Rhapsody (Bound to the Fae Book 3)

by J. Kearston

  Rhapsody

  Bound to the Fae Book 3

  © 2020 J. Kearston

  All rights reserved

  No part of this work may be duplicated, reproduced, or transferred by any means, without the written approval of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual people (living or dead), places, or events is purely coincidental. This series is meant for adults and contains sexual scenes (positive and consensual)

  Please note: This series deals with some darker things that some may find triggering, including ptsd flashbacks, depression, as well as graphic scenes of blood and violence later in the series. While I would love for you to read my work, never do so at the risk of your mental health.

  *Cover by Nichole Witholder at Rainy Day Artwork*

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Rhapsody | Bound to the Fae book 3

  Chapter 1 | Cambria

  Chapter 2 | Atlas

  Chapter 3 | Dorian

  Chapter 4 | Cambria

  Chapter 5 | Lucien

  Chapter 6 | Dorian

  Chapter 7 | Atlas

  Chapter 8 | Cambria

  Chapter 9 | Cambria

  Chapter 10 | Lucien

  Chapter 11 | Dorian

  Chapter 12 | Atlas

  Chapter 13 | Cambria

  Chapter 14 | Dorian

  Chapter 15 | Cambria

  Chapter 16 | Cambria

  Chapter 17 | Cambria

  One Year Later | Cambria

  Thank you so much for going on this wild ride with me! | If you’re interested in seeing what other caffeinated chaos goes on in my brain, you can check out my other books here- | https://www.amazon.com/J.-Kearston/e/B0847SLJR2 | Or sign up for my newsletter here- | https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/j0u7n4

  Rhapsody

  Bound to the Fae book 3

  Chapter 1

  Cambria

  Everything hurts beyond belief, but all of that fades away as fear and adrenaline floods my veins. Dorian’s grip is tight on mine as I lean into him for support standing, favoring my better leg. It may be a multitude of burns and gashes, but at least it didn’t catch a bullet like the other thigh. My skin is pale and clammy and despite days passed out and recovering in Faerie, I barely feel a blip of my typical energy thrumming through my veins.

  The fae’s face before us is a mask of calm, cold fury. One arm is crossed over her stomach, and the other is on her opposite cheek as she tilts her head to the side, sizing us up.

  “Now would be a really good time to show off those supposed monster taming abilities.” Dorian sounds breathless, not taking his eyes off of the changeling in front of us.

  Her long blonde hair is windswept, swiping her tongue over a stray drop of blood on her lips. The eyes though...that’s what causes my stomach to churn. Solid black, not so much as a hint of color. It’s impossible to tell where her gaze is focused beyond the direction she’s facing, let alone give any insight into her emotions. Body language is all I have to base anything off of, along with the predatory air radiating off of her lithe form.

  “I’m calling bullshit on that whole thing.” Getting another shooting pain in my stomach, I press a palm against it, trying to keep myself stitched together so that my insides stay where they belong. “If that panther wasn’t even scared of me, why the hell would this thing be?”

  Dorian takes a small step back, testing the waters, and the changeling’s lips pull back in a snarl. Instantly he stills, but the creature doesn’t relax.

  “To be fair, you didn’t attempt to use your abilities on it. Maybe you’d have been surprised to find out how easy it was,” he attempts, nervously rambling as we both scramble for an idea.

  “Low on stores, D. Barely have enough energy to stay upright at the moment, let alone try to manipulate anyone.”

  “But you’ve been here for days,” he counters anxiously, and I just gesture down my body since that sums it up better than anything.

  “Been a little busy not dying.”

  The changeling slowly shifts her stance and we tense. Dorian releases my hand long enough to press a gun into it. “Out of ammo, but at least a blunt object.” He then switches the dagger to his dominant hand.

  “Well, why do you get the knife? If I’m Van Helsing over here, I should get the cool weapons.”

  Not that it would actually do any good either way, but my rising panic has cut off the connection to my brain, rambling as much as he was to try and postpone our deaths for another few seconds. All the while the changeling just watches, barely even breathing, she’s so unnaturally still.

  “Because you’re about two seconds from collapsing and you know it.” The teasing tone I’m so accustomed to hearing from him is gone, replaced by reluctant determination.

  There’s a small scuff of dirt and pebbles crunching beneath the changeling’s feet, the only sign to anything changing, and I brace myself for impact. The preternatural speed at which she moves is surreal, even my eyes are barely able to keep track of her. In as little as a blink she’s in front of us, sidestepping the slash Dorian attempts and gripping his arm. A swift kick to his leg and a hand palming the back of his neck, it slams him into the dirt.

  Rather than blindly strike out, I try to anticipate the next logical move from a predator’s viewpoint, and take a step to the side before she tries to neutralize me as a threat next. But I clearly come across as pathetic, not even worth noticing, because she simply bares her teeth at Dorian as he rolls, embedding the knife into her calf.

  Capitalizing on the distraction, I crouch, digging my fingers into the dirt and striving to reach any of the energy that connects us to this place. Elorie’s clearly been sucking it dry throughout her kingdom for my entire life, so much less potent than the shadow court, but it’s still there.

  With as scattered as my attention is, it’s even harder to access than usual, but desperation makes the best motivator. I can feel its desire to stitch my wounds back together, but with a mental shove, I force it past them all.

  As I start to hum, I watch her movements start to slow, her attention torn between me and Dorian. Since it’s a sure sign that it’s at least having some sort of effect, I risk everything, shutting my eyes and pretending for just a few moments that the world ceases to exist. Raking my nails through the dirt, I keep pulling for more energy, keeping the gun clutched defensively in my other.

  My humming morphs into words, imbuing every bit of energy that I’m able to pull into them. Spurred by a sudden idea after Atlas’ constant teasing, I embrace the stereotype in full, a siren’s song escaping into the world. Without any instrument to channel my abilities through, most songs won’t have the same mesmerizing effect. But the breathy sounds turn each word into something hypnotic, coaxing men to leap from safety to the depths of the ocean for merely a voice on the breeze.

  The little energy I’d manage to collect while unconscious merges with what I’m pulling and I can feel my body tremble. It just makes me push harder, keeping my eyes shut to hold onto my focus.

  A palm on my cheek has my eyes flying open, meeting obsidian eyes that have my heart lodging in my throat. I completely freeze as her lips meet mine, just the barest touch. A soft exhale, and energy rushes into my system like a dam burst, knocking me back on my ass.

  “What do you want?” Dorian demands in frustrated confusion, coming into view, coated in dry dirt and openly bleeding scratches, but far better shape than I’d been anticipating. “Leave her alone and you can have me instead, deal?!”

  “No!” But it’s too late.

  The dark sheen over the changeling’s eyes flashes as she opens her
mouth, condemning him in the process of hissing out a single word. “Deal.”

  Chapter 2

  Atlas

  “Gonna turn into a fucking glow stick.” Cupping my hands, I take another reluctant sip of the luminescent water. “Snap my neck and use my damn corpse as a nightlight.”

  My head is still spinning, fading in and out of consciousness over the last who knows how long. In the shadow court there’s no way to tell time, and they took my watch and both phones in that warehouse before beating the shit out of me.

  The others had to have made it with me, or we’d all be dead. Cambria told us once that we couldn’t cross over without each other, hence why we didn’t just part ways the second we received the marks carved into our flesh, binding us to her. If she’d been left behind on Earth after all of this time with the state she was in, she’d be dead by now, and we would be too.

  “She said the necrotic rings spit you out at random and hurt like hell.” Sitting on the grass, I lean back on my hands, staring up at the hypnotic canopy above me. It completely blocks out the sky, but the bioluminescent streaks running through the foliage are more interesting than constellations anyway.

  “Okay, think.” Shutting my eyes, I flop backwards onto the soft grass, waiting for my head to stop swimming. “Same general rules apply, but the one I created was different. Not only how it looked, but to get it to work, it needed to soak up a few pints of blood.”

  I keep my voice low, not sure who else might be nearby, but it helps combat the oppressive silence. There aren’t even any squirrels running around in this place or birds chirping. It freaks me out, truth be told, but at least now that we’ve met Achlys, I’m less concerned about the fae from the shadow court ripping my head off.

  Besides, now you can just play with your bloody flowers and wish yourself away. Mentally scoffing at how absolutely ridiculous my life’s become, I scrub an exhausted, shaky hand down my face.

  “Explains why I feel like shit; it used me like a damn battery.” My eyes fly open and widen as things start to slowly click into place, though it inspires another question. “So what powers the normal fairy rings?”

  Naturally, no one responds, but I can feel the answer on the tip of my tongue. If it wasn’t for the simple fact that the rings in Elorie’s kingdom still work, I could argue that she was stealing their power along with the rest that she hoards. And more importantly, we don’t even know what she’s hoarding power for. There has to be more to it than just a greedy queen that wants to secure her title.

  Rubbing my fingers over my temples, my headache grows until I’m forced to stop trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe. I can mull over theories while I walk, and ultimately, finding the others is my first mission. With a groan, I get to my feet, absolutely starving. But while I may be desperate enough to risk drinking the water, with my luck, any plant I try to eat will be poisonous.

  Glancing around, I don’t have a damn clue what direction to start heading in. No sun to figure out North or South, and even if there was, I have absolutely no lay of the land in this world. Add in the fact that everything in this forest looks the same, and I’m left flipping a coin and just praying for the best.

  And as a kid whose prayers were never answered, I’ve long since stopped giving any weight to the concept. But standing here, halfway towards death’s door and desperately missing the people bound to the other side of my invisible chains, I need...something. Any sort of tether that I can latch onto is a mercy, and even if it’s all pointless, the only hurt that can come from it is the inevitable disappointment.

  Trudging on, the minutes turn into hours, but it may as well be days. I’m so fucking burned out it’s obscene. Not just hungry and exhausted, but every fiber in my being wants to throw in the damn towel. It’s just...too much. Abducted, tortured, abandoned; you can only push someone so far before they break. As much as I’m thrilled that we pulled off a miracle and escaped that hellhole, I just want to quit. There’s too much coming at us from every side, and while Cambria is the best thing to ever happen to me, nothing’s ever easy anymore.

  I’d choose her every time in a heartbeat, but I can still wish things weren’t so hard.

  The life in the forest gradually drains away the farther I go, the light dimming and the rich colors along with it. First thought would be that the plant life out here is just too far from a water source to thrive, but the more I press on, the more I’m frowning.

  Carefully, I brush my fingers over the bark of a tree and the path that I trace disintegrates into ash, leaving a chunk missing. Quickly curling my fingers into my palm, I glance down at my feet and then behind me. For the last several yards, the faint impressions of footsteps turn into a clearer trail, giving an obvious path for anyone to track me. The ground still looks like soil, but it crumbles like dried mud.

  Pausing, I weigh the merits of turning around, retracing my steps and starting over in the opposite direction. But ultimately, there’s a nagging in the back of my mind that’s keeping me rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s the simple fact that I’m a glutton for punishment, that I’m drawn to the desolation.

  In a land that thrives on deceptive beauty, this place just seems like the closest thing to home. They can fake their wealth and power until the bitter end, stubbornly clinging to their delusions, but even the fae can’t hide from death forever. And that’s exactly what this area screams; forgotten wasteland.

  Forging ahead, I don’t bother trying to hide my footsteps anymore. Dust stirs up with each heavy footfall as I pass by the thinning trees, until for the first time in this court, I get a view of something other than the seemingly endless forest that encompasses nearly everything.

  The stars in the sky here blend together into a haze, brightening the night sky into a muted illusion of dawn. It’s similar to that stage of early morning, where night still has its claws dug in, refusing to acknowledge the sun will rise in just another couple of hours.

  As far as the eye can see, the base of the small mountain range appears like it’s formed of solid ash. Fissures split the earth haphazardly, and glancing down into the darkness, there are a series of pitted pockets in the rock walls on either side. Boulders block some of the view, growing larger as they flank a path into a valley leading between two of the larger mountains.

  It looks like all it would take is a harsh breeze to erase it all forever.

  Carefully, I watch my step as I give a wide berth to the nearest fissure. If the ledge is even half as unstable as the bark on that tree, then I don’t want to get within ten feet of the thing. My shoes sink almost completely into the dust like the ground is made of memory foam, and I pause to lace them tighter just to err on the side of caution.

  “The fuck are you doing?” Muttering the words to myself, I strain to pick up the sound of literally anything.

  After the absence of anything for so many hours, it’s starting to drive me a bit mad. Every time I swallow my own spit, it’s deafening. And this place just adds another layer to absorb any sound instead of echoing around the mountainous terrain.

  “Shit, you ever want to murder someone, this is the place to do it.”

  Yet, like the suicidal bastard I am, I don’t turn back. Even a desert doesn’t stretch on forever despite it feeling that way when you’re thirsty. If I keep pressing on, then eventually I’ll make it out the other side of the wasteland. And with as clear as my tracks are, it’ll be completely transparent that I’m not alone long before anything gets the drop on me.

  Unless it can fly.

  Flicking my gaze upward, there are just as many pits studding the mountainous terrain that could be used as shallow caves. “Fuck.”

  Maybe it’s the burnout, but the thought of being attacked by some soul sucking harpy doesn’t make me nearly as scared as it should. Depression for the win; death starts looking like a rewarding nap instead of a punishment.

  Heading for the valley, I just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, pushing all thoughts of
food from my mind rather than let them torture me. Of all of my injuries, my head and leg are the hardest to deal with. Thankfully, the bullet that the asshole put through my thigh went clean out the other side, and the fucked up ring I managed to conjure wasted no time cauterizing that wound along with the rest. A splitting headache is still shacked up in my skull, and I doubt it’ll be going anywhere until I get some solid food in me and a week of sleep.

  A small crunch has the air seizing in my lungs, whipping my head to the right as the sound of something slithering through the ash has me crouching, fumbling around for at least a solid rock that could be used as a weapon. But all that meets my fingers is the fine powder of dirt.

  With a slow breath, I brace myself, standing and taking a step forward to crane my head around the massive boulder to try to lay eyes on whatever’s lurking so close. If I’m going to be a basilisk’s breakfast, I’m at least going to face it with a shred of dignity.

  Knowing my luck, these hills have eyes, and my death will be broadcast around both courts. Not about to have Dorian calling me a little bitch for running with my tail between my legs while sharing some popcorn with our girlfriend.

  The shadows are darker here, but there’s still no mistaking the monster in front of me. “God-fucking-damn-it, Luce!” Hissing out the words, I break into a sprint, skidding to my knees in front of the murderous bastard. I respect the asshole, but that doesn’t make him less of one sometimes.

  Threadbare roots coat his body, strengthening in color and size the closer they are to his body. The sections shooting out from the ground still appear brittle, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’re sucking the life out of the man.

  He’s passed the fuck out, not even so much as a twitch or a grumble as he’s being drained, and I imagine he hasn’t woken up since we got here. Victor did a hell of a number on him, and if he’d been conscious, there’s no way he would have just rolled over and given up. He’s better than any of us in that regard.