Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong by Amy Knickerbocker Page A

many bastard sons, the rebels had slowly taken a swath of territory, territory that rightfully belonged to the crown.
    His crown.
    The old bastard would be a fool not to demand that Toran step in to quell the rebellion once and for all––no matter the consequences.
    “Narcyz is eager to give up his role on the council, as am I,” Arman answered with a deferential tilt of his head. “As you know, these years since your parents’ deaths have not been easy.”
    At that understatement of the centuries, Toran huffed out a bitter laugh.
    “It was never supposed to be this way,” Arman murmured in response. “Especially for you.”
    At his uncle’s soft words, Toran’s enmity burned. The Great Cleansing had been fervently pursued with the pure intentions of making the Vimora stronger, of protecting their blood against the faine’s wicked pull. Case in point, Toran somehow found himself back at his bedroom door. In angry defiance, he leaned against it.  
    “It is what it is,” he spat. Realizing how close he’d come earlier to succumbing to her wiles, he added, “Fuck the faine.”
    His uncle gave an approving nod.
    “What about the rebels?” Toran called out, itching for a fight. “Why isn’t he demanding that I take them out?”
    “Narcyz cares deeply for Sarai. Thus…” Arman had to raise his voice over the sound of Toran’s laughter. “Thus,” he continued, “he can’t risk you killing Kellen and his men, especially this close to you taking his daughter in your marriage bed.” He glanced Toran’s way. “I’m afraid such carnage would prove too much for you to take at once, faine or no.”
    Toran stopped laughing.
    “But, as it is,” his uncle said, “we have no cause to worry about such things.” Arman crossed the distance between them to place a mottled hand on Toran’s shoulder. “Instead, you should take this gift that you have been given,” he said, his lips twisting into a gentle smile. “Vile creature though she be, your faine is the key to everything. You must put aside your revulsion––and your pride––and use her the way she was meant to be used. If you do, then soon, you’ll be everything you’ve ever longed to be… husband, father… and king. ”

CHAPTER TEN

    The crash of a door slamming home finally shook Liv out of her stupor. Disoriented and dizzy, she felt as if she had just survived a pulse across a distant plane.  
    But that was impossible.  
    She couldn’t pulse.  
    Could she?
    Eyes screwed shut, she shifted slightly only to cry out as a surprising surplus of energy surged across her skin, her body tantalizingly close to being fully alive.  
    How was it that such energy flowed through her veins?  
    How was it she could… feel?
    What has happened?
    Hazy memories washed over her in waves. The sensation of a male’s hungry hands upon her body. Whispered touches against her skin. Her pores coaxed open to breathe in a bouquet of senses that was equal parts wonderment and shame.  
    The daemon.
    Liv opened her eyes.
    She lay in a huge canopied bed that was centered in a spacious room.  
    Though she felt sure he had just been with her, she found herself alone in the dusky, blue-gray dawn.  
    Rising slowly from the bed, she blinked as she took in her surroundings. The orange glow from the fireplace cast flickering shadows, revealing large pieces of furniture, dark wood tones, and regal fabrics. The decor was unmistaken in its masculinity.  
    Despite the fire, Liv shivered.  
    She felt… cold.  
    When she chanced to glance down at her body, she saw why. “Ah, the octagon,” she groaned as she cast her eyes about the room, searching for something more to wear. On the wall opposite the bed, she spied a large armoire. Inside, she found a row of button-down shirts and a stack of neatly folded tees. Liv ripped one of the black tees off the top and pulled it over her head, jamming her arms through the sleeves.
    The shirt’s hem fell to just above her knees,