Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong

by Amy Knickerbocker

  The male tipped his head down, his face now just inches away, his breath a hot whisper against her cheek.

  A sustained burst of blue illuminated the arena, revealing the beautifully rugged features of a pure-blooded Vimor daemon. His intense brown eyes were set above chiseled cheekbones and a deeply dimpled chin. He had smooth, unlined skin, save for a small scar that nicked one corner of an eyebrow.

  The male’s dark eyes flashed sapphire again. His thick lips parted, and his eyes glazed with hungry intent.

  Liv knew that only one daemon would dare look at her with such possession.

  He has finally come for me.

  Liv heaved in a breath of helpless surrender, her bust pressing hard against his solar plexus.

  The daemon's eyes narrowed as he took in the tops of her breasts. Teeth clenched in a grimace, he let out a low growl. His massive arms tightened, binding her to his body to the point of pain.

  A jolt of high-octane power raced between them as waves of blue light lit the night, pulsing in time with the daemon's ragged breaths.

  Liv cried out as he worked a thick leg hard against the juncture between her thighs. Her scalp tingled with pain as he fisted the hair at her nape. She felt his other hand slide over her ass to grasp the back of her naked leg. When he had her body thoroughly pinned to his, he began to pulse them away.

  Gods, no. Not this.

  Thundering panic choked out any attempt to beg for mercy.

  As her physical being began to ebb into the Mythos, all the energy he had gifted her began to bleed away.

  Ears ringing, consciousness ceding, Liv thought she heard Mandy’s voice calling from a distance before everything went black.

  *****

  The daemon prince is careless tonight, Kellen thought as he took in the light show that flared through the darkened arena. Weak as it was, he was careful to keep his own venna under tight control. Concentrated immortal energy of any kind was a veritable beacon to the Strong; the Tenn was a fool to expose himself.

  And expose himself he had. Kellen had found him easy enough. But, then again, he’d made it a point to know the Tenn's every movement through the Mythos. Though not his greatest enemy, the supposed heir to the daemon throne had caused him plenty of trouble.

  Namely, Kellen blamed him for just about everything. For too long, the Tenn had sat idly by while the joint council––led by none other than Kellen’s treacherous father and Toran’s scheming uncle––ravaged the kingdom, bringing nothing but misery to those unfortunate enough to call the daemon ‘el home.

  Since the times during and after the Cleansing, the Tenn had done next to nothing to right the many wrongs in Venn Dom. He had made no move to break the back of the council rule.

  Sure, the Tenn did some good here and there. But he was a coward. Prophecy or no, he didn’t fight for what was right.

  No, that fight had fallen on Kellen’s shoulders. Over the years, he and his army of outcasts had beaten a path across the daemon ‘el, using force and fury in a so-far futile effort to shake their brethren out of crippling complacency. The Vimora were notoriously content to live upon their knees, blindly accepting whatever fate deigned to gift them.

  To Kellen, it was an absurd way to live.

  He refused to accept the eternal damnation of an entire daemon race for something that had happened so long ago.

  If only the coward Toran would make something––anything––of his life, Kellen would not have to fight.

  He would not be compelled to kill.

  A brutal flash of light cut through the darkness. For long moments, a blue haze clouded out his vision. When it cleared, Kellen was stunned from more than just the force of Toran's venna. He blinked, trying to make sense of the two figures locked in a tight embrace on the arena floor.

  He sucked in a breath as recognition rocked him to the core.

  She’s alive.

  But how could this be? His mind raced back through the centuries to all that his mother had told him, to all that he’d been taught to believe.

  To all he’d been commanded to do…

  Could his mother have been wrong about everything?

  Impossible.

  But as he watched the Tenn fade away with the female pressed against him, a cold sweat broke out across his brow.

  Gods help me, he thought, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Toran had brought his faine inside his bedroom walls mere moments before an uproar downstairs forced him away from her.

  “Where the hell is she, daemon?” A female’s angry shout cut through the stillness of the castle.

  What the fuck?

  Toran dumped the faine’s body into his bed. As their bodies lost connection, his skin prickled with unease. Before, on the human ‘el, the female had seemed to blossom under his touch.

  Now, her skin was ashen.

  She barely breathed.

  “Goddammit, asshole, you give her back right now!”

  Toran pushed away from the bed. Tensing his muscles, he gave himself up to the Mythos. A jolt of pure power shot through him, compressing his entire being to a flickering static. Condensed tightly inside his molecular state, he pulsed to the arched stone gallery that rimmed the great room’s cavernous space. Immediately regaining his solid self, Toran peered over the balcony.

  A witch stood on the patterned flagstone floor below.

  Eyes aglow in cats-eye yellow, she was screaming bloody hell.

  Sensing his presence, she raised her eyes. Reddish-orange magic crackled in the palms of her hands.

  Fucking magic.

  Just as she swung her arm to ensorcel him, an electric blue disturbance split the air.

  His cousin Merus materialized behind the female, his venna blanketing her body, trapping her arms to her sides.

  The witch’s eyes went wide.

  “What the hell?” she cried. With no way to release her spellcraft without causing harm to herself, she let it dissipate into the air. “Let me go!”

  The female struggled, but Toran knew it would be to no avail. Her powers were bound by his cousin’s immense mental acuity, his venna and his mother’s blood combining to make him a formidable foe indeed.

  Toran was fortunate that Merus fought on his side.

  “Where’s Liv?” the witch screamed, never ceasing her struggles.

  His faine was called Liv. Not her given faine name.

  Interesting.

  “What have you done, you stupid son of a bitch? Is she dead?”

  Dead?

  “Silence!” Toran yelled as he made the turn to jog down the stone staircase.

  “Don’t you silence me, you medieval motherfucker!” she screamed. Despite his cousin outweighing her at least two to one, it looked as if it took nearly all his strength to hold the witch in place. “You obviously don’t understand anything!”

  Well, he certainly didn’t understand how the hell the witch had gotten past Venn Dom’s carefully guarded gates.

  Surely he hadn’t managed to fuck things up, had he?

  “Do you have any idea what she goes through when she’s pulsed?”

  That niggling sense of worry returned.

  Toran again pushed it aside.

  “If you have killed her, I will spend eternity making you pay,” said the witch. “I will flay your flesh into hamburger meat. Billions and billions will be served…”

  Enough.

  A deafening crack of thunder heralded the official arrival of his temper. His venna lashed out like a fist to seize the witch by the throat, immediately silencing her anger.

  Toran tightened his grip. Through a haze of blue fury, he watched his cousin screw his eyes shut before dipping his head to whisper in the witch’s ear. She went still. Her yellow eyes shifted up to stare at Toran as he came to a stop a few paces before her.

  She trembled in fear.

  That was more like it.

  *****

  This was bad. Really bad. />
  Though Merus knew his cousin well, a stranger could see that Toran was not in the mood for this witch’s bullshit.

  In one quick move, Merus stepped behind the female. His hands clutched her upper arms, pulling her body tight against his own.

  “Do not taunt him, love,” Merus whispered at the witch’s ear. “He is the Tenn, the strongest of the Strong. It will not end well for you.” The witch stopped her struggles immediately.

  It was obvious his cousin’s reputation preceded him.

  “Witch, I see that you understand to hold your tongue.” Toran lifted his eyes past her shoulder to Merus’s own. “Cousin, you may release her.”

  Merus obeyed and took a quick step back, still careful to bind the witch’s powers with his own. Her magic was strong. Somehow, she had managed to break through the complicated spellcraft that helped protect his homeland. Though his cousin’s own carelessness had no doubt helped her cause, Merus couldn’t help but be slightly impressed.

  Her abilities––and sassy behavior––peaked his curiosity, a rare enough event these days. Over the days Merus had gathered information on Toran's faine, this female had definitely made an impression.

  Though, from his current vantage, he could not see her face, he knew the glint in her curious yellow eyes.

  And, from behind, she was spectacular.

  The witch’s fiery red hair, curled tight into riotous locks, cascaded to just below her shoulder blades. She had long, shapely legs and a great ass on perfect display. She was as buxom and curvy as Toran's faine was slight in frame.

  While Merus had to wonder just how much of her looks were real and what was enhanced by magic, her attitude? Well, it made his blood quicken.

  Perhaps she is worth bringing to heel. He quickly buried the thought as Toran's shouts brought him back to the present.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Toran was yelling. “There are consequences to pulsing to places you are not welcome!”

  “Not welcome?” she screamed in return. “Maybe you shouldn’t have left a blazing trail of breadcrumbs five miles wide! It was practically an engraved invitation!”

  Merus winced.

  “What do you want, witch?” Toran's anger boomed like thunder.

  “I’m here for Liv!” the witch shouted back. “She’s my friend…” She cried out as Toran's venna singed her skin.

  At her cry, Merus shifted uneasily on his feet. While he didn’t think Toran would snap and truly hurt the witch, this little situation had the potential to go to shit… rapidly.

  “Friend or no,” said Toran, “you have no right to interfere with my faine.”

  “Your faine?” she gasped.

  “That’s right.” Toran got right up in her face. “She is here to serve me.”

  “I don’t understand. She needs…”

  Toran released a wave of venna so strong it rocked the very foundation of the castle, dust and debris sifting down from the rafters above.

  Merus barely kept himself from ducking for cover, a move that would have prevented him from witnessing something he thought he’d never see. He watched in stunned astonishment as an expression akin to wild-eyed lust blanketed his cousin’s typically placid face.

  “I know what she needs.” Toran’s eyes flashed electric blue. “And she’ll get it from me. Only me.”

  “What the hell? You can’t just plug…” The witch sputtered in horror, before crying out, “Oh my god. You stay away from her, you perv. She’s never…”

  Another lash of venna choked away her words. The witch was now in danger of death by suffocation, not to mention electrocution. Growing increasingly ill at ease, Merus resisted the urge to touch her shoulder. For some reason, he found himself near desperate to comfort the female who stood so bravely before him.

  Smartly, he resisted.

  He let his hand remain at his side, unwilling to cross his cousin for this female.

  Not for any female.

  And especially not a witch.

  “I grow tired of this conversation.” Toran gave a dismissive flip of the wrist. “She stays here with me.” He punctuated the apparent end of this conversation with a low growl. “She is mine.”

  “No!” With a fist clenched at her shoulder, the witch lunged forward, clearly intent on clocking Toran across the jaw. In a flash, Merus threw an arm around her waist, holding her writhing yet helpless body tightly against his side.

  Toran's laugh echoed through the castle, which seemed to further piss her off.

  For the sake of her very existence, Merus needed to get the witch out of there.

  Fast.

  Toran gave him the out.

  “You need to figure out what the fuck has happened here and get it fixed. Immediately.” Merus stood tall against Toran's withering glare. “If she shows up again, I’m going to fucking kill her myself.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Merus quietly agreed, careful to show the proper deference owed his future king. Now was certainly not the time to argue… or to point out his cousin’s share of the blame.

  After all, he didn’t have a death wish.

  Toran jerked his chin at the witch before turning to walk away.

  “Get rid of her.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Get rid of her? What the hell did he mean by that? Mandy had barely a moment to contemplate the daemon's words before his goon yanked her by the arm and shifted them through the parallels… back to Vegas.

  An overly warm early September night greeted their sudden arrival. Not surprisingly for the ever-changing city, they landed in the middle of a construction site, the sound of not-so-distant traffic cutting haphazardly into the silence of the abandoned lot.

  This blond haired daemon had brought her here to try to kill her. He must have. Why else would they be there?

  It was so mafioso, so cliché.

  “I would have hoped you’d have a better imagination than this, fuckface.” She walked in short circles around him, reaching deep for powers he somehow had bound with his own. Nothing. Mandy planted her fists on her hips, thinking quickly through her options.

  Verbal fisticuffs it was.

  She started in on him. “What? I don’t rate better than the Jimmy Hoffa treatment? You don’t look smart enough to run a cement truck.”

  The daemon smirked, his square jaw fighting against the exhalation of a full-blown laugh. “Fuckface? Is that an invitation?” he asked, licking his sensual, too-full lips.

  A tug of blatant want tweaked between her thighs. She gaped at him, totally speechless.

  A first for the ages.

  Good god, he was hot. Broad and built and devilishly fair, the daemon was surfer boy times one thousand. A hotter and freakin’ bigger (if that was daemonly possible) Chris Hemsworth-type with clear blue eyes that flashed with the immortal strength of the Strong.

  Da-yum.

  A heated flush crawled up her chest, apparently her personal beacon to bed-hopping strangers.

  Get a freaking grip, Mandena, she mentally kicked herself in the ass. Never mind the hotness, there were crises at hand. Namely her best friend had been kidnapped by an electrified psycho-daemon and she herself was about to be offed unceremoniously, and terribly unoriginally, at a filthy construction site.

  She chose a new approach.

  “Your boss is an asshole.”

  “He is indeed,” the Thor-alicious daemon nodded in agreement. “That’s why you are going to promise to be an obedient little witch,” he said, “and not return to Venn Dom uninvited. If you sneak your way back in, and he is the one to find you, I can promise you that you will not like how things turn out.”

  She ignored him.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be getting rid of me?” she asked, crossing her arms against her chest. “I’m assuming that you have brought me here to try to kill me, so get on with it already. But I’m promising you,” she jabbed a finger into his rock hard pec, “that you will not like how that turns out. I am much more powerful than I look
,” she bluffed.

  “I’m sure you are, witch,” he agreed. “And, if you would like me to stay and partake in your… magic,” his words dripped like honey from his lips, “I am perfectly willing to accommodate you.”

  Your place or mine? The words almost… almost… slipped out of her mouth.

  “In your dreams, daemon,” she huffed instead, heat pouring from all sorts of inappropriate places on her body.

  With his chin tipped down, it was blatantly obvious the daemon was watching her nipples harden.

  In real time.

  He answered lazily, “You have no idea.” Forcing his eyes upward, his voice hardened. “I’m dead serious, Mandy.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  How does this tool know my name?

  “I will be taking immediate measures to secure our ‘el from your magic,” the daemon continued. “If you make even the slightest attempt to follow me, I will be forced to hurt you.”

  “I can’t just leave my friend there,” she cried.

  “Venn Dom is her home. She belongs in our realm.” His eyes were kind when he added, “You have to know how hard it has been for her down here on this mortal plane.”

  “I do know. I’m the one who found her.” Mandy threw her body––all one hundred and twenty pounds of it––into his, trying to break her powers free.

  Nothing.

  Overcome by the seriousness of the situation, Mandy fought against the swell of futility that rose within her. Her sweet, defenseless friend was in danger––and she was helpless to stop it. Tears stinging her eyes, she panted, “I know how she was when she escaped Venn Dom. She was near death…” Unable to finish and severely pissed off at her worthlessness, she shoved him again. “How do I know that prick won’t hurt her?”

  “Unfortunately, you don’t,” Merus answered, all signs of good humor gone. “But do us both a favor and stay out of it.”

  He tapped her on the nose before pulsing back into the night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Upon his return from dealing with Mandy, Merus found Toran in his office having some quality one-on-one time with the fire––instead of being upstairs with his faine.