Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong

by Amy Knickerbocker

  His muscles… and his venna… failed him.

  Toran found himself trapped in a nightmare. He could only watch as a dark magic filled the room, its weight pressing down his limbs like wet cement.

  There was no escaping its grip.

  “Priest!” Arman shouted when he had Toran right where he wanted. “It’s time to bind the Tenn to his fated bride… now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Locked in place with Sarai pressed hard against the line of his body, Toran was caught inside the vice of a spell so powerful, it felt as if it was crushing him alive.

  How the hell did his uncle have this kind of magic?

  “Clear this room!” Arman shouted to the few remaining workmen who had been brave enough to stay to watch the show.

  “All but you,” he said, pointing a crooked finger at Merus. “You will stand as witness to this union.”

  “The fuck I will.” Merus launched himself towards Arman, no doubt hell-bent on nullifying the old daemon's powers with his considerable own. Merus’s body was tossed like a slab of meat against the wall.

  “You… will… watch,” Arman commanded, his lips dripping with menace. With a wave of his hand, magic leapt from his fingers to grip Merus’s face, pinning the daemon's eyes wide open.

  “What the hell is this, Arman?” Toran struggled to speak, every breath made even more difficult by the cloying heat of Sarai’s body plastered tight against his own.

  “It’s funny,” Arman said without the barest hint of humor, “how one can obtain the power one needs to get things done… for a price.”

  “You purchased the Sorcieri’s magic?” His suspicions confirmed, Toran’s heart convulsed with the stabbing pain of his uncle’s betrayal before quickly evening out to a steady beat of revenge. Despite the spell’s near-complete control over his every muscle, Toran’s body throbbed with violence, his venna straining to escape the enchantment’s grasp. “You dare betray me?”

  “Oh, my dearest nephew,” Arman laughed, “I don’t dare do anything that hasn’t already been decreed by your precious little prophecy. All I’ve done is take extra measures to ensure that you do not fail, measures that protect my path to the throne.”

  “Your what?” Toran managed to gasp before his breath was choked away.

  Again, Arman laughed.

  Toran could do nothing but watch as Arman sauntered toward where he and Sarai stood, paralyzed together. With another wave of the old daemon's hand, a groin-high altar appeared before them amidst the dust and debris of the damaged castle.

  The tips of a hundred black candles burst into vivid blue flames.

  “We do this now.” Arman’s lips tipped up into a wicked smile.

  As if shoved from behind, Toran found himself falling forward, pinning Sarai beneath him against the lush velvet structure, his boots on the ground, her skirt pushed high around her waist. Her most intimate flesh was pressed bare and ready against the fabric of his jeans.

  With Sarai’s breath hot against his neck, Toran panted in panicked disbelief, his muscles straining to escape from between her thighs.

  The priest began to chant.

  A sizzling sensation flared against his skin as, wherever his body touched against Sarai’s, his clothing began to dissolve away, baring his flesh against hers.

  Toran felt himself inexplicably… thickening.

  “Stop this now, Arman!” Toran’s heart thundered against his ribs. His vision wavered. Electric pinpricks of blinding blue light blotted out all sight as the darkness Toran had felt within him came awake with a howling fury.

  The venna that rose up now to claim the female beneath him… was not his own.

  “What have you done, old man?” Toran bit out, his cock pressed hard and eager against Sarai’s cleft. With a wanton whimper, she arched against him, his shaft pulsing in answer. Biting back a shout of frustration, Toran flexed his muscles tight, battling to win control over the evil that now impelled him to spill his seed. “My venna…”

  “I have flooded you with the venna of Elden––Elden you have betrayed by your unforgivable behavior with your faine,” said Arman as he walked slowly around the alter as if discerning the most advantageous vantage. He settled for right beside Toran’s left shoulder, just opposite the still-chanting priest. “I have infected you with venna that I now control by spellcraft.”

  “I will kill you for what you’ve done!” Merus’s words cut through from across the room, his voice hoarse and strained as it fought to escape the clutch of Arman’s magic. “You’re behind the ambush… the assassins. You’ve set my brother up for death.”

  “Kellen means nothing.” Arman waved a dismissive hand. “Only my end game matters.” Bending low, he grabbed Toran by the hair. He pulled Toran’s head back to look him in the eye. “Here’s your chance, son. Your chance to have everything… at least for the briefest moment in time.” Spittle flying, Arman’s eyes were those of a madman. “Now that your strength has been taken, and your future is spread wide before you, say that you forsake your faine. Say that you claim your bride.”

  “I will not,” Toran ground out.

  I will do what’s right… for me.

  “Take this gift I have given Venn Dom!” Arman continued as he released Toran’s head with a violent shove. “The Vimora deserve a king! Do not allow her to make you weak.”

  Toran strained into his fury.

  As a faine, Liv may make him weak but, gods help him, he lived to be lost in her wetness, lost in his weakness.

  With the memory of their one night now lodged inside his soul, with her beside him––gods, with her body alive and moving beneath him––Toran refused to accept a life without her.

  No matter the consequences.

  His own venna erupted with a vengeance, battling back the enemy within him that was intent on forcing Toran to take a female other than his own.

  Not gonna happen.

  Reaching for Liv, Toran cried out at the near-overwhelming force of their connection. It was as if it grew three-fold with every hard-won breath. Taking hold of their strength, he used it as a lifeline to pull himself out of the mire.

  With a shout, he tore free of the magic. He pulled away from Sarai, and out from under the crushing weight of fate.

  Standing free from it all, Toran raised his arms and released the full force of his venna, venna from the very blood of Elden his curse had forced him to take in over the centuries. Venna he had conquered and bent to his will. His thunder crashed through all of Venn Dom with a deafening boom.

  The magic subsided with a whimper. With its defeat, Merus fell to the floor.

  Turning his back to his would-be bride, Toran adjusted his clothing before crossing the chaos to help his cousin.

  “It’s too late to fight this, you fool,” said Arman as he followed closely behind. “Diogo has taken your faine! He is draining her as I speak! You have nothing but what I can give you here now…”

  Diogo’s body dropped from the balcony above.

  He crashed to the floor, his arms spread wide, his face a bloody mess.

  Someone had sliced out his tongue.

  “What, what is this?” Arman sputtered before quickly changing gears as Toran continued on to his cousin.

  Reaching down, Toran yanked Merus up to his feet.

  “Wait, wait,” said Arman, his palms up wide and pleading. “Think about the prophecy. No matter what I’ve done, the house of the Tenn can still have everything!” Arman swept out a hand towards Sarai. The daemoness lay just as Toran had left her, stunned and unspeaking, splayed upon the altar, her bare cunt on open display. “She is fertile this very minute,” Arman cried, “can’t you sense it? Her womb is ripe to take your seed.” The daemon pressed his hands pleadingly against his breast. “Just think about your babe, Toran. Think about holding your son! Everything you want is…”

  “Everything I want, uncle? Really?” Toran squinted to take in his uncle’s grizzled form. He could feel the cacophony of bitter, tr
aitorous emotions raging from the old man’s aura.

  He could feel it all.

  He welcomed it. With each and every breath, his strength, already legendary amongst the Strong, grew.

  And grew.

  “Godsdammit, Toran,” Arman cried. “I know I’m a dead man now, but everything you were born to have is right before you. Your destiny is here.”

  It certainly was.

  With a force that defied all reason, Toran lashed out a stroke of venna and wrapped it around the old daemon’s throat.

  “Merus,” he said, his voice as calm as the minute just before dawn, “go get Anara and bring her to the witch’s house in Vegas.”

  “What the hell, Tor?”

  “Just do it,” he answered. “I’ll meet you there.”

  With a quick nod, Merus pulsed away.

  “Do not do this,” Arman pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Do not let your destiny pass you by.”

  In one smooth arc, Toran drew his blade and sliced open his uncle’s throat. Arman fell to the floor, a crimson flood spurting like a fountain from his gurgling wound.

  His venna gushed out of his body in waves.

  “Fuck you and fuck fate, old man,” Toran murmured as he stood over the daemon’s dying form. “I’ll take my chances.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  “Sweet Jesus, Liv,” Mandy whispered, “what’s wrong with you?”

  Liv closed her eyes against the fading brightness of the desert sun. She was rolled up in a ball on Mandy’s bed, her body still weak from her tailspin through the Mythos.

  She groaned as Mandy pressed a hand against her forehead, grateful to feel her friend’s comforting touch. Liv knew that soon, without Toran’s healing strength, her ability to feel anything would again fade away to nothingness.

  Though, with the way she felt now, Liv feared she’d welcome it.

  “Let me call your doctor friend,” Mandy implored.

  “No, please, I’ll be fine,” Liv protested, her heart still stinging from her friend’s betrayal. All along, Anara had known of Toran’s true motives––of why Liv was really needed––and she hadn’t breathed a word.

  And, Merus too.

  Liv had just been too blind to see it.

  “But you don’t look so good,” Mandy said.

  “I’ll be okay.” Truth be told, Liv hadn’t felt well since waking up that morning in Toran’s bed. At first, she thought she was just overly tired, run down by the stress of the past few days. She had, after all, kept vigil at Toran’s bedside as she’d helped him battle the onslaught of his venna.

  Then, last night…

  Gods, last night.

  Throat swollen tight with sorrow, Liv swallowed back a swell of heartache wrapped tight around a bitter pill of self-reproach. Too caught up in the moment, she hadn’t felt anything outside of the ecstasy of their love, the feel of him moving inside her, the seeming interconnection of their very souls.

  Looking back, Liv saw now that there were plenty of other emotions simmering between them in his big four post bed.

  Namely Toran’s guilt and remorse, his sadness and despair.

  It was all there, plain as the air she breathed.

  Once again, Liv had been too blind––and stupid––to feel it.

  “Do you think he’ll come for you?” Mandy asked.

  “He’ll come for me,” Liv answered in a shaky breath. She was surprised he hadn’t shown up already. It was clear now that he could not bed his bride without Liv’s presence in the chamber of the faine.

  Her stomach lurched.

  Staggering up, Liv stumbled into the bathroom, her stomach muscles straining against the force of her heaves.

  She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and retched.

  “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” Mandy whispered as she knelt beside Liv, her gentle hands pulling back the loose strands of Liv’s hair. “It’ll be okay,” she soothed. “I downloaded a wicked new protection spell. It’ll keep him away.” Mandy bit her lower lip before letting out an agitated cry. “At least it should work.”

  “Thank you, Mandy.” Liv reached up to pat her friend’s hand. “You’re always so good to me.”

  She held no illusions, though, that Toran could be stopped.

  Somehow, someway, he’d find a way to bring her back to Venn Dom.

  With effort, Liv rose to stand on shaky legs. Wiping her mouth with a towel, she threw out a hand to the wall to brace herself as a new wave of dizziness assaulted her.

  From outside the house came the sound of a daemon’s roar.

  Toran had arrived to take her home.

  “Come on,” Mandy said as she helped Liv back to bed. Once Liv was tucked in under the covers, she pointed a red-tipped nail in Liv’s face. “You stay here,” she ordered over the sound of Toran’s angry shouts. “I’ll take care of that bastard, I can promise you that.”

  Liv closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Outside the palatial estate just beyond the outskirts of Vegas, Toran paced back and forth in front of the gate, the dry heat of the desert licking at the welts that covered his skin.

  Earlier, he had tried pulsing directly into the witch’s compound only to be shocked and burned within an inch of his near-immortal life.

  It seemed the witch had given him a taste of his own poison, somehow erecting a force field bent on locking him out.

  Fucking magic!

  Biting back a groan, Toran rubbed his aching chest, his heart a throbbing mass of cells struggling to fire in time to the beat of its missing half.

  So close yet so far, his whole body strained to answer the pull of his faine.

  To get back to Liv.

  It was as if an elastic band stretched between them. But it was no tender call beckoning him back to her presence. No, it was an unyielding, near-suffocating strap wrapped tight around his heart. Every second Toran found himself away from her further ratcheted up his already runaway anxiety.

  Gripping the ornate ironworks, Toran once again threw his weight against the gate, his venna straining in unison with his muscles to tear down the barrier between them.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  Godsdamn fucking magic!

  Barely holding on to a shred of sanity, Toran marched over to the security camera perched high atop the wall. Turning his face upward, he shouted again for the witch to let him in.

  At last, the front door of the house swung open, and the witch came out.

  She sauntered slowly up the long, curved walkway.

  “Listen to me, I need to see her,” Toran called out, head pressed forward, his fingers wrapped tight around the bars. “Please,” he added in a calmer voice. “Please, I need to see her.”

  “I’m sure you do, daemon,” Mandy said in answer. “I’m sure you’re terrified of blowing your big chance tonight with your,” raising her hands, she flexed her index and forefingers, “‘fated female.’”

  “Look, this isn’t what it seems.” Toran blew out a quick breath, hoping to finally make some headway. “Prophecy says…”

  “Don’t give me that shit,” she interrupted to say. “Tell me what you’ve done to make this right!”

  He struggled to answer.

  “Have you canceled your wedding?” The witch tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Renounced your crown?”

  “Yes. No. I…” He stumbled on his words in agitated confusion. Stopping himself, he heaved in a steadying breath. “Just let me in, Mandy,” he said. “Just let me talk to her, and I promise I’ll explain everything. Please.”

  “That’s just not going to happen.” Mandy bared her teeth just as the air behind Toran began to palpate with shimmering energy.

  Toran bared his own teeth in answer.

  It seemed that reinforcements had finally arrived.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  “About fucking time you showed,” Toran whipped his head around. “And where the hell is Anara?”

 
“She wasn’t at the hospital, but I left word for her to come,” Merus answered calmly. His eyes were on the witch. “I’m sure she’s on her way.”

  “Godsdammit!” Toran yelled to the sky.

  Merus ignored him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked instead. “Why aren’t you inside with your faine?”

  “The witch won’t be reasoned with,” Toran answered. “So, you might as well make yourself useful and get me in there.” He jabbed a finger in Mandy’s direction. “I need you to take her out.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mandy cried. “You keep your powers to yourself, daemon.”

  “Mandy, please.” Merus stepped forward, hopeful he could somehow get the stubborn female to listen to reason.

  “Don’t you ‘Mandy please’ me, you bastard,” she hissed.

  No such luck.

  “Come on, Mandy,” he cajoled. “Let’s just talk this through.” Eyes flickering electric blue, he opened his mind and gently probed the mystical shroud that draped the mansion.

  “Stop it.” She threw up a hand. Her palm glowed red with magic. “I can feel you trying to break my spell.”

  At the sound of her shaky voice, Merus eased up just a little.

  “I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Toran yelled, his voice just as shaky. “Take her out, Merus… now.”

  Merus hesitated.

  Gods help him, he didn’t want to do this.

  He didn’t want to hurt her.

  “What the fuck, cousin?” Toran bit out. “Do it.”

  Unable to disobey his would-be king, Merus willed his foot forward.

  He stepped towards the gate, his eyes locked with hers.

  Though the iron gate stood between them, his eyes drifted closed as he savored their closeness.

  After tonight, Merus knew he’d never again have the chance to have her in his bed, to take her as he should have all along.

  No, that time had passed.

  Now, it was war.

  “Don’t do this, Merus. Please,” Mandy whispered as she backed away. Her eyes filled with tears.