Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"
Автор книги: Ruby Dixon
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Bound to the Battle God A Fantasy Romance
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Ruby Dixon
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Copyright © 2019 by Ruby Dixon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Art – Kati Wilde
Edits – Aquila Editing
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I like to think that every creator stands on the backs of those that inspired her. This particular project was inspired by a few people that deserve mentioning.
For Kristen Ashley, who reminded me that I’m not the only one out there that still loves portal fantasy.
For Mariana Zapata, who reminded me that a slow burn can be utterly delicious.
For R. Lee Smith, who reminded me that a plot can be utterly wild, and if it’s told with conviction, it can be amazing.
For Kati Wilde, who is confidante, cheerleader, girl-crush and quite possibly the world’s nicest and most gifted person. You’re amazing. Have I said that today?
For my husband, Mr. Ruby, who supports me, eats leftovers so I can write, made me this incredible map and encouraged me to swing for the fences again. <3
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Contents
BOUND TO THE BATTLE GOD
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Epilogue
Author’s Note
The Pantheon of Aos
More books, you say?
Want More?
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BOUND TO THE BATTLE GOD
When I went to my neighbor's apartment to investigate strange sounds, I never expected to fall through a portal into another world. Yet here I am, a stranger in an even stranger land...and I'm stranded. In this world, might makes right, men carry swords, and gods walk the earth. Within minutes of arriving, I’m enslaved.
Fun place.
How do I get home? GREAT question. Wish I had an answer.
The one person that might be able to help me is also the one person I want to throttle most. Aron, Lord of Storms, Butcher God of Battle, is my new companion. Or rather, I'm his. As Aron's anchor to the mortal realm, I'm the one that's supposed to be guiding him through his exile in the mortal world.
Ha. Joke's on him. I know nothing about this place.
But Aron and I have a common goal – get home. And we're bonded – anchor and god – with a bond unlike any other. So we travel together. We bicker. We bathe together. We fight our many, many enemies together. And sure, he’s a god, but he’s also an arrogant jerk. Brawny, smoking hot, irresistible jerk. I should want nothing to do with him. I certainly shouldn’t want to do things to him.
Mortals and gods don’t mix. We stick to the plan and ignore our attraction. Focused, with one goal in mind.
One task. One goal.
Focused.
I—oh heck, I’m going to end up kissing him again, aren’t I?
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1
I’m just sitting down with a pint of Häagen-Dazs to watch some reality TV when I hear a voice through the wall.
I frown, spoon halfway to my mouth, and turn off the television.
It’s late. It’s a week night. I have to be up early but I can’t sleep, so I’m stuffing my face with ice cream. And for the neighbor in the next apartment to be shouting? That’s just rude. I scowl at the wall for a moment longer, and when all is quiet, reach for the remote again
A man laughs. Loud and strong, on the other side of the wall.
I take a bite of ice cream, listening like the nosy neighbor I am. The man keeps talking, his voice rich and smooth…and impossible to make out. He’s loud, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. The walls muffle it. Or rather, it’s like those Charlie Brown cartoons, where people talk but none of it makes sense.
I can’t hear any other voices either, just his.
After a few moments of this, the man’s sexy voice turns angry. Harsh. He’s no longer laughing. He’s arguing with someone—a silent someone.
Loudly.
I cringe when I hear a thump against the wall, like a fist is hitting it, and swallow my butter pecan quickly. I pull out my cell phone and record a few moments of the shouting, then decide to call the super.
Three rings later, the super picks up. “What?” His voice is impatient.
“Hi,” I say cheerily. “It’s Faith Gordon in 5B? Whoever you rented 6B out to is causing a disturbance. He keeps shouting at the top of his lungs and I’m pretty sure he just hit the wall.”
The super groans. “Lady—”
I hate it when men call me “lady.” It’s never a good “lady,” it’s always a bad “lady.”
“—there’s no one in that apartment.”
I stare at the wall next to my couch, where I distinctly heard a man yelling. “Yes there is.”
“No. It’s been empty since January. I have to fix it up before I can rent it again and that’s lower on the list.”
I knew my neighbor had moved out a few months ago but… “No one else has moved in?”
“No.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, and hang up. I’m confused. I put my ear to the wall to listen again, but whatever—whoever—it was has stopped.
It's dreadfully quiet for a long moment, and then I hear the voice again. The angry man with the beautiful voice. He sounds frustrated. Cold. Ominous.
Frightening.
Creeped out, I get off the couch and peer through the peep hole into the hall. It’s silent and empty. I take a deep breath, open my door, and approach the door down the hall from mine. 6B.
All is quiet.
I think for a moment, then race back into my apartment and grab my keys. I head down to my car on the street despite the fact that I’m in pajamas, and lean against it, staring up at the windows of the building. There’s my apartment, with the lights on and the half-dead fern on the stoop that I really need to water. To the right of it should be 6B.
The windows are black, the blinds down.
I head back to my apartment, confused. The moment I shut the door again, the voice starts up once more. Angry. Irritated. Superior. Argumentative.
A squatter, maybe? But who’s he arguing with in the dark? I get up and head into the hall again, to the door. I knock.
It’s silent.
I put my ear to the door.
Silence.
I carefully test the door knob. Locked.
Frowning, I go back inside my apartment and look at the window. We’re four floors up, and the only window in the apartment is facing outside. There’s not enough of a ledge out there for a bird, much less for someone to break in.
Even as I consider this, the voice on the other side of the wall starts again.
I grit my teeth, sit down on the sofa and pull my laptop onto my legs, firing up my browser. I google, "Symptoms of schizophrenia."
And then google, "I hear conversations no one else does."
And then google, "Am I being haunted?"
And finally search, "Sleep disorders causing waking dreams."
But none of it seems to match what I'm experiencing. I don't know what to do.
It’s late, Faith, I remind myself. Maybe he got pissed and shut the lights off and went to bed, and you’re imagining things.
I slap my laptop shut.
The voice wakes me up twice that night.
Both times, it's angry. Furious. Raging at something I can't hear or understand. The second time, just before dawn, it turns into a shout so loud and heartbroken that I clamp my pillow over my face and ears to muffle the sound of it.
It dies away and leaves a silence so profound it feels heavy.
What the hell is going on? I stare up at the ceiling and wonder what made my invisible “friend” so sad.
"It can't be that bad, buddy," I whisper to my empty room. "At least you're not hearing voices."
There's no response to my lame joke.
"Faith, I'm worried about you," Sherry tells me over lunch the next day. She clutches her egg salad sandwich tightly in her hands and gives me a dramatic look. "This isn't normal."
"I promise, I'm fine." I offer her a bright smile and wish she’d be quiet. She’s a good friend, but god, she loves the drama.
Sherry shakes her head solemnly, and it’s clear she doesn't buy it. "If everything's fine, why are you so distracted today?"
"Distracted? Me?” How does she know? I thought I'd been hiding it pretty well. I'm wearing my dressiest suit, I gave a customer service presentation a half hour ago that went over decently, and I'm having a good hair day. I thought I looked rather together. "How so?"
"Well for one, you're wearing black shoes with a navy suit."
Erk. Well, they already think I’m strange here at the office. No big deal. “That's not so weird—"
"And you're eating peanut butter and baloney on that sandwich." Her nostrils flare with horror.
I glance down at the sandwich I'm eating. Well, more like I'm “holding” it instead of eating. I haven’t been hungry lately, and I seem to be going through the motions for most of the day. I just can’t focus on anything but those odd voices.
Sherry’s not wrong, though. A quick look at my sandwich shows me one half is peanut butter, and one half is baloney. Ick. I guess I got sidetracked when making my lunch this morning. Maybe the birds outside will eat it. I set it on my paper lunch sack and shrug. “I read online that it was a good combination.”
“That’s called ‘trolling,’ honey.”
“Good one, huh? You want to try it?” I hold my sandwich out.
“Absolutely not.” She doesn’t share my amusement.
“Your loss,” I tell her brightly and decide to show her that I know what I’m doing. I pick up my sandwich and take a huge bite out of it…and it’s every bit as gross as I thought it would be. Oh god. It takes every muscle in my body to make my throat swallow the mess. I gulp my water to wash the taste out of my mouth.
Sherry gives me a stern look. ”Are you sure you’re okay? I worry about you.”
“I’m fine. I promise. I just…heard something last night and it kept me up.”
“Heard something? Like what?”
I get out my phone and pull up the video. “Listen to this. The apartment next to mine? It’s empty, according to the super. But I heard this last night.”
I hit “play” and…there’s not a single sound. Other than the rustling of my clothing, it’s all quiet.
She frowns at me again.
“I must have messed up the video,” I say quickly, stopping it and picking up my sandwich again so she doesn’t see how freaked out I am. I know I heard something. I know I did. “Maybe…maybe it was the guy in 4B. He does have a new dog.”
She makes a noise of sympathy in her throat, as if that solves everything. “Talk to him—”
“And my coffee maker's broken,” I add, because I need the lie to be convincing. Why not make it a dog pile of things? “And I was worried about the client retention report I was going to present today, which, spoiler, it turned out great.”
Sherry doesn’t care about my report. She’s not here to climb the corporate ladder. She’s here to socialize and bring home a paycheck for as little effort as possible. But I’ve spoken her language because she’s wearing a look of horror on her face. "No coffee? I'd die!"
"Right?" At least now we're in safe territory. I’ve thwarted her concerns for the day by lamenting about caffeine. She gets up and turns on the break room coffee pot, determined to help me with my beverage troubles, and as she does, she launches into a story about her son Julian and how he broke her Keurig by shoving wooden blocks into the K-Cup tray. I smile and laugh at the appropriate pauses, but my mind is wandering back to that voice.
A voice that only I can hear. Why me?
For two days, there's nothing. Not a peep, not a sound, not a sigh. Everything is completely silent, like it should be.
It weirds me out.
I pass by the apartment several times and knock, intending to be the busybody neighbor who introduces herself, but no one ever answers. I hang out on the street after dark with binoculars, waiting to see if a light goes on.
All is normal…which I’m pretty sure is bullshit.
I heard that guy. I heard him clear as day. So if someone’s not living there, does that mean there are squatters in the building? Is it unsafe?
By the time Friday rolls around, I’m a sleep-deprived mess. Between meetings, I rub my eyes at work and yawn, trying to stay focused.
"Still can't sleep?" Sherry leans over my cube and gives me a perky look that should be outlawed. “Or still haven’t gotten a replacement for that coffee pot?”
"Just a bit of insomnia," I tell her. "Nothing big. And my coffee pot’s being shipped. Should get here tomorrow.” Man, I am getting so good at lying.
She waves a hand as if my troubles are too irritating for her to focus on. “Well, caffeinate up and go to lunch with me today. I have to run to the post office and then we can grab tacos."
Even though I don't feel like moving—much less walking anywhere—I have to admit it'd be nice to get out of the office for an hour. Plus, tacos. Beats what I ate last night, which was oh, nothing. I’ve been too distracted to go to the grocery store. “Tacos it is."
As we head out for lunch, Sherry tries to keep the conversation going for both of us to make up for my quiet. She talks in line at the post office, tells me all about her kid while we grab tacos from a street vendor and I chug an energy drink. Sherry continues to yak about the horrors of finding a babysitter as we head back. We stop at a red light and wait to cross the street, tacos steaming up the paper bag I’m holding. I try to pay attention as Sherry goes on and on about her kid, I really do, but I'm so busy straining to hear the nonexistent voice in my head that I almost miss what I'm staring directly at.
There's a neon red palm blinking in the window across the street, with an eye in the center. TAROT. PSYCHIC READINGS.
Oh my god.
Of course.
This makes a ridiculous amount of sense. No one can give me a real answer, so maybe a supernatural answer is what I’m looking for.
I grab Sherry's arm. "How much time do we have before we need to be back?"
She checks her watch. "Half hour, really. Why?"
I shove my taco bag in a nearby garbage can, no longer hungry, and practically drag her across the street—in the wrong direction to get back to the office—when the light turns.
"W-what? What are we doing? Is there a bookstore I missed?" Her laughter dies when she realizes I'm charging for the psychic's doorstep. “Wait! Are you serious? Faith? You want to get your fortune told?" She looks at me as if I just told her I decided to join a nunnery. "Right now? On lunch hour? We haven’t even eaten our tacos!“
"You can go back if you want," I tell her, eyeing the window. There are beaded curtains covering the tinted glass, and the red palm is the only sign on the door. I wonder if I've ever seen this place before. Is it new? Or has it always been here and I've never noticed it despite a hundred lunchtime walks with Sherry? "I won't be long," I tell her and open the door.
If I can't have a logical answer to what's happening, an illogical one will do. Maybe my problem isn’t neurological or chemical but…mystical.
Okay, that sounds corny even to me, but I’m willing to roll with it if it gives me answers.
The shop itself is kind of disappointing. I was expecting mystical runes or lush velvet curtains hanging from the walls. Instead, the walls themselves are covered with bookshelves, and there's a glass counter along one side full of jewelry. The back wall has candles stacked in neat cubbyholes and some of them are set out on stands and lit, providing a thick, herbal smell to the shop. A woman comes from the back room as the door clangs with our entry.
"Hello! Welcome to my shop," she calls out. "How can I help you today?" She looks unimpressive as well—motherly and average, with a dumpy figure and curly, gray-peppered hair. She's wearing leggings and a tunic, much like your average soccer mom would, with a dark scarf artfully tossed around the neck.
"I want to get my fortune told," I say, striding forward before Sherry can silence me. "I have questions."
She goes very still, and her gaze moves up and down over me for a long moment. Her eyes widen, just a little. "Who are you?"
I suck in a breath and step forward, forgetting all about Sherry. She sees something. I know she does. I'm in the right place. I’m so excited I can hardly breathe. “What do you see?"
The woman shakes her head slowly, never taking her eyes off of me. "You have a very…strong energy surrounding you. It's like nothing I've seen before." She moves to the back of her little store and pulls a tapestried curtain aside, gesturing. "I can give you a card reading. Give you some of the answers you seek."
Yes! Answers! I could cry, I'm so relieved. "How much?" I ask, getting out my wallet.
"Oh, come on," Sherry hisses at me, grabbing my arm. "This is crap, Faith. Of course she's going to say you have a strong aura. She wants you to spend money!"
It might be crap…but it might be answers. I shake my head at Sherry. "You can go back. I'll be there soon, I promise."
Sherry's lips tighten in a thin line and she crosses her arms over her chest, but she doesn't leave.
I give her a smile to reassure her, then follow the woman into the back room. Sherry follows at my heels, and the woman drops the curtain behind us. "Have a seat."
The room isn't much to look at. There are folding chairs—two on my side of the table, and one on hers. The table itself is covered in purple crushed velvet, and I bet if I peeked underneath the garish tablecloth, I'd see it's a folding table. Adorning the walls are a few posters of psychic-looking women and stars and planets and such. Crystals hang from strings on the ceiling. I don't know what to make of this. It looks more like the cheap carnival fortune teller than the last room did.
But she sees something in me. On me. Whatever. And I'm so desperate for answers.
"A hundred dollars," she tells me, sitting across from me at the table. "Cash. No credit cards, no checks."
"This is crap," Sherry murmurs in a singsong voice as she sits down next to me.
Maybe it is. Maybe this woman's taken one look at my skirt and low heels, my white blouse and my blonde ponytail and decided that I have money to spend. I mean, she’s completely wrong about that, but I guess I could see the mistake, seeing as how we’re in the business district downtown. Lots of corporate business professionals around here.
Doesn’t matter. I'm willing to blow some stupid cash if I can get answers. I pull five twenties out of my purse and hand them over.
She takes them from me, careful not to touch my fingers. Odd.
"Put your purse away," the fortune teller says to me as she picks up a small wooden box and sets it on the table in front of her. She pulls the lid off with both hands and reveals a deck of long-looking cards. Tarot cards. There’s a spiderweb design over the back of each of them. "I'm not going to give you a typical reading. You need something different than mumbo-jumbo and a few platitudes, don't you?"
I nod, wide-eyed. It’s like she’s reading my mind. ”How do you know?"
She wiggles her fingers in the air before pulling the cards out of the box and setting the stack on the table. "I see it around you. There's something that's different about you than your friend. Like I said, I've never seen it before. It’s like an aura. No, not an aura.” She frowns. “It’s like you’ve walked through a spiderweb of some kind and you’re covered in the residue.” She wags a finger in my direction. “I’ve never seen that before, which tells me that there's a story behind it."
"Everyone has a story," Sherry says, her tone almost sulky. I think she doesn’t like being called normal.
“Everyone does,” the fortune teller agrees. "But not everyone has energy pulsing around them like your friend."
I feel a little quiver of anxiety at that. Sherry can have my weird spiderweb energy if it makes her feel special. I don’t want it. I just want to sleep.
The woman gestures at the cards. "Take them and shuffle them as much as you feel is necessary."
I grip the cards and study them. They feel a little waxy but well-used, and the spiderweb on the back of each card seems to gleam as if shiny. I shuffle the cards lightly, flicking them a couple of times before cutting twice and then offering them back to her.
She taps a spot on the table, and I put the stack of cards there. "What's your first question?" she asks, watching me with intent eyes.
I think. I have so many but there's one that keeps rising to mind over and over again. "Who is it I heard? The strange man?"
The fortune teller nods slowly. I can see Sherry staring at me, but I ignore her. I have to, because if I feel silly, I'm going to get up and leave and I need to know what this woman sees. I keep my gaze on the fortune teller and watch as she carefully picks up the first card from the deck and sets it down on the table.
It's a dark-haired man on a throne.
"The King of Pentacles," she says, looking thoughtful. "That's a strong, assertive man. One of power and ambition. He's someone that stops everyone in their tracks when they see him. He's…" She thinks for a moment. "He's like a force of nature. Takes over everything in his path."
I blink, staring at the card. It's a man. What she says matches the voice I keep hearing but…I still don't know who it is.
"Are you dating someone?" Sherry asks, amused. “And you didn’t tell me about it? You hooker.”
I shake my head. There’s no one.
"Be silent," the fortune teller hisses at Sherry. "This is not about you."
My friend gasps and shrinks back.
Well, crap. I give Sherry an apologetic look and then turn back to the fortune teller. "I don't…I don't know this man. There's no guy in my life like this."
The woman tilts her head. "Are you asking who he is to you?" At my nod, she turns over another card. "The Lovers."
The card has two people standing apart, a man and a woman. They're both naked. I can pretty much guess what this is about. “You sure this is my fortune?”
"If he's not a lover, he will be soon," the psychic murmurs, ignoring my question. “The cards don’t lie.”
"But…how? I don't understand." It can't be someone at work, and I don't do much outside of work. Especially not lately. "Where am I going to meet this guy? I keep going to his apartment and there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there."
The fortune teller turns over another card. It's a woman, floating in midair, with a green wreath around her. "The World, reversed."
"What does that mean?"
She puts a finger to her chin, thinking. "When The World is right side up, it means that a journey of knowledge is coming to an end. The circle is being completed." She traces her finger around the wreath on the card. "But for you, the journey is just about to begin."
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