Bound by Legend: A Bound Novel

by A. D. Trosper

  Lucian averted his eyes. Morgan looked quickly away and continued to help. They both carefully avoided touching, creating an odd sort of dance as they moved around each other.

  “Isobel said you liked soda, so the fridge is stocked with it,” Lucian said into the sudden and heavy silence that had settled between them.

  “Thank you.” Morgan opened the fridge to grab a can before walking slowly back to the dining room and carefully sitting on the opposite side of the table from him. She watched him unobtrusively as he pulled a wide variety of breakfast sandwiches from the bags along with hash browns and several styrofoam trays filled with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and other such things. He must have bought everything on the menu at each restaurant.

  What was it about Lucian that made her react so strongly? Sure he was built like some sort of god come to Earth; she still thought Thor fit him pretty perfect with the golden hair and the close trimmed, narrow line of facial hair that ran along his jaw and connected with a carefully trimmed, mustache. Even so, all of them were built that way. Arabrim certainly hadn’t been lacking and yet she’d never felt this way around him. For some reason her body responded to Lucian, and with what she’d glimpsed in his eyes, he responded the same to her. Thankfully, he seemed as eager to avoid it as she did.

  Though she wanted to write it off as nothing more than physical attraction, it felt like a lie and that scared her even more. Deep connections with people were dangerous. It always led to pain in one way or another. Jake was the first person after her best friend died that she’d allowed close. Then she had let herself care about Arabrim and it had wrecked her.

  And that’s what happened when people were let in. Deep emotional scars followed. How many tragedies and horrible situations could one person go through before they suffered a mental break? Was there some kind of specific limit? A number? Or was it an individual thing? In the end, it really didn’t matter which one it was, Morgan was near her limit.

  Silence hung heavy in the room as they ate. Tension knotted in Morgan’s stomach with each passing moment. It was too quiet, too strained. Desperate to end it, she chanced a brief look at him across the table. He studied the food on his plate as if the secrets of the universe were contained within it.

  “So,” Morgan took a quick drink then continued, “how long have you known Isobel?”

  It wasn’t that she was really interested but damn one of them had to say something, this was unbearable.

  Lucian looked up, clearly surprised that she’d initiated conversation. “Almost a year in this life, though I’ve known her many, many times over my lives.”

  Morgan had to admit; the long-standing friendship between Lucian, Isobel, and Damien made her a little envious. The one other life she’d had where she’d grown old, she and her dark angel hadn’t had any contact with others and she hadn’t seen him in this life. Like Arabrim, he’d been a friend, nothing more. As lonely as that made her feel, she also knew it was for the best.

  “Tell me,” he said, startling her from her thoughts. “Why didn’t you go to Damien and Isobel after Arabrim died? You would have been welcome with them.”

  Morgan stared at her plate while she shoved scrambled eggs around with her fork. “I couldn’t do that to them.”

  “Do what to them?” Sincere confusion filled his voice.

  “People around me have a tendency to die,” she said and leaned back in her chair, pushing the plate away.

  “Why do you say that? Because of Arabrim?” He studied her from across the table. “The Higher Powers gave me very little in the way of information about you, I know basically nothing.”

  “And I don’t want to talk about it.” Morgan looked away from him, her hand absently stroking Lucy’s head for comfort.

  “Right now, or with me?”

  She shook her head a little and decided to be honest. “Both. Look, I’ve been up since yesterday afternoon and I drank way too much whiskey the night before.”

  Lucian raised an eyebrow. “A drunk channel, that’s a first for me. I’ve never known one to do that after she’s come into her memories and powers.”

  “Yeah, I’m freaking one of a kind. Yay for me.” She stood and dug her cigarettes out. Based on the smell inside the house, no one had smoked in there, so she headed through the sliding glass door to the patio.

  It felt good to be outside. Strange it should have been nice to be in a house once again. Leave it up to her to be further screwed up. She lit a cigarette and took a drag as she closed her eyes against the early morning sun.

  After a moment, she moved to lean against the wall while she watched Lucy prowl around the privacy-fenced backyard and nursed her nicotine. Whether he didn’t like the smell of cigarette smoke or just seemed to get that she needed space, Lucian thankfully left her alone.

  When she came in, the table was cleared and Lucian was nowhere to be seen. Morgan moved through the house quietly. Though there was no need to remain unseen and unnoticed, it was a habit. Since the age of twelve, she’d found it was often the best way to be.

  Lucy followed her into the bedroom where she shut the door and eyed the bed. It looked incredibly comfortable and appealing. Too comfortable. She would probably sleep like the dead on it. Lucian, like Arabrim, would make sure she was safe. Even so, Morgan wasn’t ready to be that helpless.

  Leaving the bed untouched, she sat on the floor next to the dresser and leaned back against the wall. Lucy lay down next to her. Morgan ran her hand over the dog’s sleek, soft fur as she rested her head against the side of the dresser and closed her eyes. The silence of the house pressed against her ears. The quiet was unnerving. The upscale neighborhood with its expansive yards provided none of the noise she was used to.

  No sirens wailing. No tires screeching against the pavement. No loud bass rattling everything as it passed by. No trains. No horns. No voices raised in argument or laughter. No breaking glass. No constant rush of the ebb and flow of traffic. No dogs barking or cats fighting.

  It seemed to take forever before she was finally able to relax enough to allow a light doze to settle over her with only Lucy’s quiet snore to diffuse the silence.

  SOMETHING CHANGED. IT jerked Morgan from a shallow sleep. Disoriented, she braced herself for whatever it was that disturbed her. Sweeping her gaze around the room, it took a moment before Morgan remembered where she was. Her eyes came to rest on the open door and the man who leaned against the doorframe.

  Lucian’s gaze flicked from her to the perfectly made bed. “Is there something wrong with the bed?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. In fact, it looks pretty damn comfortable.” She climbed to her feet and stretched.

  “Then why did you choose to sleep sitting up on the floor?”

  Morgan yawned and shrugged. “I’m not ready to sleep as deep as I probably will in the bed.” She glanced at the window. “What time is it?”

  “Just after ten in the morning.” Lucian pushed away from the doorframe. “There’s cold pizza from yesterday if you’re hungry.”

  Despite the earlier meal, her stomach rumbled. “Sounds good to me.”

  Morgan sidled past him. He stepped back as if he too wanted to avoid any accidental contact.

  He followed her down the stairs and out onto the back patio. While Lucy made use of the huge backyard, Morgan lit a cigarette. After sucking in a deep drag and blowing it out, she glanced at Lucian who sat in one of the patio chairs. He watched her with an unreadable expression.

  “What?”

  Lucian shook his head and shifted his gaze to the dog. Morgan took another long drag wishing the nicotine could erase the part of her that wanted to be closer to him. Such a stupid way to feel. Imagine how much more devastating Arabrim’s loss would have been if she’d cared about him the way her heart seemed to want to care about Lucian.

  And how exactly could her heart want anything when it came to Lucian? She’d only met him twice before this. Because, it whispered back at her, he’d shown consideration an
d caring where few had in a long time. Because he’d thought of Lucy when he came back with the phone at the tower. Because when she’d needed him to walk away and take Lucy with him, he had done it. Had kept the dog safe and given her the space she’d so desperately needed that night. Because the next night, despite the way she’d acted before, he’d come the moment she asked him to.

  If Morgan was honest with herself, she would just admit that from the moment she’d opened the backpack and found the items inside for Lucy, she’d begun to feel something for Lucian. It wasn’t love, but it was something. Morgan shook her head and took another deep drag, unsure if she was ready to be that honest with herself. It was safer, easier, to keep him at a distance. To keep everyone at a distance.

  The part of her that keenly felt the loneliness of the path she’d chosen, the part that craved love and the touch of someone important, tried to protest. She crushed it ruthlessly. Even so, it still murmured in the background.

  Lucian observed the play of emotions across her face from the corner of his eye. What did she struggle with so much? Was it just Arabrim’s death that caused the flash of sadness and loss so profound on her face that it made his own heart ache? Or was there something more she carried that weighed so heavy on her?

  Morgan took the last drag as she tried to avoid looking in his direction, aware his attention was on her. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, she crushed out the butt and tossed it in an empty flower pot. Lucy didn’t seem interested in going back inside yet, so Morgan left her chewing on a giant ball and went back inside.

  The pizza boxes were on the granite top of the kitchen island. Morgan opened one and pulled a piece out, not really caring what was on it. She glanced at Lucian who had followed her in. “Are you one of those people who think all food should be eaten at the table?”

  “I’m not, no. And even if I was, this is your home now. Eat where ever you want,” Lucian said as he grabbed one of the boxes and carried it to the living room.

  Morgan watched him go before tossing her piece back in the box it had come from. Picking the whole box up, she held it one hand while she took a soda from the fridge then followed him.

  The large television was already on and Lucian sat in one of the chairs when she entered the room. Choosing the couch, Morgan set the box and soda on the coffee table and sank into the comfortable cushions. She popped open the soda then pulled the slice of pizza back out.

  It didn’t feel like home. No place was her home, even Arabrim’s really hadn’t been. Like this house, Arabrim’s hadn’t belonged to her. Nothing did except the stuff in her backpack. It seemed like such a minuscule thing to represent a person. A pile of worn clothes and a backpack with a coat and odds and ends stuffed in it. If she died right then, there was no worry about what to do with her stuff; it would all fit nicely in a single trashcan.

  Morgan paid little attention to the television. She’d never had much of a chance to watch one since the Grissoms. By the time she was with Arabrim, Morgan had gotten completely out of the notion of watching one and since Arabrim’s death, had only watched one when she was looking after the pawnshop owner’s daughter last fall.

  Lucian watched it with a notable lack of interest. Did he have certain shows he liked to watch? And what did she care? She didn’t. It didn’t matter.

  There was a ragged paperback in her backpack. She’d found it lying on the ground next to a garbage can several days ago. She would have to grab it later. However, after three pieces of pizza and the can of soda, Morgan was so relaxed she didn’t want to move. It wasn’t really a good thing to get so comfortable here. Exhausted from the past few months, her lids slowly closed.

  Her foster father’s shouts carried through the house. She’d known this was coming after her foster mother found the cigarettes. The bedroom door shuddered under the force of his kick and flew open, pieces of the frame soared into the room. Morgan cringed as he charged toward her, violence in his eyes. In a quick movement, she flung herself off the end of the bed just before his hand connected. Enraged, he turned toward her.

  Her foster father swung at her. She blocked it. His other fist came out of nowhere and smashed into the side of her face, sending Morgan crashing into the door of the closet. His foot came at her. Still reeling from the punch, there was nothing she could do but watch it come. Tara’s startled and obviously upset face appeared in front of her.

  Morgan jerked partially awake as her fist connected with something hard in her attempt to protect the dream Tara from the monster of her nightmares. Disoriented by the dim and unfamiliar room, she swung again at the man in front of her and sprang off the couch.

  Lighting quick, he caught her wrist and held it in an iron grip. The vivid images from the dream faded and Morgan stared into Lucian’s eyes. She slowly relaxed as she recognized the living room of his house, her heart pounding with left over adrenaline.

  Lucian watched her with wary concern, his jaw aching from the right hook it had taken. When it seemed she was more aware of her surroundings, he released her wrist. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and looked around the room again, further relaxing from the stance she’d landed in after bolting off the couch. Though her expression was back to its normal closed state, there had been no mistaking the terror on her face when she first woke.

  He waited, trying to give her the space she needed. The space he needed as well. Everything in him pushed to protect her from whatever frightened her. To shield her from it. They were emotions he wasn’t familiar with. Protecting a channel from danger yes, but not like this. And he really didn’t want to get familiar with the feelings.

  When she suddenly walked toward the sliding glass doors, he started to follow but stopped when she held her hand up and said, “Please. I just need a minute.”

  He didn’t miss how her hands shook as she dug her cigarettes out of her pocket.

  Morgan stepped through the door into the crisp late evening. How long had it been since she slept the entire day away? A whiskey-fueled sleep not included. Not even with Arabrim had she slept more than a couple of hours at a time. It was conditioning. With hands that still trembled from the adrenaline rush, she pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it.

  Lucy bounded across the yard to her and Morgan laid a hand on the dog’s head while she took several long drags, inhaling deeply each time. The cool breeze drifted across the yard with the scent of far-off pine and she welcomed the shiver it brought. It reaffirmed she was awake.

  It had been a couple of years since the nightmare had progressed that far. Usually, her imaginary Tara showed up as soon as the door kicked in. Morgan wasn’t sure why the memory of her sister always ended the dream, or why she dreamed of a more grown-up Tara instead of an eleven-year-old one. The first few times she’d had it, the dream had progressed with every vivid detail of that horrible night.

  Another deep drag and she glanced at the house. She could stay a closed book and tell Lucian where to stick it when he asked, and he would ask. Or, she could be fair to him since she had punched him and talk about it. The latter idea had her taking another drag. She’d never spoken with anyone about it. Even Jake only knew the basic outline of what happened. He didn’t know how bad things were when she first ran away and only knew how bad it had gotten because of the condition she was in when she finally found him.

  Something about Lucian pulled at her, made her want to open up. Her nerves, still raw from the nightmare, remained undecided.

  The door slid open and the object of her thoughts stepped through. Morgan looked down at the spent cigarette in her hand. She’d smoked it all the way to the filter without realizing it. After tossing it in the flowerpot, she pulled out another one.

  MORGAN LIT THE cigarette as her stomach twisted itself in knots and he took a seat in one of the patio chairs. Nervous, she took a couple of drags before saying, “Hey.”

  It sounded forced and unsure even to her ears.

  “Are you all right now?” It wasn’t the w
ay Arabrim had asked that question when worried about her health or injuries. There was something different in the timbre of Lucian’s voice that pushed at the walls around her heart.

  “Not really.” She could lie and do it well, but for some reason Morgan couldn’t identify, she didn’t want to lie to Lucian. “Look, I’m not sure what kind of channel you’re used to having but you got saddled with a really screwed up one this time.”

  “I’m not usually assigned a specific channel. I’ve been a free agent for several lives, since the late 1400’s.” His eyes tracked her movement as she paced. “I have, however, met a lot of channels and none have been quite like you. I wouldn’t say you’re screwed up, just different.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. Whatever. I’ve lived two other lives, you know. Well, that might be stretching it. The first life was pretty short and I don’t remember much.” The memory brought on by the demon-possessed in the alley swam through her mind. “I mainly remember dying. My second life, there isn’t a lot either. I do know that I was a very different person in that life.”

  She paused and took a drag, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing. This first part was easier. This she’d told Arabrim. “My parents in this life were wonderful. They died when I was twelve. My mother’s dark angel was killed then, too. I didn’t know that until Arabrim told me he passed into waiting the same day as my parents’ death.”

  Now came the hard part. The part she’d skimmed over and brushed off without ever really telling Arabrim. She started pacing. “Without any other family, my younger sister, Tara, and I were sent to foster care. To separate homes.” A bitter chuckle escaped with a cloud of smoke. “I wanted so badly to be with my sister I ran away multiple times from my first two foster homes in my attempts to find her. Then one evening my second foster parents caught me trying to sneak out my window. They sat me down with grave faces as if they really gave a crap and told me Tara had been killed in a car accident.”