannister for a moment as dust trickled down from the roof and eerie green light flooded through the windows.
    "Are you all right?" Miss Martin demanded, and as his vision returned to normal, he found her clutching his sleeve and staring up at him.
    He couldn't let her see his weakness. "I'm fine," he replied gruffly, staggering as something else hit the house and rebounded from the wards. An explosion of actinic light blazed like a corona outside, and he slammed his eyes shut, clapping a hand over them. Sorcery fired through his blood, setting his mind afire, as he cried out.
    Mother of night. "What in all the hells is out there? Hell spawn?"
    The light touch of Miss Martin's skin against his hand eased the overwhelming sensation as their bond swelled. Lucien caught her fingers as she moved to retreat, and her gaze swept to his as he blinked, her lips parting gently. It felt like they were trapped in a bubble that silenced everything around them. It felt like he could breathe again.
    "I'm concerned that I won't be able to protect you very well at this juncture in time," he admitted, though it galled him. "It's too soon since my release. I'm weak from lack of food and the effects of my incarceration. I haven't used sorcery in over a year, or at least, before this morning. It's... overwhelming."
    The dark slash of her brows softened. Her fingers curled around his. "Then let me act as your Anchor. You should have said something earlier."
    Lucien gave a careless shrug. Surrendering this much control to her went against every grain of his fiber, but the relics were more important. Even he, who wouldn't shed any tears to see the Prime fall, knew that they could be dangerous in the wrong hands.
    Cool sorcery slid over his skin like a whisper, beneath his clothes, forming a ward around him. The instant it locked into place, the overwhelming sensation of magic vanished. He could breathe again. See again. Lucien let out a breath of relief. "Thank you."
    "You're welcome." They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out second.
    The front door crashed open, and Lucien swept in front of her, flinging the blade he kept in his