Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (3 page)

“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.”

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-f 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.

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.

Ah,
thought Merus,
he’s fighting it already.

“How’s your faine?” Cocking an ear, he listened for signs of life.
 

The castle was quiet.
 

Too quiet.

Toran shrugged in answer, not releasing the flames from his stare.
 

Brushing off his cousin’s moodiness, Merus splashed whiskey into a glass before crossing the room and dropping into a chair. Throwing a leg across the arm, he settled in to enjoy his drink. While he did, he studied Toran’s motionless form. Though Toran wasn’t the easiest person to be around––and rarely dropped his guard––Merus considered him his closest friend. Over the years, they had been through the shit together, that was for sure.
 

Though now, it seemed they had entered uncharted territory.

Merus knew he would need to tread carefully when it came to discussing the faine.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked eventually.

“Did you enjoy the witch?”

His cousin’s deflection was not unexpected.
 

It was Merus’s turn to shrug.
 

“I did what you asked.”

“I thought your certain… proclivities… would have you tied up much longer,” said Toran. “You know, entertaining yourself.”
 

He shrugged again. “Wasn’t interested.”
 

“You weren’t interested?”
 

Merus heard just the slightest tinge of incredulity in the other daemon's voice.

“Females like that are a dime a dozen.” His voice was dismissive, but a sting of conscience stilled his tongue from continuing. In deference to his cousin’s predicament, Merus tried to lighten his tone. “Besides, I’m just not that into witches. They’re much more trouble than they’re worth.”

Toran turned from the fire to face him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
 

“I fucked up,” he stated straight away.
 

Merus liked that about him. Despite his taciturn demeanor, Toran spoke up forcefully when needed, never having been one to shirk responsibility.
 

“I know the witch was able to access our parallel because of me.” Toran paused. “She was right. I ripped a seam wide open.”

Yes, the witch had been right. The Mythos consisted of hundreds, if not thousands, of habitable parallels stacked in haphazard disarray like crumpled cars in a junkyard. Some were disjointed and fragmented like the kingdom of Venn Dom, with its little pockets of daemon civilization existing in parallel with the Scottish Highlands. Some ‘els were smooth and contiguous, like many parts of the human plane. But all were connected by a labyrinth of passageways that could be accessed by naturally occurring gates. With care––or unless they were guarded by force or magic––these weak spots could be traversed without incident by a host of creatures that called the Mythos home. Toran, however, packed a venna punch near surpassing the combined strength of the entire Vimor race. Traveling in and out of Venn Dom had never been his strong suit––especially if he found himself in an agitated state. His swirling vortex of barely restrained energy had, in essence, ripped through Venn Dom’s protection spell and left the gate to his homeland wide open.

Just like his father had all those years ago.

Luckily, unlike his father’s fuck up, Toran’s mess had been fixable.

“I was careless when bringing back the faine,” Toran continued, “and I apologize for putting that on you, especially in front of the witch.”
 

Merus flicked his wrist. “Like I give a shit about the witch,” he said. “It’s been taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”
 

Toran gave a curt nod, grateful for forgiveness.

“Here.” Merus held up a scrap of paper.

“What’s that?

“Your faine’s address on the mortal plane.”

“Why the hell would I need her address?”