Familiar Ties

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Familiar Ties - book excerpt

Prologue

There is no denying it. Hearing it is the year 224 can be quite confusing, especially if you don’t know the real truth of history. But I am not talking B.C. or A.D. No, I am talking O.D. or Óla Dei, meaning ‘all seen’. It’s also, quite aptly, the abbreviation used for an overdose, which is something we all experienced a few hundred years ago, an overdose of the unseen. Our world forever changed, but you won’t find that in your history books.

Before our year counter reset, your time ended, or at least it did for us. You continued on, unaware of what actually happened, and if my tales make it out of this region, then no doubt they will be passed over as fable, but this is our truth, this world is our truth.

As with most ends, it came as a complete force of devastation. The Doomsday clock leapt to midnight and the world as we knew it ended. But it wasn’t missiles flying or chemicals assailing the sky, it was those who had existed unseen amongst us since the beginning, stepping into the light and making themselves known. These creatures, beings thought only to be spun from the minds of fablers like myself, had grown weary of living in the shadows, hiding their true nature, and Mankind fell to them in the blink of an eye and a new order was forced upon us.

But things changed too quickly, and the devastation was too great. That was when the Perennials came. Remember the story of how man obtained fire? Remember the gods of old? That was actually the Perennials. Invoking their powerful magics, these beings sacrificed themselves to rewrite history, turning back the clock for many minds and reaching into the great source of all to ensure no one your side would remember the truth.

They took it upon themselves to banish our land, remove it from sight and history, and seal within it as many of the creatures from your myths and legends as they could gather. Certain people in your history have worked alongside them, hunting these beings and directing their fate accordingly, sometimes relocating them to the island of Mython.

The problem is, Mython is a big island, and those of us here still have tales and books detailing the true history in all its horrific glory. Having seen how creatures had ravished the land, suffice to say our beginning was not an era of peace and harmony.

While the world outside had forgotten we had ever existed and moved into their new century, we eventually, through wars, rebellions and negotiations, found our own balance of sorts; one that is maintained by the most powerful of each race, those with Elder blood coursing through their veins.

Our country is divided into territories, each with its own elected leader who reports issues of note to the council, a collection of thirteen species predominately consisting of Elder bloodlines from the main preternatural lines such as shifter, fey, vampire, magical innate, elementals, celestials and so on. Humans were of course included, but we elect our own representatives just as any clan without such a sovereign did. The only missing faction is the Perennial, because none exist any more, at least none that we are aware of. After creating order, in our world and yours, it is said they invoked the last of their magic to seal our land from discovery.

Over two hundred years have passed since the wars died down and an uneasy truce was formed. The balance appears to be working. Now, life has returned to normal, or at least a manner of normal only possible here. Humans and preternatural are sharing space and resources, and the council are doing what is needed to maintain peace.

As I mentioned before, I am a fabler and it is my calling to tell the tales of our people. My name is Kathryn Jayne, and the tale here is just one of the many lives that call to me. Hopefully, what limited powers I have will guide it to your hands. Be it fiction in your eyes or not, these stories must be told.

Chapter 1

Don’t look back, keep running. The mantra repeated in Jesse’s mind as her bare feet tore across the stone walkway. Her brilliant white gown billowed around her while the crystal droppers in her honey-coloured hair shone like the morning dew in the sunlight. It was a beautiful day for a wedding, just so long as it wasn’t hers.

She didn’t think she would have had the chance to run. Her father had ensured she was barefoot, and the bone hoops embedded in the three tier petticoat sewn into her dress should have prevented her from escaping through the narrow window. But he had underestimated her resolve.

She half-skipped in pain, the soles of her feet already shredded from the rough, slightly damp stones of the path.

‘How much further?’ A sigh of relief escaped her lips as her bare soles connected with the smooth cobblestones of the elegant driveway, leaving faint prints of blood in her wake. She remembered this path, the way the horse-drawn carriage had vibrated on them as her father had warned her not to embarrass him any further than she already had.

The distant gatehouse beckoned. If she could just clear the driveway, she’d be free. She could lose them in the forest. A desperate breath wheezed in her chest, lungs burning from the effort. She wasn’t used to such exertion, until today she had been all but a prisoner, locked in her room and visited only when her father’s temper reigned.

She was a disappointment to him, a reminder of the woman he married, the woman he had killed with his own bare hands while her four-year-old self had stood and watched. She could never push that memory from her mind. She could still see the hatred in his eyes as he crushed the life from her while she struggled futilely. She’d never had a chance. But Jesse had one now, if she could just reach the forest.

‘No, this way,’ warned the tickle in her mind—her mother’s madness, as her father called it. She looked for the reddish-tan coat of her caracal, Levi. His black tufted ears twitched, listening for any unseen threats. They were both aware that her absence been noticed and of the echoing sound of the heavy footsteps in pursuit. ‘Quickly.’ There was a desperation to the thought, Levi needed her to escape as much as she did. He had been by her side for as long as she could remember, and he knew what she had endured.

Altering her path, she cried out as her slick feet slipped upon the cobblestones. Her hip screamed in agony as she landed hard, but she couldn’t delay. Fighting with her billowing dress, she clawed herself to her feet, hurrying towards Levi. His spirit form was sitting in a large tree now, one whose thick boughs extended beyond the perimeter wall.

Bark embedded itself deep into her raw and bleeding feet as she scrambled up, her arms burning, chest heaving. She tugged at her dress, a slight feeling of satisfaction spurring her on as she heard the silken garment tear as she snatched it from the clutches of a broken branch.

A transparent arm reached down to her from above, extending through the bark of the tree as she struggled, while Levi warned that her pursuers were closing in.

‘Take my hand.’ Grasping for the spirit’s hand, she watched in awe as her hand, along with the long lace sleeve of her gown, became invisible against the bark of the tree, its effect spreading down her limb, but not quickly enough.

“No, you don’t,” growled a deep voice as a thick arm encircled her waist, ripping her from the tree. She clutched on to the dryad’s hand, kicking against the figure who dragged her back as her fingers were snatched away from salvation. Her chest heaved, the dark motes before her gaze growing until she felt her struggle cease as the world around her faded into darkness. Who was she kidding? She would never be free, and he was never coming back.

* * *

Alec sat on the train, staring through his brown-haired reflection, his honey-coloured eyes watching with growing discomfort as the scenery passed in a blur of greenery while fat raindrops bombarded his window.

The clatter of the wheels upon the track chuckled their mocking laughter, goading him as he made his way home. Home, the thought made him scoff. The last time he had thought of a place as being home, he had been a child, unaware of the fate awaiting him, of the life of servitude into which he had been born.

There was only one thing that had made his fate bearable, one person. Her letters had been a light in the darkness for the first four years of their separation, but in the last ten years not once had she written back to him. Not once. Without warning, her letters had simply stopped. He blew out a breath, lifting his thick, angular fringe slightly.

Despite her absence, he still found his gaze straying to the stars at night, seeking their constellations, wondering if she was doing the same. Even now, a sad smile tugged at his lips as he remembered nights huddled together in the garden, wrapped in blankets, while she invented their names and stories.

He never had the heart to correct her. Her tales were so much better.

What had happened to that girl? What became of Jesse, whose fair hair and blue eyes would cause even the most beautiful angel to pale in her presence, the girl he had known, from the moment her hand was placed in his, that home was not a place but the feeling he had when they were together. He missed those days as much as he still missed her. Things had been simpler then, and now she was married. She had moved on so easily, but he never had.

He remembered chasing her around the garden and listening as she spoke of magic and wonder and wove captivating tales of fairies and creatures who lived within the trees. The sound of her laughter had been enchanting, making a smile appear on the face of anyone who heard it. It wasn’t a delicate sound like the tinkling of a bell, more like wind chimes trapped in a storm, full of passion and energy. Genuine. But her innocent laughter had never quite sounded the same after her mother had died.

When he entered his second septennial—the time when preternaturals’ abilities gained strength—Lord Kyron had sent him away to be trained. That had been the second day he had seen bruises on her she wouldn’t explain, the same kind of bruises he had seen on her mother. He still remembered his goodbye, a promise that he would return for her, that he would protect her. It was a vow he had broken many times over.

No wonder her letters had stopped, but if she'd read his surely she knew he was trying. Perhaps she hated him for leaving her there, for not trying hard enough to save her. For letting her down.

For fourteen years, he had been trained while working for her father. Fourteen years of being shaped for the duties he would be expected to fulfil and being mocked because he had been born without a shifter essence. Some said it was because he had been bound to the family too soon, that they should have waited for his other form to emerge first. He had been glad it was absent; he had seen how the animal side was beaten into submission since it was known the master’s orders could control only the human. His inability to shift simply meant there was one less lesson to endure.

It had been a day before his seventh birthday when he had been forced to take the oath and be bound by blood and magic. He was their servant anyway, his line already bound, but this had been a necessary rite linking him to his master’s will. At the time, it had seemed like nothing.

“—to further this, you will be acting in the capacity of bodyguard to Lord Kyron.” Alec yawned as the old man before him droned on. His hooked nose reminded him of a vulture, an image not quite dispelled by his small beady eyes. The figure looked up disdainfully.

“No, please, do go on. I always yawn like this when I’m interested.” Alec did not need to hear this again. He had spent years having the commitments and laws of his contract outlined and drilled into his mind.

He knew all about how his master could use their bond to draw his essence to him, and how the part of him summoned could be used as a shield reflecting any damage back to his own physical form. He understood all too well any order given was not a request but a compulsion that could not be refused.

The training had been to hone his skills, to ensure he had the best chance at protecting his master and surviving. Not once had he felt the compulsion of a command and he was certain he could overpower it. His mind was strong and, if he could break his family’s curse, then perhaps he could even get Jesse to forgive him.

He wasn’t sure why she had stopped writing to him, if he had put something that made her angry, hurt her, but the silence was worse than any poison she could have penned. At least as long as she had been writing, he knew she was alright. He had written so many apologies, begging her just to let him know she was alive, just one letter so he could breathe. But it never came. So he settled for his dreams, where she lay in his arms in a cottage so dark the stars shone like beacons.

For the last two hundred years his family had been enslaved by the Kyrons, generation after generation for a debt no one could even recall. His father had sworn never to have a child, to ensure the curse could not be passed on. The same vow that had been spoken by all his previous ancestors. Yet somehow an heir to the curse was always born. This was a feat in itself, given that preternaturals had difficulty continuing their lines.

Lord Kyron had gifted his mother to his father, ordering them to copulate each night until an heir was conceived. A second child may even have been ordered, if not for his mother dying a year after his birth. His father said she took her own life, that she had chosen to embrace death rather than watch her son be enslaved. It was only later he discovered that it had been her intention for both of them to die that day. But by some strange intervention, his life had been spared.

His father always claimed Lady Kyron had beseeched the spirits, asking that they save him so he could look after the child she knew she would one day conceive. Jesse.

He had known he was going to marry that girl since the day she first took his hand in hers and led him barefoot around the garden. It was a far more innocent time, a time when he hadn’t understood that his blood made him nothing more than a plaything for her father, a throwaway shield. Even learning this hadn’t changed the way he felt about her.

He remembered the day he was leaving, how she had beckoned him to bend so she might whisper in his ear. Instead, she had pressed her lips to his. There had been nothing but innocence behind the gesture, butterfly soft, a parting kiss between close friends destined to one day become more, but it became the kiss he had judged all others by, and he had found each one lacking.

As the outside scenery slowed, he saw the nostalgic view of the wind turbines in the distance, their forms reaching out towards the heavens, spinning freely while their solar-panel-lined blades created secondary generators of energy. Their hurried movement told tales of the racing wind that caressed the open plains, and all too soon the small station of Windmere came into view. His stomach sank.

For the last two years, he had been working covertly for Lord Kyron while still being pushed to his limits in training. Now he was here, it was as if his real sentence had begun.

There was but one glimmer of light in the bleak prospects that was his future, and that was the thought of seeing Jesse. Being tied to the Kyrons meant he was tied to her as well by something more than just his heart and soul. He wondered how the years had changed the eleven-year-old he had left behind.

Chapter 2

Jesse awoke in the embrace of pain to an unfamiliar sight. Her gaze desperately sought Levi, a small sigh escaping through her parched lips as he raised his head from beside her. She placed her hand to his fur, seeking comfort in a softness only she could feel as she examined her surroundings. The canopy of the wooden four-poster bed was draped with heavy, embroidered curtains. Pulled closed, they obscured her view of anything beyond, dulling the light and making it impossible to discern if it was night or day.

As she pushed herself up, the soft caress of silk against her legs caused an indignant heat to warm her cheeks. Someone had stripped her to the slinky, full-slip petticoat her father’s maid had forced her into at his bequest.

It was no secret she was opposed to this marriage, but her father wanted to ensure she looked the part and that the groom received what he had paid for.

At any other time, she might have relished such a fine garment and the feel of the silk as it brushed against her skin. The way the hidden support lifted her breasts would have made it appear more like a summer dress if not for the delicate lace workings and the way it hugged her figure

Wincing, she slid herself across the enormous bed towards the drawn drapes. The way Levi lowered his head back to the mattress suggested they were alone. His black ears twitched just a moment before he rolled over, brushing his head against her arm the way he did whenever she was upset. Raising a hand to her cheek, she realised it was damp and cursed. Tears helped no one, they only brought more pain. She choked back a tiny sob. For just a brief moment, she had truly believed it was over, that she would escape.

As she slid her legs around her, she saw the white bandages binding her feet. The enchantments upon them normally brought a numbness to the pain, but all she could feel was fire. Levi nudged her again, his black ears twitching in a way that warned her time was running out. He looked up to her, his brown eyes filled with concern.

‘I’m okay,’ she assured him. It was true, she had suffered far worse than this, as the scarring on her arms, back, and legs would attribute. This pain was nothing, she reminded herself, parting the curtain to look through.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of bloody dressings and the tattered remains of her dress that lay discarded upon the polished wooden floor of what had to be the master bedroom. A room she had every intention of escaping.

A man’s top hat and tails lay neatly folded on the ottoman beneath the large window. Her gaze lingered on it for a moment, watching how the light streamed through as if creating a beacon for her escape. Biting her lower lip, she drew in a long, steady breath through her nose.

She needed to move quietly, slowly, or risk alerting her newest captors. Giving into her fear, her panic, would only benefit them. Sliding her legs through the curtain, she hissed as fresh burning agony assailed her feet. Whatever poultice they had applied before the bandages squished between her toes as she gingerly applied more weight to her feet, using the large bed frame to guide her towards the wall.

The wooden wall panels had a rustic feel, their large overshadowing presence serving only to add further grandeur to the impressively sized room. It was far better in every way than her small prison with its bricked-up window, a place that had been barely large enough for her worn single bed. She limped feebly towards the glass panes, peering outside.

It was almost nightfall, and the sky had taken on that wondrous blue shade only visible as light faded to embrace the night. She looked up towards the clear sky, a fresh tear escaping her lashes.

‘You never came. I begged you so many times and you never came.’ She thought back to all the letters she had written to him after he left, how her maid would conceal them within the folds of her apron, and how each reply had caused her heart to quicken, until anticipation became disappointment and rejection.

She had hidden his replies within the small vent in the room that had become her prison. His scent had long faded, but she still remembered him. Even though he had stopped writing and moved on with his life, she never had.

Perhaps he had grown bored with her pleas, or just found himself something better. They had loved one another, but they had only been children.

She wiped her tears away. She had been a fool to think he would come. He had broken every promise he had ever made. Now was not the time to lose herself in wistful longings of what could have been.

She had written him one last letter, a final plea. If he had ever cared, she had implored him to find a way to stop the wedding. He hadn’t come. She was alone. It was up to her now. She should have known better after ten years of silence. He had moved on, forgotten her. Today had cemented that in her mind once and for all. She had never meant as much to him as he had to her.

Pulling her gaze away from the sky, she searched for a means of escape. The property must have had a wraparound porch, sheltered from the elements if the small flat roof below was anything to go by. It wasn’t too far a drop and, even without the roof, she would have jumped anyway. She had nothing left to lose. She fumbled with the window. Locked. Of course it was. She saw Levi tense, his hackles rising. She knew who was coming even before she heard his voice.

“I will be taking my daughter home now, Micah,” barked her father from somewhere outside the large double doors. A cold sweat prickled her skin. She didn't know which was worse, being sold to a complete stranger or returning home with her father.

She glanced around, her gaze falling to the antique vanity table captured in the fading light from the window. It was bare, holding nothing she could use as a weapon. Hobbling over, she began to open drawer after drawer in silent desperation, wilfully silencing the whisper of the heavy wood sliding on the runners. Everything about this room sung of quality, but it was devoid of any personal touches, or anything she could use to defend herself.