Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong

by Amy Knickerbocker

  “I know.” Liv nodded while worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “He has offered but… I don’t know.”

  “You don’t want to be hurt.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Liv laughed without any humor. “I once thought that I’d give anything to feel, really feel.”

  Anara’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “You shouldn’t feel pain for more than a few seconds before you heal completely.”

  Liv squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. Now that I’ve experienced…” She pressed a hand against her suddenly crimson cheeks.

  “Now that you’ve experienced being with a male,” Anara prompted.

  “We haven’t been together.” Liv looked away. “Not like that.”

  “That’s not surprising, considering…” Anara sucked in a breath.

  “What?” Liv asked. “What were you going to say?”

  “You know,” Anara replied as she busied herself to leave, “I should probably get back to my rounds.”

  Lunging forward, Liv grabbed the doctor’s arm, her movement made awkward by the bulky boot. “Tell me what you were going to say,” she demanded.

  Anara sat back down on her stool and slumped her shoulders, her hands clasped between her knees.

  “Please, Anara,” Liv whispered. She could feel her friend’s agonized hesitation.

  “He abstains,” Anara said at last.

  “Abstains?” Liv repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, Liv.” Anara closed her eyes and sighed. “I’ve said too much already. This is his story to tell.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait.” Liv waved off Anara’s words. “You mean he abstains from sex…” Her eyes went wide, her mind racing back to each time they had touched. A shiver ran across her skin as she remembered the heat of his kiss; the feel of his strong arms around her as he carried her to the cabin; the weight of his gaze as he helped her undress. “Then, why has he…” She swallowed, blinking past sudden tears.

  “Why has he what?” Anara asked.

  “Oh my gods, he hates me.” Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Liv curled into herself.

  “What? How can you say that?” Anara protested. “I’ve never known Toran to hate anyone in his life.”

  “You don’t know him very well.” Liv laughed back a sob.

  “On the contrary, I know him very well. What has he done to you, Liv?”

  “He…” Liv shook her head.

  “What has he done?” Anara repeated.

  Liv studied the wall on the other side of the room.

  He toys with me.

  “His behavior towards me is very confusing, and completely unfair,” she chose to answer at last. “I don’t know what it is he wants from me.”

  Anara studied her a long moment before saying, “Look, Toran is a difficult person to get to know… to understand.” Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “Good or bad, there are reasons for how he is. But you have to see that he hasn’t had the easiest of lives. Certain circumstances have molded the way he thinks, the things he believes, and most unfortunately, they have dictated the things he believes he cannot do.” She paused before adding, “Or have.”

  “That may well be the case,” answered Liv as her heart began to ache, “but I know what I want.”

  “Which is?”

  “I want children,” she answered. “I want a family.”

  “Okay.” Anara nodded, her brow creased in thought. “I would think that should be possible, medically speaking,” she said. “I’d say you’d only have to be at a hundred percent, energy-wise, for a while––probably a couple months or so––to be fertile.”

  “I figured as much,” Liv answered before falling silent.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lips pressed together, Liv inclined her head.

  “Ah, I see,” Anara acknowledged slowly. “And you believe that only Toran can give you that.”

  Liv gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

  “So it seems…” There was no use pretending anymore. Liv knew her body––and how it came alive at Toran’s touch, and only Toran’s touch. To have what she wanted most in life––a family of her own––she’d have to somehow manage to live forever with heartache. Especially if, or more than likely when, he found someone he deemed worthy enough to share his bed––to share his life.

  She had to believe the pain would be worth it.

  A moment passed.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do,” Liv answered, “if I’m to have what I want.”

  “But you have feelings for him,” Anara said softly.

  I’m in love with him, stupid fool that I am.

  “It doesn’t matter how I feel,” she said instead.

  “Have you really thought this through?” Anara reached out to touch Liv’s arm. “Are you sure being Toran’s faine––and only his faine––is something you can live with?”

  How to answer that?

  “I know what is expected of me,” Liv said. “And I will do my duty. But I refuse to live this way.” Given her overwhelming sense of sadness, she was surprised her voice held as steady as it did. “It’s time for me to let him go. No,” she was quick to amend, “it’s time for him to let me go.”

  Which shouldn’t be that hard, considering how he feels.

  Eyes prickling with tears, she lifted her chin.

  “From here on out, I’ll take what it is I need from him so that I can live my life, on my terms. To do so,” Liv said, “I’m going to need your help.”

  *****

  Sprawled out on an abandoned gurney, Kellen lay on his side, his head propped up on an elbow. Sight unseen in the hospital hallway, he watched as the Tenn fell apart before his eyes.

  Though it was thought that Kellen’s mother had been entirely human, she happened to have had a powerful strain of Other in her blood. This fact had afforded her son certain advantages amongst the Strong. Namely, Kellen enjoyed the ability to evaporate into the Mythos, to hide in plain sight wherever he pleased.

  It had certainly made things easy for him––especially when it came to staying one step ahead of his brother over the years.

  He just wished his addled excuse of a mother would have clued him in on his talents just a bit earlier in his life.

  Perhaps it could have spared him untold amounts of pain.

  His aura flickered.

  Resentment burning, Kellen forced his mind back to present.

  Earlier, after following the Tenn and his faine out of the highlands, Kellen had been on hand to watch the daemon’s Land Rover roll to a stop at the clinic’s door. Leaving the engine running, Toran had skirted around the front of the truck and, snapping his fingers at a cowering orderly, had demanded a wheelchair.

  With surprising gentleness, Toran had lifted the faine from the truck, the female’s body wrapped tight in a quilt to stave off the coolness of the day.

  After making it perfectly, and viciously, clear that the faine would be seen immediately, Toran had left without another word.

  Well, he had tipped his chin to the doctor who had stepped out to greet them.

  There was that.

  The Tenn gone in a huff, Kellen had followed the doctor as she wheeled the faine inside.

  But before Kellen could make up his mind whether to stay and spy or concentrate his efforts elsewhere, Toran had burst back through the hospital entrance.

  Needless to say, Kellen had stayed.

  The Tenn was now parked outside the room that held the faine, his forehead pressed against the door. Kellen had no doubt that Toran’s keen daemon ears were picking up each and every word.

  And it seemed that whatever was being discussed was making quite the impression.

  Toran looked as if he were being eviscerated alive.

  From his perch a few feet away, Kellen could practically feel the daemon’s agony.

  Which was interesting, t
o say the least.

  But, truth be told, Kellen had found the whole day interesting, starting with when he had watched the Elder Diogo intentionally trip the faine.

  It was clear that Arman was stepping up his game.

  But why would the old daemon want to hurt the faine? If she was injured, Toran would be compelled to feed her… to heal her.

  To give her his strength.

  To Kellen, that made no sense at all if Arman was looking to thwart the Tenn’s path to the crown.

  But here Kellen sat, bearing witness to Toran’s distress.

  In a hospital.

  Which meant that the faine refused to take his venna.

  Strange.

  But that was the least of the strangeness of what had been going on the past few weeks.

  Kellen was now convinced the assassination plot against him was all a ruse. Wanting to know exactly what he was up against, Kellen had tracked down the Cutter himself and had studied the daemon from afar.

  What he had learned had been baffling.

  He had found no rush to arms, no focus on strategy.

  He had uncovered no bloodthirsty urge to hunt him and his men down in return for a rich––and much needed––reward.

  Instead, it was clear to Kellen that the Enoth assassin had another, much more pressing, matter on his mind.

  Namely, a female of the Other persuasion.

  Which left Kellen, all points considered, stumped as to what Arman had up his sleeve.

  None of it made any godsdamn sense.

  It was beyond time to feel things out himself, face to face.

  Starting with the Tenn and where he stood on his impending marriage.

  Days ago, Kellen had let it be known the specifics of his plans, confident the word would get back to Arman. Kellen was sure he had a spy within his midst. Given his own reliance on information gleaned from various camps throughout the years, he would have been sorely disappointed if he hadn’t.

  Once Kellen came out of the shadows, he was confident Arman would tip his hand…

  Toran’s cry of distress ripped him from his musings. Kellen looked up just in time to witness the Tenn barreling past him down the hallway, his face masked with anguish.

  Hopping down from the gurney, Kellen’s eyes were glued to Toran’s back as the daemon burst through the doorway. Running after him, Kellen watched as the Tenn climbed into his truck and drove away, tires screeching on the asphalt.

  Well now, he thought, perhaps there was some hope for Toran after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Feinting to the left, Toran slashed his arm up and out, the venna around and within him heaving with violent yet pinpoint precision.

  The blast of energy barreled his sparring partner over, the daemon landing with a thump on the hard, cold ground. The acrid odor of scorched flesh and clothing polluted the open field that lay just outside the castle walls.

  “What the fuck, Ales! Protect yourself!” Chest heaving, Toran stood over the male’s prone body. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” the male groaned as he rolled over onto his knees, his black shoulder-length hair curtaining his face.

  Reaching a hand down, Toran pulled the daemon to his feet. He flexed his fingers. Raising his arms, he dropped back into a fighting stance. “Again.”

  Ales dropped back to his knees.

  “What the hell is going on?” Toran lifted his hands in question. “Who will fight me?” he yelled. Twisting his neck, he glared at the other males in the clearing. None of his fighters would look him in the eye.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he shouted. “If one of you bastards doesn’t speak up…”

  Merus stepped forward and called out, “Walk with me, cousin.”

  Toran stared the male down.

  “What’s going on, Merus?”

  “Come, I have news on the rebels.”

  Merus clasped a hand at Toran's shoulder and steered him down the path towards home. When they were some distance away, he said, “I see you’re determined to beat everyone into submission.”

  It was true. Since leaving Liv in the hospital two days ago, Toran had been consumed with the need to fight.

  It seemed nothing else could relieve his agony.

  “You know you should go easy on Ales for now,” Merus said. “I’m sure he’s still recovering from his injuries. Besides,” he added, “you know our men can’t keep up with you when you’re like this.”

  “And what would ‘like this’ be?” Toran shrugged off his cousin’s hold. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ales just now rising from the ground to limp off the field.

  Merus pursed his lips but said nothing.

  As they walked along the cool shadow of the curtain wall, an uneasy silence passed between them.

  Toran nodded in agitated greeting to two females they passed along the way. He allowed them to get well behind him before turning to his cousin.

  “What’s the news?”

  “The rebels are encamped outside of Harringsbye, just a few miles away from Narcyz’s estate,” said Merus. “For whatever reason, it seems there’s been a break in their magic.”

  “Any sign of the Cutter?”

  “No, thank the gods,” Merus replied. “I took the liberty of speaking with the younger McCannon brother to see if I could get a better bead on Reighn. Rhedden said that neither he nor Rhahm have seen their brother in weeks.” Here, he paused. “Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

  “Well, out with it already,” Toran snapped.

  “It makes no sense to me,” Merus said, “that Reighn would risk drawing the Vimora into war to do my father’s bidding. Especially not when the Enoth are fighting for their lives against the Sumari.”

  “The bastard would do it for any number of reasons, cousin,” Toran answered tersely. “For money, for sport. Hell, he’d do it just to stick it to Rhahm.” It was no secret amongst the Strong that the two elder McCannon brothers despised the very air the other breathed. “What about your brother?”

  “As far as I can tell, he’s not encamped with his men.” Merus blew out a frustrated breath. “Look, you know I’ve always had issues tracking my own blood, even with magic. I’m trying my best to find him…”

  “Unacceptable,” Toran declared. “I need this matter resolved now, Merus. I’m running out of time.”

  As the wall opened up to the gatehouse, Merus slowed his steps. “You are indeed running out of time, my friend.”

  Toran stopped walking.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “This was delivered to me yesterday.” Merus held a thick piece of paper, shoulder high, between middle and forefinger.

  “What is it?” Toran repeated.

  “Take a look.”

  Toran took the proffered note from his cousin’s hand. Flipping the heavily gilded card open, he began to read an invitation… to his own wedding.

  As he read, the ground trembled ever so slightly beneath them, dust and debris sifting down the castle walls.

  Willing his hand not to shake, Toran passed the card back to Merus.

  “This is good,” he lied. “Everything is as it should be.”

  “You’ve moved the date up a month.”

  “I have,” Toran answered with an agitated nod. “Having the ceremony at the Blessing of the Thorns makes sense, regardless of whether my bride is ready to accept me.” He paused before adding, “Feliks will never suspect a thing.”

  Merus studied his boots.

  “Does everyone know?” Toran dared a glance in his cousin’s direction.

  “No, not everyone,” his cousin answered softly. “Only the men who will serve as your honor guard are privy to the news.” He paused. “The public announcement will be made on Sunday.”

  Toran squinted towards the setting sun.

  It was Tuesday.

  “Come Sunday, you’ll have two weeks’ time until the Blessing.” Merus let the gravity of that statement fill
the air. “Will you be ready?”

  What a fucking question.

  “I’ll be ready,” Toran answered.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Does it matter what I want?” Toran blew out a breath.

  As Merus remained silent, Toran counted down from five.

  Right on cue, his eternal optimist of a cousin spoke up.

  “Toran, now that you’ve found Liv, doesn’t it change everything?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Merus!” At last finding a crack in his dam of misery, Toran’s temper erupted to expose just the tip of the rage simmering within him. “Finding the faine has been the whole fucking point of the last six hundred years! Of course she changes everything!”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then spit it out, man. My patience is wearing thin.”

  “I’m talking about Liv. She has a name,” Merus added pointedly. “And it’s no secret there is interest there.” He paused. “From both sides.”

  Gods help me.

  “You imagine things.” Toran spun on a foot and started to walk away.

  Merus reached out and grabbed his arm. With a burst of blue, Toran's venna lashed out and knocked the hand away.

  “Do not touch me, faine,” he warned.

  Rare aggression hummed from his easy-going cousin, the violence of Merus’s venna rising up to match his own, pulse by electric pulse.

  He got right up in Toran's face.

  “Listen to me, you stubborn bastard. Really think about this. Your entire life you’ve thought there was only one way forward. Now you have a choice!”

  “Merus, how has this ever been about choice?” Toran yelled as he shoved his cousin away. “This is about fate!”

  “Fate? Says who? Your uncle?” Merus threw out his arms. “Who else believes that shit other than you, Arman, and a bunch of psychotic Elden desperate to hold on to the past?”

  “Watch yourself, cousin,” Toran warned.

  “Were you there when the prophecy was given?”

  “You know I wasn’t.”

  “Then fuck this ‘of like and purest blood’ bullshit, man. Do you think the Sorcieri and the rest of our enemies give a shit who you marry?” Merus laughed. “You deserve so much more than destroying any chance of happiness jumping into some fated,” his forefingers curled around the word, “marriage to my vapid shrew of a sister!”