Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (26 page)

Case in point, while Merus had lived in luxury at their father’s palace, for the first ten years of Kellen’s life, he had been kept in a filthy cage, treated no better than a beaten animal abandoned to starve.

Their bat shit crazy father had done this for no other reason than he despised Kellen’s mother.

Sick at the inequity and hurting for his brother, Merus had tried to aid Kellen in any way he could, desperate to make amends for their father’s sadistic abuse. Half faine, he had even tried to apply his powers, fledgling though they were at the time, to siphon off some of his brother’s agony.

All attempts at helping ended abruptly one afternoon.

When Kellen had shifted into his transitory years and was struggling to win control of his venna, Merus had made the mistake of sneaking him food. Gods only knew how much Kellen needed the extra nourishment. Unfortunately, Narcyz discovered Merus’s little kindness. But instead of punishing Merus for his own actions, he had made him watch as Kellen was nearly beaten to death.

Merus’s heart ached remembering that awful day.

It was a miracle Kellen had survived any of it.

Yet, somehow, despite the near-constant abuse, despite his miserable treatment compared to the posh life Merus had led in Narcyz’s court, Kellen had never held a grudge. Instead, he had always treated Merus with the greatest respect, kindness even.

Merus had always believed Kellen was a good man, the best.

And he didn’t deserve any of the shit that had been dealt him.

Nor did he deserve his future.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merus spied a group of warriors. They were set off to the side below them, under the shade of some trees. Leaping forward, he pushed Toran behind him.
 

“What the fuck?” Toran exclaimed.

“Hang on a minute, my lord.”

Merus drew his sword.

“What the hell are your men doing here, Kellen?” he called out. “Show yourself!”

Immediately, Kellen stepped out from behind a tree.

Merus sucked in a sharp breath, shocked at the male who stood just a few feet away.

Taller than Merus, Kellen would have been an imposing daemon indeed had his body not been ravaged by self-imposed famine.

Dark smudges of exhaustion dampened his crystal blue eyes.
 

Merus resisted the urge to go to him… to figure out a way to finally be of help to his brother.

He stood his ground.

“You were supposed to come alone,” Merus accused instead.

His brother shrugged. “I believe the saying is ‘better safe than sorry,’ is it not?”

The three daemons stood eying each other, hands held loosely at their sides, the hilts of their swords gleaming in the sunlight.

“Before we talk,” Toran called out in lieu of a greeting, “I suggest you take the opportunity right here, right now, to reiterate the orders to your men to stand down. If they make even the slightest move towards us, they will not like the consequences.”

Kellen bent his head in deference. “Of course, my lord.”

He turned and walked towards his men.

As Toran watched Kellen’s retreating back, his venna flexed in alertness.

Something didn’t feel right.

“Good gods, he has aged,” Merus gasped when Kellen was out of earshot.

He has indeed, thought Toran. Though only a couple years younger than he and Merus, Kellen looked well into his thirties in human years, no doubt due to the dragging effect of his mortal blood.

Even if Toran didn’t kill him this morning, it looked as if Kellen wasn’t long for the world of the Strong.

“I have to…”

“You’re not going to do anything, Merus,” said Toran. He swept a wary eye across the horizon. “Let’s just see how this plays out, okay?”

After a moment, Merus jerked his head in agreement.

They waited in silence.

“Kellen,” acknowledged Toran when the male returned from speaking with his men.

Kellen said nothing in answer. Instead, his vivid blue gaze shifted slowly between Toran and his brother.

Standing there, Toran was struck by how much the two half-brothers resembled each other.

Looking at Kellen was like looking at Merus’s emaciated, yet just as striking, twin.

“I appreciate you showing yourself, rebel,” Toran ventured. Pausing, he considered his next words carefully. “I wish to avoid bloodshed with your men today,” he said. After another pause, he found himself saying, “I would like to avoid it in the future. I’m asking you to stand your men down and command them to leave Baltia for good.”

“I hear you are to marry,” Kellen said in response.

“It’s no great secret that I am to wed.”

“I hear you are to marry at
the Blessing
.”

Toran went still.

How does this daemon know this?

But after a beat of silence, Toran answered, “I am.”

“Sarai?” Kellen asked.

Toran gave a sharp nod.
 

“Look, Kellen, let’s…” Merus interrupted.

Kellen raised his voice to talk over his brother. “Will she be fertile when you take her?”

“No,” Toran answered in as even a voice as he could muster. “But she will be soon enough.”

As Kellen studied him, Toran lifted his chin to hold the daemon’s gaze.

“Interesting,” Kellen said at last.

“There’s no reason to wait,” Toran bit out.

“Is there not?”

“No,” Toran’s heart gave a thump, “there’s not.”

“And what of the faine?”
 

“What about her?”

Kellen shrugged.
 

“I’m just curious as to whether or not you are exploring your options,” he said. “I certainly would be, if I were you.”

“Excuse me?” Toran took an aggressive step forward. Just as he did, the wind picked up.

Kellen’s nostrils flared, the soft scent of Liv’s body on Toran's own clearly in the breeze.
 

“Ah, I see that you are,” the daemon said, his lips shifting into the beginnings of a smile. “So you are your father’s son.”

Toran lunged forward, his fist reared back and set to fly.

“Hold on, hold on…” Merus leapt between the two men and pushed them apart, one calming hand on each of their shoulders.

Both Toran and Kellen shrugged him off.

“Make no mistake, Kellen,” said Toran, gritting back a painful prick of despair, “despite what you think of me, I will not stray from doing my duty.”

“You are a fool,” Kellen replied. His eyes went soft and distant. “You are more faine than the faine.”

A vicious bolt of Toran’s venna ripped through the air.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he exclaimed, his heartbeat pounding out a violent rhythm in his ears.

Kellen stared blankly into nothingness.

“What the hell are you talking about, Kellen?” Toran raised his voice. “Did your mother…”

Toran's voice died off as Kellen’s eyes flashed a dazzling white. The ground began to tremble as the air that surrounded them turned as cold as the North Sea.

“After speaking of your future, my mother wasn’t particularly in the mood to chat,” Kellen murmured in a hollow voice. “She was too busy screaming under the lash of my father’s whip…” he paused a beat, “…before inconveniently dying of blood loss and pain.”

Toran and Merus could do nothing but stare at the daemon.

After a moment, Kellen continued on, “All I know is that to fulfill
your
particular prophecy, your
female will need to bear more than one son.”

“This I know,” Toran answered after a heartbeat. “But I have to start somewhere.”

“And so you do.” Kellen stared at him with dead, unseeing eyes.

Long seconds passed.

“What are you going to do, Kellen?” Toran prodded.

“What are
you
going to do, my Tenn?” came Kellen’s soft answer.

“What the fuck?” Toran whispered.
 

“When your strength has been taken,” Kellen whispered in return, his eyes aglow with the power of prophecy, “and your future is spread wide before you,
what will you do
?”
 

“I will do what’s right,” answered Toran as if from within a dream.

Kellen stared him down as if seeking answers to his riddles in Toran’s eyes.

Toran didn’t blink.

“After we have proof your seed has taken,” Kellen said at last, “we will cede all territories. Until then, we will fight no new battles, and my warriors will vacate Venn Dom.” He paused a beat before adding, “I’ll also spare the Elden from death by my blade from here on out.” Kellen stuck out his hand. “You have my word.”
 

Toran hesitated.
 

Kellen dropped his hand.

Merus bit back a groan.

“You know I can’t let you walk away from what you’ve done,” Toran said, not risking a glance in Merus’s direction. His heartbeat picked up as he
felt
his cousin’s anguish.
 

“I know you have to kill me,” said Kellen. “Now, tomorrow, whenever. It’s all the same to me.” He shrugged. “Do what you feel you need to do.”

Toran stood mutely for long seconds, working through his decision tree.

At the start of this all, he had agreed to destroy this daemon to ensure the protection of his faine, which would then ensure the safety of his bride on their wedding night.

And now, here it was.

A crucial step to securing his future was staring him in the face, daring him to act.
 

One death––the death of his closest’s friend’s much beloved brother––to help him take his crown.

It would be so easy,
he reasoned. The daemon he’d waited so long to face, the one who had proved so elusive over the years, stood before him now.

Voluntarily.

Bravely.
 

Ready
to die.

With one smooth slash of his blade, Toran could end decades of defiance. With the loss of their leader, the rebels would no doubt disperse, the Enoth assassins’ threat evaporating into the breeze. Glad to be rid of their greatest enemy, the Elden would begrudgingly coalesce behind Toran, smoothing his way as he took his place as king.

All he had to do was just pull his knife and be done with it.

Toran held no doubt that his uncle had been right from the beginning.
 

Kellen
had
to die.

Eventually.

Toran stepped forward and proffered his hand.

At that very moment, the air sizzled with a violent static. Out of nowhere, twelve daemons surged onto the plane, surrounding Kellen’s guard.

Toran’s vision began to swim.

This could not be.

The assassins were
Vimora
. The traitorous daemons’ swords were drawn, their venna poised to kill.

“What the hell is this?” Kellen yelled, unsheathing his own sword. “You fucking bastard!” But, instead of turning his wrath on Toran, he turned and ran towards the fray.

As he followed the rebel down, his own blade drawn, Toran watched as his entire future threatened to evaporate before his very eyes––all at the hands of traitorous Elden.

There was no way bloodshed could be avoided today.

And, just like that, two of Kellen’s men went down.
 

Toran fought to stay on his feet.
 

Muscles flexed, he braced himself against the pain as best he could as a blast of death, then another, pummeled his body, the lost venna of the fallen screeching to find purchase with his own.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Like smoke, Kellen’s voice drifted across the battlefield. Confused, Toran lifted his unsteady gaze to discover that Kellen was shouting…
at him.

Ears ringing, Toran watched as Kellen took two assassins to the ground. Merus and Kellen’s men were also locked in struggle, their blades dulled by blood in the mid-morning sun.
 

“Protect yourself!” Kellen screamed. “Don’t take any more!”

Through his agony, Toran somehow managed to process that he should just pulse off plane, pulse away and save himself. He owed it to his people to protect his future––no matter how much misery his unwanted fate promised to hold for him.

He failed.

Instead, body afire, Toran shrieked as he unleashed the full fury of his strength, opening himself wide to the untold pain that was to come.
 

The caustic odor of incinerating flesh stung the air. Turbulent black clouds tinged a greasy blue smudged out all sight as Toran's venna lashed out with lethal precision to destroy each and every Elden assassin, one by one.
 

When it was over, he fell to his knees, choking out a single word before fainting dead away.

“He’s an asshole. I should hex his dick off for what he did to you.”

“Mandy, please.” Opening up the wardrobe in her room, Liv grabbed a stack of clothes and set them on the bed. Her eyes flashed up to see Mandy sprawled against the pillows, Wolfgang pressed against her chest.
 

“Don’t you dare defend him, Liv. He’s a prick of the highest order. He took advantage of you.”

“I went to him,” she answered.
 

And she had. Willingly. Wantonly.

“Yes, but did you take his virginity and then kick him out of your bed?”

“Well, no.” Liv ducked a pillow thrown from Mandy’s direction.
 

“Then don’t defend him. He’s a prick,” Mandy repeated. “You need to get out of here, and I don’t mean just down the street. You’ve been getting it good, right? The energy, at least? Why not try letting me pulse you home?”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough for that just yet.” Liv didn’t know why she couldn’t tell her friend that she’d been able to move herself through the Mythos that very morning. For whatever reason, she was compelled to keep that little fact to herself. Maybe, if she was being honest with herself, it was because she wasn’t quite ready to call it quits. Despite what had happened in Toran’s bed, Toran’s vulnerability––and his loneliness––called to her.

And now that she’d had time to process everything that had happened that morning, her gut told her she had read him wrong. That hate, that awful hate that Liv had felt coming off of him in waves, hadn’t been directed at her.