Bound to His Redemption

by Lisa Kumar

  She sighed. Her arms ached from the bags weighing them down. She needed to hurry and get done. Though she didn’t know if Eamon — or, for that matter, if Andrian — deserved a present, she felt the irresistible urge to buy them both one. It was the spirit of the season, after all. Who cared if they were first-class jerks at times? She faced a conundrum, though. What to buy two immortal males who had a nearly limitless bank account?

  Something glinted from the front of one of the stores. She slowed and drifted closer. A dark dagger lay nestled within a velvet box in a display case that was set right next to the window. The gems in the jewel-encrusted handle winked at her, drawing her even closer until her nose almost touched the glass. It was beautiful, old looking, and so Eamon. With a shake of her head, she came back to herself and the haze filling her mind abated. Only then did she notice that her fingers were outstretched and caressing the window. A flush swept over her face, but no one appeared to have caught her loopy behavior.

  She swallowed as excitement unfurrowed through her bloodstream. This was the gift for Eamon. Every particle within her knew it. She might find something for Andrian in there, too.

  A glance above the entrance proclaimed the store to be Treasures of Time. She frowned. That was weird. She didn’t remember the store being here during her forays with the elvin duo. Pushing away her uneasy feeling, she entered the store.

  The store had an otherworldly feel to it that was slightly medieval somehow. The dark walls painted an elegant backdrop to items that could very well be antiques, but the condition of most of the treasures seemed too nice for them to be that old. Oddly enough, a large picture of a cat hung near the cash register and appeared at odds with the décor. Caralyn squinted at it. The black-and-white furred feline looked familiar, but then, a lot of cats resembled each other. But those yellow eyes ... they grabbed her and wouldn’t let go until she finally managed to yank her gaze away.

  Then she noticed something else. No one else was in the store, not even a sales clerk. How weird. She bit her lower lip, unsure if she should stay. Suddenly, a door behind the checkout table opened, and out stepped an old woman with silvery-blue hair. Aistiane. Caralyn blinked a few times, but the vision before her remained the same. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  The small woman’s face creased into a genial smile. “I’m the new owner of this store.”

  “Oh.” Caralyn didn’t know what else to say. The manifestation of the veil owned another store? That she had even one seemed strange.

  Aistiane stepped out from behind the register, her long skirt swirling against the ground. “I find being a merchant is a fine way of integrating into a community. I can stay abreast of current happenings, especially among humans of interest, in the areas where I establish stores.”

  Caralyn frowned. “Humans of interest?” Aistiane’s phrasing bothered her. The woman was keeping tabs on how many humans — and why? If the graykindred were to locate and retrieve the fated, why would Aistiane have to follow these humans’ lives? Is that what the woman had done to her? Followed the course of Caralyn’s life and manipulated it where she willed?

  Aistiane apparently saw the questions playing across her face. “I can only interfere and influence events to a much smaller degree than I’d prefer. Still, there is much I know and of which I keep track.”

  Caralyn sucked her lower lip in between her teeth before asking, “Isn’t that what the graykindred are for?”

  “In large part, but even they need to be guided to the right place at times. I’m here to ensure that certain events come to pass the way they should. ”

  Unease trickled down Caralyn’s spine. Aistiane was apparently a behind-the-scenes mastermind. Though Caralyn liked, and even trusted the woman, she wasn’t sure she liked her potentially manipulating so much. Even the best of intentions could go horribly awry. Who could say that Aistiane would be immune to that happening? Given the woman’s power, its effects could be disastrous on a global level.

  “That sounds ... tricky.” Caralyn didn’t want to sound too condemning, yet she couldn’t just swipe away her concerns.

  Aistiane nodded and glided closer to her, not appearing unduly worried. “It can be, but I’m extremely careful. While I can orchestrate events to a certain extent, I can’t control how the people in question will react. It might seem like I overstep boundaries, but I truly can’t make people do what they don’t want to.”

  “So you’re saying you can bring a person lunch but can’t make them eat it?” Though she was still unsure if she approved of Aistiane’s machinations, it did help to know there was a sort of failsafe to her maneuverings.

  “Exactly.” Aistiane shrugged, the bracelets on her wrists tinkling softly, and gave her a smile. “Now enough of that. I believe something caught your eye?” Gesturing toward the display case, she tilted her head to one side as if to better examine Caralyn. “It would make the perfect gift for Eamon.”

  Caralyn stared at the case to the old woman. “H-how did you know?”

  A secretive smile blossomed on Aistiane’s lips, and she laid a hand gentle hand on Caralyn’s arm. “I knew this would be the gift you were searching for. There’s not another like it on Earth — or on Eria.”

  “So it’s Erian?” Caralyn asked, wetting her dry lips. Even though Aistiane’s grip comforted her, it wasn’t enough to dispel her worries.

  “Indeed it is.” Aistiane’s hand dropped back to her side. “Come, let’s go, and I’ll box it up.”

  “Okay.” Caralyn followed her, at a loss of how to act. Before she knew it, Aistiane had the grayish-black dagger placed in a simple velvet-lined wooden container. Even now, Caralyn could picture the gleaming surface of the blade. Eamon would love it.

  Aistiane handed her the heavy box. “Eamon will be pleased to have that within his grasp, but until then, let it serve you well.”

  Caralyn sent the old lady an odd look. She’d be giving it to him in a few days, so it wasn’t like she’d use the thing. Brushing that weirdness aside, she thought of something else Aistiane might actually be able to help her with. “Do you have any suggestions about a gift for Andrian?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Caralyn strode out of the mall with a present for both men. She heaved a sigh, glad her mega shopping expedition was completed. It was nearly twelve thirty in the afternoon, and her feet felt sticky and achy in her low-cut boots.

  The frigid air breezed across her warm face, and she breathed in the refreshing feel of it. After spotting her car, she unlocked it remotely. Her pace quickened. The circulation in her arms was being cut off by the shopping bags. Once she opened one of the back car doors, she heaved the sacks inside. Blessed relief flowed through her arms, and she shook them out.

  Now to get home, rest her weary body, and —

  An arm slipped around her waist while a hand clamped over her mouth. Fear, pure and unadulterated, slammed through her. She attempted to scream, but the sound was muffled. In spite of the haze of fright enveloping her, the realization she had to act struck.

  After remembering that the elbow was a good weapon in close quarters, she yanked hers forward and then back into the person behind her. A masculine grunt rent the air, but the arm and hand around her refused to loosen. Shit.

  Screams bubbled up until her throat felt raw, but none of them ever escaped the confines of his hand. The silence cloaking her and the man crept into her psyche like a thief until it was all encompassing. Terror lent her strength, but her struggling didn’t budge the attacker from her. Dear God, what was she going to do? The person felt impossibly strong, and this time she didn’t have Eamon to rescue her. She’d have to save herself. If she could.

  Since her head was being held immobile, her field of sight was limited. Her gaze desperately swept over the area that she could view. No one was nearby, but she knew there had to be people a few rows over. It was nearly Christmas, for heaven’s sake!

  Suddenly, something hard crashed over her head. Pain exploded in her skull, and her
head reared back into the chest of the man restraining her. Darkness edged her vision before it swallowed her whole.

  Chapter 31

  Eamon paced around Caralyn’s living room, panic tightening his chest. She should’ve returned from the mall hours ago. At first, he hadn’t been concerned, because he knew the ways of women and how crowded the stores would likely be, given the holiday season.

  That was hours ago, though. Night had now fallen, and a feeling of wrongness has settled around him like a thick fog. It itched and crawled through him like a million bugs. Even breathing normally was becoming increasingly hard.

  A shiver racked his body. The closest feeling he’d ever had to this was when his mother had been attacked. Their strong familial bond had led him and three guards on a four-hour search. He swallowed, remembering what they’d found. His mother dying and a band of human men laughing as they took sport from her. It’d been his first experience of bloodshed — and of feeling warm blood sliding down his hands, both his mother’s and from the one man he’d killed.

  He ripped himself from those thoughts because they offered no comfort, instead only inducing additional agony. The strong familial tie he’d shared with his mother was long gone and yet still haunted him, like all bonds based on love did. Something prickled at his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t help Caralyn. At the moment that was all he could afford to care about.

  He glanced at the phone in his hand — five thirty in the early evening. Lurching across the room, he ran a hand through his hair. Should he call a taxi to take him to the mall? Was she even there anymore?

  A second look at his phone showed no new calls, not that he expected or would’ve missed any. Every time he tried to reach her, all he got was her voicemail. That wasn’t like her, because unless she was at work, she usually answered promptly.

  His fingers tightened around the useless hunk of metal. Damn it, where was she?

  Even the infernal dog seemed worried. Archie had kept him company until Eamon tired of the animal’s whining. After being chastised, the dog had slunk off to his bed, but even now, Eamon could sporadically hear the restless animal shifting and whimpering. Was Archie somehow sensing Caralyn’s distress or just Eamon’s? He didn’t know, but it only served to set him further on edge.

  Small comfort though it would’ve been, he didn’t even have Andrian with which to confer. The elf had snuck off somewhere, most likely to see his little waitress. Though the graykindred would never admit to it, Eamon knew the signs. He could even smell her on Andrian and hadn’t missed the hickey marks on his neck yesterday.

  Eamon had lowered himself and called Andrian a few hours ago, but the graykindred hadn’t picked up. Should he try again? Kaiden wasn’t answering his cell, either. Who else could he call? The police? He’d sound crazy. Caralyn hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours, and he couldn’t very well say he thought an elf had kidnapped her.

  He stared at the phone in his hand, conflicted and totally at a loss of what to do next. Some part of him felt as if he should stay in case she came back, but another portion knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Any reassurance he’d uttered to himself of her just being slow had long vanished. All he could think of were the myriad ills she could’ve run into — the worst one, by far, his father. But why his father would take Caralyn when he hadn’t even attempted to contact Eamon?

  A despairing snort escaped his lips. He knew why. His father was a bastard who would strike him where it would hurt the most. The elf didn’t even need a good reason to, but more than likely, he had some scheme he wanted Eamon involved in. Someone had to do the important yet dirty work, and his father much preferred to hand those tasks off to Eamon or another capable lackey. If he could get Eamon back under his control, Baltor would have a scapegoat if something went wrong. That would cheer his father’s vicious heart like nothing else. After all, his father never cared that doing his bidding had darkened the last remnants of Eamon’s soul.

  The idea of her in his father’s hands frightened Eamon as little else could. Baltor had a proclivity toward violence and blood when in a certain mood. It was a little-known fact that his father had kept largely secret. But not from Eamon, never from Eamon. Even now, the bile threatened to rise in his throat as he thought of some of his father’s more inventive methods of torture. While growing up, Eamon had experienced enough of them when he’d displeased his father, which had been all of the time.

  He aimlessly gazed out of one of the living room windows. The world was cast in shadows, only brightened in areas by streetlights and passing vehicles. Once in a while, a person or two hurried by on the sidewalk below, but Eamon never fooled himself into thinking any of them could be Caralyn. Every woman’s form was wrong, the gait too off to be hers. His free hand sought out support from one side of the window frame. He leaned into that arm, feeling as if he were collapsing in on himself.

  His breath came in raspy gasps, and his heart hit against his ribcage. What was happening to him? He closed his eyes as he tried to draw air into his constricted lungs.

  All he knew was that he needed her back — couldn’t think clearly until she was. He loved her. God, he loved her. Bile spewed into his throat at his realization. He loved her, Eria help him, and everything within sensed she was in terrible danger. Right now, it didn’t matter that she was human and he elvin. And that he’d hated everything she’d represented at one time. All he wanted was her safe in his arms.

  His arm folded, and his head cracked against the sill of the window. He didn’t attempt to move. All energy had been sucked out of him, leaving him numb and quivering. Was this what love did? Sucked one dry when faced with losing a loved one? If so, he cursed the emotion that could so cripple him. Ripping Caralyn out of his heart seemed impossible, though.

  Her presence gave him a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. It was if she tempered his more destructive tendencies. But could a few weeks with a woman — no matter how amazing she was — really change him so?

  Fright that he may never find out that answer tore at his insides with poison-tipped claws. Closing his eyes, he fought against the moisture springing up there. Wetness slipped past his lids and trickled down his cheeks. His fingers came up to touch the strange liquid. He hadn’t cried since he’d left the horror of his teen years. Now he was long accustomed to only the feel of blood dripping on his face, whether it be his own or that of his enemies.

  Caralyn had brought him to this low, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her. Not when he was guilty of so much, and she was innocent in every way that counted. He saw it so clearly now — how her sweet touch had broken him. He, who had believed himself to be so superior, was the dirt beneath her feet. She was purity. He was darkness.

  And he was selfish enough not to care. A sobbing laugh tinged with hysteria escaped his throat. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anything before. But to do that, he had to think and control his anger, his pain.

  With a groan, he forced himself to stand upright. His muscles protested as if he’d been running for hours. What was wrong with him? His chest hurt, and his crippling fear overrode all his long-held barriers.

  A spear of anguish pierced his heart, and he clutched his chest. He moaned, riding out the pain. Were his mind and body failing him? This was so much worse than when he sensed his mother’s imminent death through their link.

  The truth knocked him to his knees. A link. A bond. He had one with Caralyn.

  His breath rasped through his lips as the newfound revelation chanted through his mind over and over. Caralyn is my bondmate.

  He pressed the palms of his hands to his tearing eyes. Wonder and horror danced like lovers in his gut. God, how blind he’d been. He’d missed — no, discounted — all the signs.

  How had he not known? Not noticed? Though each bond was different and developed at its own rate, he had been so out-of-touch with himself never to suspect. Would Caralyn have noticed any of t
he bond’s effects since she was human? Even if she had, she wouldn’t have known what they meant.

  For a link to occur, they must’ve wanted to be together at some deep level. Though it’d most likely been an unconscious wish on both their parts, that meant she did care about him, even if she didn’t love him yet. This realization gave him a new jolt of hope, which invigorated him enough to stand.

  He took in a few deep breaths, trying to quiet his mind so he could actually think. After a few faltering steps, he found his balance and then slowly circled the room. Movement had always helped him order his thoughts. This time was no different, though its calming effects took longer to grip him.

  His first priority was to figure out where Caralyn was and who had her. If his father didn’t have his hand in this, who then? Andrian? Not likely, even though he had tried to turn Caralyn against him at the Christmas party. But what if Andrian had indeed said or done something to further upset her, and she now sought to completely avoid Eamon?

  He pressed a palm to the ache developing in his forehead, determined to ignore the pain like the small annoyance it was. Still, what could Andrian have possibly used against him? Caralyn knew the worst of it — or did she? She didn’t know the sordid tale of him and his aunt. He cringed at the thought of her knowing. Would she view him differently? In a worse light than she already did? He didn’t know if he could bear to see a new kind of disgust in her eyes.

  Though he knew his abuse wasn’t his fault, it still made him feel unclean. Caralyn was his one friend on Earth, which could very well be his home for centuries or even millennia. In fact, what if he never earned his repentance? And what if he did?

  What did he have to go back to? The greater portion of his people reviled him, of that he had no doubt. Even of those who hadn’t been happy with their king’s choice of bondmate, most had hated the darkindred, and their corruption, even more. And he was the person responsible for that corruption.