Dark Bound Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  FablePrint

  Dark Bound, Shadow and Light, Book Two

  Copyright © 2018 by Kim Richardson

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in any form.

  Cover by Kim Richardson

  Text in this book was set in Garamond.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Summary: After narrowly surviving her encounter with the archangel Vedriel, Rowyn finds herself on another Hunt. But there’s a catch. Her new employer is the faerie Queen of the Dark Court, and Rowyn HATES faeries.

  ISBN-13: 978-1727066807

  ISBN-10:1727066804

  [1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Demonology—Fiction.

  3. Magic—Fiction].

  BOOKS BY KIM RICHARDSON

  SHADOW AND LIGHT

  Dark Hunt

  Dark Bound

  Dark Rise (Coming soon)

  TEEN AND YOUNG ADULT

  SOUL GUARDIANS SERIES

  Marked

  Elemental

  Horizon

  Netherworld

  Seirs

  Mortal

  Reapers

  Seals

  THE HORIZON CHRONICLES

  The Soul Thief

  The Helm of Darkness

  The City of Flame and Shadow

  The Lord of Darkness

  MYSTICS SERIES

  The Seventh Sense

  The Alpha Nation

  The Nexus

  DIVIDED REALMS

  Steel Maiden

  Witch Queen

  Blood Magic

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  DARK RISE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  1

  NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE.

  Damn. I held the letter in trembling fingers. It didn’t matter how many times I’d read the stupid notice. It always said the same thing; the bank was threatening to take my grandmother’s house.

  My gut clenched, and a sick feeling weaved its way into my being. I sat in my usual spot at my grandmother’s antique wooden table. Suddenly cold, I stared out the kitchen window to the falling rain, forcing myself to breathe. The cool autumn wind drafted through the open window and I clenched the paper so I wouldn’t hyperventilate.

  This can’t be happening.

  “Rowyn, put the notice down before you give yourself a heart attack,” commented Father Thomas sitting across from me, his beautiful voice, rich in tones and resonant. “The words won’t change no matter how many times you read them.”

  I let the notice fall on the table and glanced at the priest. He’d been on one of his regular visits to my grandmother’s when I popped in this morning to check on her.

  Father Thomas was one of Thornville’s local priests, but also a modern-day Templar Knight. They called themselves Knights of Heaven, and they were a team specially appointed by the church to investigate all the “unusual crimes” that happened in the city and the surrounding areas, specifically New York City. They waged a secret war against the church’s enemies—demons, half-breeds, ghosts, and other supernatural baddies that posed a threat to the church.

  He wore his usual dark ensemble of black slacks and a black shirt, the white square of his clerical collar stark against the deep tones. He was a few inches taller than me with a drool-worthy, athletic physique gained from hours at the gym and somewhere in his early thirties. His strong, handsome features complemented his dark, intelligent eyes, and his olive complexion framed by his raven hair spoke of his obvious Spanish ancestry.

  Tall, dark and handsome. Yup. El padre had the full package. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to say or even think a priest was hot. Would God strike me down and send me to the Netherworld for thinking Father Thomas was a tad pretty?

  Father Thomas is hot.

  Father Thomas is hot.

  Father Thomas is hot—yup, still here. I guess it is allowed.

  “Father Thomas is right,” said Tyrius, sitting on the table, and I pulled my eyes from the priest. “We’ve all memorized what it says. Now we need to figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

  The chic Siamese cat looked regal with his carefully refined features, elegant black mask, and black-gloved paws. The concern in his voice mirrored my own. Tyrius loved my grandmother deeply, and this notice had us both on edge.

  I glanced at my grandmother, standing with her back to the oven. The sign above her kitchen cabinets read LIFE’S TOO SHORT. LICK THE BOWL.

  She wore a calf-length sweater dress with her white hair tied loosely in a long braid. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were a bit sunken, lacking their usual mischievous glint. The age lines in her face that I once found so comforting were deeper, making her appear tired and older. The sadness that clouded her eyes brought my heart into my throat.

  “Can the bank really do that?” asked Tyrius, his deep blue eyes flashing. “Can they really take her house?”

  “Yes.” Father Thomas shifted in his chair. “The loan agreement was signed with the client’s consent for the bank to take the necessary action should the client default on payments.” I heard the frustration in his voice. “And that means they have every right to repossess the house if the payments stop.”

  “When does the bank take possession?” asked Tyrius, his voice carrying a new concern.

  “If we don’t cough up twenty grand,” I said, my fingers drumming on the table, “in seven days from today.”

  A sullen silence descended, and I leaned over with my elbows on the table, letting my head fall in my hands. I’d been so wound up in my own affairs with the archangel’s death, the deaths of the Unmarked, and my confusing feelings about Jax—I’d never even noticed the strain happening at my grandmother’s. I was a fool. A selfish fool.

  My thoughts were rambling now, panic making it hard to breathe. I needed to focus. I needed to figure this out.

  I needed twenty freaking thousand dollars.

  Since I hadn’t actually vanquished the Greater demon Degamon, I wasn’t entitled to the full ten thousand the council had originally offered. But having solved the murders, the council allowed me to keep the five thousand they’d given me up front. Jax had explained Degamon’s involvement to the council, in a lie that we had agreed upon. He told them Degamon was hunting the Unmarked because their souls were more potent and held more life-force than regular mortals or angel-born.

  I don’t know if the council bought our fabricated story, but the killings stopped, and so did the council’s attention on me. Good. That’s how I wanted to be—left alone.

  Most of that five thousand had gone toward three months’ rent, overdue bills and a desper
ately needed new wardrobe. I’d put the remaining five hundred dollars in a savings account, hoping to save up for a car. I hated having to take the bus and subway to get around. I was a Hunter. Taking the bus was bad for my image.

  Screw my image. I had five hundred dollars to put towards my grandmother’s debt. Now I had to figure out a way to get nineteen and a half thousand in less than seven days. Damn. How the hell was I going to pull that off?

  “I say we rob a bank,” said Tyrius, and to my surprise Father Thomas laughed. “What?” said the cat. “You think I’m kidding? Do you know how easy it would be for me to hack into the bank and transfer some cash to Cecil’s account?”

  “No one’s robbing a bank,” I growled, though I was tempted, just for half a second. But with my grandmother’s strong moral fiber, she would never agree to it.

  Jaw clenched against a New York-sized headache, I glanced at my grandmother, my heart breaking at the pain I saw. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Twenty grand meant she hadn’t been paying her mortgage payments for more than a year, plus interest.

  My grandmother wiped her eyes, and I strained to keep my own waterworks at bay. “You had so much on your plate already, with you moving back here and then that Greater demon Degamon on a killing spree and that insufferable council meddling in our affairs again. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Too late. I’m worried.” Although I’d been open and honest about the encounter with Degamon and why it was after me, the memory still sent my heart pounding.

  I shifted to the edge of my chair, wondering how I could have missed this. “Grandma, I thought you and grandpa had some money put away?” I said. “A pension and some lucky savings?”

  “Lucky savings?” My grandmother gave me a tight smile. “I needed a new roof. Water was leaking through cracks in the foundation, so that needed to be fixed. Don’t get me started on the plumbing.” She sighed heavily. “It’s an old house. Old houses always need repairs, just like this old body. If it’s not a hip replacement, it’s a window replacement. I’ve stretched that small pension as far as it will go. It just wasn’t enough.”

  A knot of worry tightened around my middle. I couldn’t let my grandmother lose her house. I had to do something.

  “I’m so sorry, Cecil,” said Father Thomas as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll make inquiries about a possible loan from the church. There has to be something we can do to help.”

  “No.” My grandmother’s expression was hard and she straightened. I recognized that stubborn pride. Guess I got it from Granny. “Stop fussing about me.” She set her coffee mug on the counter. “It’s just a house. It’s got a roof and walls. That is all. If that goddamned bank wants it so badly, they can take it. I just don’t care anymore.”

  Father Thomas startled at the foul word coming from such an innocent-looking old lady, and I smiled at the hint of the badass angel-born she’d been in her younger years.

  Of course she cared. I cared. “It’s not just a house, grandma. You poured your life into this place. It’s the house you bought with Grandpa. It’s the house Mom grew up in. It’s the place where I can transport myself into memories of her and Dad and Grandpa. Memories are all I have left of her… of all of them.” I gritted my teeth until my jaw hurt. “The bank’s not getting those memories,” I added and blinked the moisture from my eyes.

  “So, what’s your master plan, then?” Tyrius cajoled as he shifted atop the table.

  “I’ll get a job,” I announced, surprising myself. “A real, human job.” God, that sounded lame to say it out loud. The thought of a human job was foreign, disturbing and even a little creepy. Could I even pull it off?

  Tyrius’s bark of laughter caught me off guard, and I frowned as he cleared his throat and said, “You? A real job? That’s as hilarious as rainbows shooting out of my ass.”

  I stiffened in my seat. “What? You don’t think I can?” Heat rushed to my face and part of me wanted to knock him off the table.

  “Never said you couldn’t.” The cat’s smile was brief but sincere. “It’s just… well… what skills do you have? Apart from killing demons and that one, lame-ass archangel… what else can you do?”

  My eyes flicked to my grandmother as she stared at the table without blinking, her expression far away and distant, and I nearly lost it.

  “I can get a regular job,” I protested, nearly shouting. “My people skills are a little rusty. But how hard can it be? I’m loyal. Dependable. Kind.”

  “That’s great,” commented Tyrius. “Now, all you have to do is learn how to catch a Frisbee and you can work as a Golden Retriever.”

  Father Thomas laughed and I scowled at the cat. “You’ve got a better idea?”

  Tyrius grinned in a way that made me want to pull out his whiskers. “We could borrow money from the bank. They wouldn’t even notice. Easy-peasy.”

  “No.”

  “It would be so-o-o-o easy, so ridiculously easy.”

  “Tyrius, we are still not robbing a bank,” I said, watching Father Thomas smile at the cat because he thought he was joking. He wasn’t. I knew if I said yes, Tyrius would probably transfer small amounts of cash from several different accounts so as not to draw any attention and then stash it into my grandmother’s. But she wouldn’t go for that. And neither would I.

  The cat made a face. “Fine. Have it your way then. But the idea of you behind a desk is as unnatural to me as a swimming cat. It’s just plain wrong. You wouldn’t last a day.”

  I rubbed my temples. “I would.” I didn’t even know where to start. “I will get a regular job if it means I can save this house. I’ll do it.”

  “Do you have a résumé?” Father Thomas’s mouth quirked, and he touched his clean-shaven chin with the back of his hand.

  If he wasn’t so pretty, I would have slapped him. “No.” My face warmed. Hunters didn’t have résumés. We got our jobs by reputation. Not that it mattered now.

  “Rowyn, be reasonable.” My grandmother tilted her head, and a brief look of pain passed over her features. “Tyrius is right. You’re angel-born, a Hunter. The human workplace is no place for my granddaughter. You won’t fit in.”

  I don’t fit in anywhere, I thought sourly. No big surprise there.

  With a troubled look, my grandmother exhaled. “I’m sorry you’re losing this place, Rowyn, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

  Now I felt guilty. “Yes, there is.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “I’m not giving up. I won’t.” I glanced at my grandmother and I swear I saw hope flitting behind her eyes. “I’ll figure something out,” I said, my throat closing. “Just don’t do anything rash until you hear from me. Okay?”

  “Where are you going?” my grandmother called as I walked out of the kitchen and rushed down the hallway.

  “To get the money,” I whispered to myself. My head throbbed as I pulled open the front door and stepped out into the morning rain onto Maple Drive.

  Yes, my life was a bag of disasters, but it needn’t be for my grandma. She was all the family I had left, if you didn’t count Tyrius. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing.

  I would get the money. Even if I had to hurt a few people to do it.

  2

  I picked my way through the crowded West 42nd Street in New York City, cursing at the human elbows that kept slamming into me as I followed the shifter demon. Even on a Monday night, the street was alive and noisy with tourists posing to take photos and New Yorkers hurrying back and forth from work and restaurants. The giant screens and billboards glittered like starlight. Cars and cabs honked, their exhaust fumes making me dizzy, but my keen angel-born senses could follow the stench of demon anywhere, even amidst the throng of humanity.

  I smiled, remembering my first experience as a Hunter. On a cool night like this I killed my first demon. I was fifteen at the time, totally unaware of the demon that had followed me home from a night at the movies. I’ll never forget the surprise on its face when I slashed it
s neck with a swipe of my blade and killed it. That night was the first time I felt alive, normal, with a sense of purpose. And I was damn good at it.

  But as it turns out, my ability to hunt and track demons so easily also came from my demon heritage. My senses were turbocharged because I had demon essence flowing in my veins.

  I’d always known I was different from the other angel-born. Without an archangel sigil, which all Sensitives were born with, I stood out like a zebra among mustangs. I was a different breed.

  Okay, so I had angel and demon essence flowing in my veins. Whoop-de-freaking-do. It didn’t make me bad… or did it?

  It all made sense now, when I thought about it. It was why I could heal from a vampire bite and why I could handle a death blade when just the touch of the black metal could kill an angel and angel-born—because I was part demon. It was the darkness Tyrius had been curious about when we’d first crossed paths and the reason why he’d followed me home when I was a kid. He’d sensed it too.

  Ever since the archangel Vedriel had made the declaration of my true heritage, Tyrius was like a cat on catnip—bouncing off the walls and rolling around in papers on the floor. He was a vigorous, frenzied furball, and he was ecstatic. Go figure. Maybe because he felt we were even more alike than before. Although admittedly I couldn’t Hulk-out into a giant black panther when danger arose, I still had skills, demonic skills.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if my parents had figured it out. Vedriel had them killed because they were getting too close to discovering to the truth. But what if they had already found it? What if they had known their only daughter was a freak?

  I was both angel and demon-born—a gift from the Legion of angels, or a curse. According to the archangel Vedriel and his cronies, the other Unmarked and I were an experiment, a new race of Horizon soldiers. And for whatever reason, they wanted us terminated.

  They had almost succeeded, but I was still alive.