Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (35 page)

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, traitorous 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.”
 

“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.

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.

“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.

“Forgive me,” he mouthed.

Whipping out his hand, Merus caught a fistful of air and squeezed. A veil shuttered his eyes as his face fell free of all emotion.
 

Balling his fist tight, he gave a merciless yank.

Though her magic was strong, she was no Arman, no ancient being infused with paid-for magic intent on inflicting evil.

With her nascent powers, Mandy didn’t stand a chance against him.

She screamed in agony as Merus ripped the seams of the force field apart in her mind.

As she fell to the ground, the gate swung open with a creak.

Toran sprinted past.

Following in his cousin’s path, Merus dropped to a knee and reached out to touch his witch’s shoulder.

Crying out, Mandy shoved him weakly away.

“I fucking hate you, daemon,” she sobbed.

“I know you do, my love,” Merus sighed. He lifted his chin to peer out into the setting desert sun. “I know you do.”

At last inside the witch’s house, Toran charged upstairs, his every heartbeat straining to meet the staggering pull of his faine.
 

He found her in the hallway, her shoulder to the wall, her face shielded by shadow.

Toran rushed forward.

Pushing off the wall, she stumbled away.

Slowing his step, Toran raised his palms in surrender.

“Liv,” he whispered as he chanced to step closer. “Please.”

She stopped moving away but gave no answer.

“You pulsed off plane.” Toran attempted a smile, hoping to ease the tension that thrummed between them. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yes,” she answered. She turned to face him. “Though I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it again so soon.” Raising her head, her face was brave though her eyes brimmed with hurt. “But I know you need me… especially tonight.”