Soul Unbound (Key to the Cursed Book 3)

by Jean Murray

  Bast’s wrath and his expulsion from the human realm was far too great a risk. He shifted his energy to disappear. A ripple of dark power slammed into his chest despite the fact he was nothing more than vapor. The blow forced him to rematerialize, and he arched back, barely missing the tip of the goddess’ sword.

  When had she moved?

  No matter, he was on the defensive, dodging several swipes. The last nicked the unprotected skin of his throat. He took solid form and grabbed the goddess’ wrist as she arched her sword. He locked his knees to prevent them from buckling under the force of her blow. Damn, she was fast. He kicked and slammed his foot into her hip. She staggered back.

  He lunged forward in an attempt to disarm her. She was faster and stronger than any enemy he had fought before. The sharp blade grazed his flank and he was met by red eyes and fangs.

  Not Creation.

  Startled, he hesitated.

  She planted her fist with expert precision into his flank. With both hands restraining her sword, he could not block the blows. He rammed his knee up into her abdomen. Unfazed, she shifted his weight, knocking him off balance. His shoulders slammed into the hard sand.

  She pounced, jabbed her knees on either side of his ribcage and squeezed. He was unceremoniously deflowered in two swift moves.

  Bomani stilled at the press of her curved blade into the juncture of his neck and collarbone.

  “You hurt my horse,” she hissed and ripped back his hood. He caught the sharp intake of breath. She blinked and the redness receded to reveal icy green eyes.

  Humiliated, his fight drained from his limbs. His last vision would be of a beautiful goddess straddled across his waist.

  Not a bad death.

  Warm fingers grazed his neck and ripped back the wool material of his shirt. Her fingers descended down his sternum and traced one of the many scarification tattoos to the legion brand burned into his left chest. The pressure of the blade’s tip lessened at his neck.

  A tremor set to her fingertips as she tracked the brand’s outline. Heat shot along the lines of his raised scars and circuited his entire body. Her eyes snapped back to his and her face paled. She leapt back and landed in the soft sand.

  She spared him?

  He jerked to his feet and stripped away his now ruined shirt. There was no point in hiding his markings.

  Her widened eyes tracked the expanse of his tattoos running from neck to waistline and wrists and those were the ones she could see. When her gaze came to rest on his legion brand, her chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “I do not hurt animals,” he muttered, his pride lost in the grains of sand beneath his feet. He touched his neck where her saber cut into his skin. Blood slicked his fingers, but the wound had healed.

  “What?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He splinted his side with his hand. His inner demon chastised him for being such a fucking fledgling. He was not sure if his ego could take much more debasing. “I did not hurt your horse.”

  Her eyes darted to her steed. The stallion shoved his back and Bomani stumbled. Damn if he could not cut a break.

  “Execution, get away from him.”

  “Execution,” he repeated and snared the horse’s reins. A warm velvety muzzle greeted his palm. The horse nuzzled his pants pocket.

  “Get away from him,” she snapped, this time at Bomani.

  He tightened his grip on the reins. “Stow your weapons.”

  Black sand kicked up as she pivoted to face him. “Fine, not that I need them anyway.”

  He sneered, a spark of aggression ignited in his chest at her insult but fizzled before it gained any strength. Despite the energy he absorbed, his extremities hung heavy, his alpha silent. Conversely, she had fully recovered, the potency of her gifts threatening to flatten him on his ass again if he made one wrong move.

  He guided the horse forward and held out the reins. Her gaze targeted him and swiftly swept over his chest. She clasped the leather straps, but his hand lingered a moment before he finally released it.

  “Why are you here—Commander?”

  The title sent shards of regret through his chest. He frowned and ran a hand over his overgrown hair. The reasons were many. His stupidity. His arrogance. His belief—honor and loyalty meant something.

  “Tell me! Quickly because the only thing saving your ass right now is that mark.” She jabbed her finger at him and paced like a caged panther, agitated and hungry for blood.

  “I should ask you the same,” Bomani snapped, his own dark mood taking hold.

  Redness swirled among the green of her eyes. “No, you should not.” Her fingertips skimmed the saber at her waist.

  She stared up at him, unmoving. Her apprehension over his identity seemed to evaporate in exchange for the goddess who was used to being in charge. The Destroyer, he reminded himself. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I am of no threat to you,” he said.

  “I think we already established that.” The side of her mouth curled up in a half smile as she grasped her curvy hips. Bomani diverted his eyes away from the smooth round mounds of her breasts, but not before she caught his appraisal. The line of her smile flattened. “Why are you here?” she repeated, her tone softer, but not much.

  He stared out over the water. “I am not sure.” His admission startled him. Of all the people to share his grief with, an exiler? Angered by his weakness, he shook his head and turned to walk down the beach.

  What the hell was he doing? He should have never made contact. Bast had warned him not too. He did not listen to Bast about Kendra and paid a dear price. Maybe the Destroyer would be merciful and just shove her blade in his back.

  A heavy object slammed into his shoulder, and a large black coconut skipped down the beach. The whistle of another projectile announced the second volley. He dodged.

  The goddess bounced a third in her hand. Her arm reared back and the coconut sailed towards his head. He snatched it from the air and closed his fist. White juice exploded between his fingertips, and he discarded the pieces to the ground. “Are you mad?”

  “Some may say so.” She stalked forward, chewing up the sand between them. Stopping before him she stared up with those disturbing pale green eyes, like she was peeling away his layers. “Are you ill, Commander?”

  “Stop calling me that,” he snarled. He left his title behind the moment he walked out of the Underworld.

  “What shall I call you? Warrior?” Her eyes flicked to his chest. “Seems understated.”

  “Bomani.”

  “Bomani. Are you ill?” Her lashes brushed her cheek. The small tilt of her head brought his attention to her slender neck. Lethal and feminine. Her moods changed with the breeze. Ready to kill him one minute. Playful. Concerned. What did Bast want with her? What was her crime?

  “Your name?” Bomani asked, ignoring her question in favor of his own.

  She rubbed the lion head emblazed into her forearm. “You ask a question you already know the answer.”

  Sekhmet, the Destroyer.

  Despite the knowledge of her given name and mark, another name danced on his tongue, but stalled there. “What do others call you?” he asked tightly, finding this whole encounter quite manic. Blood still clung to her hair but she gave it no mind. She accepted he was not responsible for the horse’s injuries, even after she caught him stalking her in the shadows. More confounding, he stayed when he could easily dematerialize and end this madness.

  “We will not go there.” She scratched the base of her neck and narrowed her eyes. “You do not know why you are here?”

  She diverted the attention off herself and back on him. A habit, no doubt. Surprising, most Generals with her record were egotists. He knew all too well. He had believed himself to beyond reproach. He was sorely wrong.

  “This is a mistake.” He turned away from her, his self-hatred burning deep.

  “Warriors do not back down from a fight or give up. Ever!” She wrapped her steel fingers around his bicep and halted
him. Hovering her palm over his legion mark, electrical shocks bore straight into his chest and along the lines of his scars. “Who has stolen your soul, Bomani?”

  Those green eyes tore more of his skin away, exposing his pain. His soul was not stolen but filled with horrific memories and god-like powers. Of which, he wanted neither.

  Before she saw even more of his flaws and he broke more of Bast’s rules, he dematerialized. The first warrior to ever run from a fight.

  Who was he, really?

  The scorn-ridden question chased him. He feared he would never know.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Siya snatched empty air.

  Damn it!

  She rubbed the tingling in her palm. What the hell was the Underworld Legion Commander doing in the human realm? Maybe Haru cast his vote to yes. Her execution required a unanimous decision. Her stomach soured at the thought Bomani might be here for her.

  “Bomani.” His name rolled from her tongue with ease. The Commander had his chance to capture her, if that was the Pantheon’s intent. Instead he hid his presence.

  Asar would not allow his Commander to linger in the human realm and risk breaking the law. Bomani’s disheveled appearance and length of hair suggested he had been away from Aaru for a while. Very unlikely, he was on an Underworld mission. Blackness colored his eyes when they should have been a bright gold. She knew the look all too well as it had dominated her reflection for decades.

  “What do you think he is up to?” She rubbed Execution’s long nose. A puff a hot breath greeted her hand.

  “You like him? That is a first.” And the single reason she believed the horse’s injury came from another means. Remembering how Execution had faltered upon exiting, there was a chance Bomani followed her through the portal. If he witnessed her meeting with Haru, he could be a liability.

  She drummed her fingers against the hilt of her saber. No stranger to dark warriors, she had fought with them in the ancient war. One in particular, Khalfani had left an indelible mark on her life. He had been loyal to her, despite her heritage. A loyalty he did not grant freely. She remembered the hardness of Khalfani’s face when they first met. Not unlike Bomani’s. The suspicion and disbelief a female would be his General and lead the attack on Apep, especially after Khalfani had revolted against the previous General. It had taken several meetings and carafes of the finest ale to get Khalfani to come to the table.

  Stubborn ox. She smiled at the thought.

  Only after she had personally led the siege on Thebes did the Commander even look her in the eye. Two more battles and he agreed to meet with her. The spark between them ignited the minute they touched. Innocent as the contact, neither could deny their attraction. Dangerous as it was forbidden.

  She loosened the saddle and freed Execution of his burden. “You heal. I will be back soon. Eat and do not make a mess of the beach.” She smacked his hindquarter and the horse returned to the sweet smelling grass.

  If Henry had seen Bomani at the docks, he had to be close to the warehouse. There were several abandoned buildings suitable to hide. She weighed her options. Bomani’s presence hit too close to home on several levels. Not to mention, the decimated reven nest and her father’s appearance just twenty-four hours prior. She shook her head. Gods decreed fate, so it was no coincidence these events transpired so close together with her at the very center.

  In the last month she sensed the imbalance in the world. The celestial lines were being drawn. The foreboding pulled at her soul. She could surrender to it or fight. Haru had said the Mother Goddess had plans. Did she dare hope?

  Siya had no allies and no one to call upon except the few younglings whom had matured to full gods. Theris and she could not manage an attack on Menthu alone. Maybe the answer had been staring her in the face. One wayward warrior—the fiercest of all. The Underworld Legion Commander.

  Utilizing her darker gifts, she pulled in her energy and dematerialized to the human realm to retract the order to leave. She needed more time.

  More time to dance with the devil.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You failed?”

  Menthu gripped the hidden blade at his waist tighter. The urge to slit the goddess Nebt’s throat to silence her was next to unbearable. Much to his disappointment, Apep had given him strict orders to wait until she was sufficiently turned. He did not have long to wait. “Shut up, bitch.”

  “We need Sekhmet,” Nebt said, slamming her fist onto the wooden table.

  “Only because you failed to overthrow Asar. You are in no place to make demands.” It had taken over three thousand years of planning to get Kepi in Aaru. The scheme worked perfectly up until Kendra, the youngest demi-god, got in the way, redeeming Asar’s son, Bakari. Menthu held Nebt responsible for Kepi’s death. The loss of the goddess broke the reven curse and ruined his plan of destroying the underworld from within. Nebt’s failure required he realign his strategy with his daughter.

  “I have sacrificed everything,” she hissed. “Everything.”

  Not quite everything. The goddess had a lot more to offer, and he was going to show her just how much Apep could take from his followers. He stalked forward, reveling in the fact the goddess shirked back. Being of two realms, Menthu remained unaffected by the ancient curse. Nebt on the other hand cowered in the building far from the sun. Her normally olive skin was black and cold in the human realm, imprisoning her until the sun dipped low on the horizon. Her repulsion for him only fed his arousal. He wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed.

  “I will deal with Sekhmet in my own way.” Nebt reached up to grab his wrist. He slammed her against the wall. “Do not touch me or I will rip your pretty little arm off your body.” Her talent for reading souls had been a convenient source of information, but now it was just annoying.

  With teeth bared Nebt slammed her fists into Menthu’s chest wound. Agony shot through his body. He staggered back, clutching the gaping wound left by the Mevt dagger. Fate had spared him death, but the gods’ death dagger had left an unhealing mark.

  “Touch me again and I will rip your black heart out of your chest and finish the job once and for all,” she hissed.

  He chuckled darkly, covering his pain. “You have committed yourself, goddess. Kill me and face the wrath of the Master. Kill yourself and he will see to your suffering personally.”

  A moan drew her gaze to the far corner of the room. Her black eyes flicked back to meet his. “Your breakfast is ready. Clean up after you are through.” She stormed to the adjacent room.

  Menthu scanned the scantily clad woman lying on the floor next to two other mutilated bodies. The stench of decay barely registered in his nose. He scowled. Human females were so fragile. They barely satisfied him before their bodies expired. The small drop of his daughter’s blood had curbed his hunger longer than ten humans. Based on the floral taste, Sekhmet had yet to find a mate. The thought satisfied him. Last thing he needed was some half-cocked male interfering in her capture.

  No one to miss her.

  A blast of pain shot through his soul. He leaned on the table, unable to breathe. Black blood dripped from the gaping wound in his chest. His soul refused to let go of the last flicker of sanity, despite all he had done to rid himself of it. He would destroy the weak emotion once he offered his daughter to their Master. It mattered not if she was unwilling. He exhaled labored breaths between his clenched teeth as the pain worsened.

  The gelatinous blood spilled over the table’s edge and snaked along the floor towards the corpse. The black substance entered the mouth, blackening the dead human’s teeth. Menthu pushed off the table just as the corpse began to twitch.

  He stepped over the body and stared at the living human sprawled in the most indecent pose on the floor. Not enough, he growled silently.

  His fury burned hotter as he trailed Nebt’s energy. Tainted, but far more potent than the humans. He sneered. It was time to introduce the Underworld goddess to the Chain of Command. She would service him
just as Kepi had before her death.

  When he was done with her, she would be begging to clean up the mess.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The wind whipped off the Hudson River across the wooden dock. The coldness bit into Siya’s exposed skin unlike the warm breeze of the black sand beach. Execution was more than content to remain on the tropical isle. Conversely, her nerves bristled with uneasiness.

  How close could she get to Bomani without endangering the younglings? She rubbed her fingers against the freshly laundered wool fabric of Bomani’s coat and the replacement shirt for the one she destroyed. Sandwiches wrapped in brown paper were tucked into her coat pocket.

  She scanned the buildings down the road. Darkness had yet to fall, so he should be hunkered into one of the buildings. Or, it was possible she scared him off. She stared into the distance at her base. Theris’ reaction had been severe to the news of them staying. His patience for her appeared to be slipping. Their argument escalated to the point she had been forced to give him a direct order.

  Something she had not done since the war.

  It would be very easy for them to leave and not look back, but her father’s presence here was unacceptable. Apep was using her father’s hatred of the Creation Pantheon, but even she knew the Dark Lord would not stop there. She thought of Fay, Earl and the little diner, a small beacon of hope inside humanity’s corruption. She considered sending Theris and the younglings ahead of her, but despite Theris’ loyalty, his motivations lay elsewhere, a place her soul could not commit to him.

  Blowing out a breath of frustration, she walked down the street. When she first brought the younglings to this area, they had thoroughly surveyed the buildings. There were several uninhabitable.

  The crunch of the pavement beneath her feet chased her down one street to the next. This block housed a condemned building. The outside walls were intact, but the internal supports had buckled in on the lower levels. The collapsed walls and steel girders would create voids, a perfect place to hide from the sun. She paused at the entryway and inhaled. The scent of old grease and rusted iron filled her lungs. The chains rustled overhead. Crumbled concrete covered the floor of the open warehouse. She frowned, knowing it would be impossible to enter without causing noise.