The Blood That Binds Us (The Bound By Blood Series Book 1)

by Erin Mainord

He is laying a trap, a cat waiting for the mouse to corner itself, but he hasn’t accounted for the unexpected. I am the falcon.

He is laying a trap, a cat waiting for the mouse to corner itself, but he hasn’t accounted for the unexpected. I am the falcon.

Sometimes I wish I was a transcendent so I could shed this skin, even for just a few minutes. The transcendents are at least tolerated so long as they follow their rules, but I am something worse, more feared, and irrevocably forbidden to live by kingdom law.

Sometimes I wish I was a transcendent so I could shed this skin, even for just a few minutes. The transcendents are at least tolerated so long as they follow their rules, but I am something worse, more feared, and irrevocably forbidden to live by kingdom law.

“They are all abominations.” “Abominations? You can throw magic from your hands, but because they were blessed with another skin, they are abominations?”

“They are all abominations.” “Abominations? You can throw magic from your hands, but because they were blessed with another skin, they are abominations?”

“Care to take a walk with me?” He extends a hand outward. I’d rather light myself on fire. “That would be great.”

flanked by Ileana and his father on either side.

I don’t trust these two.

Dusaro clears his throat. “More like an abomination.” “The only abomination in this room is your manners.” I turn my attention to Dusaro but swear I see a smirk on Sin’s face in my periphery. “You forget who you’re talking to, bloodwitch.” “And you forget I could explode your heart without breaking a sweat, my Lord.”

“Impending war? The kingdom has been at war with Legion for years.” Bennett raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m not talking about Legion. War against those things.” “Transcendents? Sin is going to declare war against all transcendents?” “He’ll have our support of course, but Sin knows he needs to weed out any lurking enemies of the throne before making any official declaration. He doesn’t like to be caught by surprise, and I don’t blame him. Surprises lead to mistakes which lead to lost coin. As soon as he gathers everything he needs, the transcendent problem will be quickly eradicated.”

“I think that’s for the Black Art to decide,” I snap. “And given Adelphia chose him and not you, you really needn’t concern yourself with the matter, do you?”

Ouch 😂

“I’m more of a risk to you and others if I’m trapped here than if I just went home. I’ve never killed anyone… but I’m growing an appetite, and I suspect I have an affinity for pompous men with long hair.” I smile warmly at him, letting my threat sink in.

“This way, should you tighten the lines of that pretty mouth again, I’ll know you’re about to strike me. Which I’ll remind you, you’ve done three times now. May I suggest we not go for the fourth? I’m not sure how much longer I can cage my temper.” He turns and continues walking towards the stables, and my black leather boots unglue themselves from the path a second later.

When he rights himself, a six-inch dagger with a black hilt and a holster are in his hands. “If I give this to you—” “I promise not to castrate you.”

Eldridge huffs. “Like I’m going to trust that cunt to take down Legion. Singard or Sin or whatever the fuck his name is—none of those kingdom cunts ever get anything done.” He interlocks his fingers and stretches his hands out in front of him, rolling his neck as he does. “I’m not waiting around while they have a pissing contest. I’ll leave tomorrow—I’ll bring her back, and I’ll roll a few heads doing it.”

I don’t imagine many call the Black Art a bitch and live to tell the tale.

Elysande. The goddess of war, vengeance, and femininity. The first bloodwitch.

The goddess feasts on men that harm women and devours mothers that bring pain to their children. Stories claim she went from house to house, ripping babes from their beds and fueling her power with their life forces, but her devoted know Elysande was the most nurturing of all the gods. She did go house to house, but it wasn’t the younglings she sought—it was their wicked mothers and fathers that laid hands on innocent flesh. Elysande tore them to shreds, absorbed their lives to strengthen her power, and delivered the children to deserving women that would care for them.

My kind of goddess.

I don’t bother arguing with him. Nothing I say will cool the wrath coursing through him right now, so I resort to a miserable attempt at humor instead. “I’ll make you a promise. I will try really hard not to die.” A slight smile tugs his lips upward, but it doesn’t meet his cold, gray eyes. “Die, and I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

I watch as Sin’s grip tightens on his throat, almost lifting him off the ground, his next words laced with fury. “The only thing my lady will be choking on are your innards when I feed them to her.”

“Such a filthy mouth you have. I’m beginning to think you enjoy my hands around your throat, little witch.”

“Elysande?” he asks with a note of surprise. I nod. “Is there a problem with that?” He shrugs. “A little unusual, but I suppose a bloodwitch would worship the goddess of war.”

And then I see it. Settled on an outcropping of rock is a comically small temple. And carved into its front-facing surface, her chiseled features partially shadowed beneath the setting sun, is Elysande.

“It’s not often I let men that speak of what I taste like live, Your Grace.” He shrugs a shoulder as if I didn’t just threaten him, facetious or not. “Me either.” “Excuse me?” Sin leans forward, his green eyes burning with as much heat as the fire between us, locked on mine. “I also don’t intend to let men live that would dare speak of your… exquisite flavor.”

“I would have appointed my father as Hand, but since our law forbids familial ties, I allowed him to choose. He wanted Ileana.

These two just don’t sit right with me.

Probably alive.

“Careful with my Wren, Mr. Langston,” Sin says, swishing the remainder of the mead around in his glass. I arch an eyebrow, but Sin doesn’t look away from Bennett, his eyes dropping to the hand he places on the small of my back as he guides us out of the dining hall. My Wren. I’d like to shove my fist up his ass.

Familiar, yellow-green eyes. His eyes.

My heart fractures with truth. Sin slowly retreats into the brush behind him, the silhouette of his body disappearing within the trees, leaving only the eternal spring of his eyes visible through the woods, until those too, disappear.

“Nothing can be done to bring him back now, but you can revert the laws that threaten them, and you can work to clear the prejudices. Adelphia chose you. Maybe it’s time to start considering why.”

“And when you’re aroused,” his eyes flash to mine with a smirk that is pure sinful, “you smell like fucking starlight.”

“Oh, and starlight,” he calls after me. Please don’t let this be my new nickname. “Try to keep your moaning down when you pleasure yourself tonight, dearest. I need my beauty sleep.”

“If Ileana had a cock, would she be worthy of your confidence then, my Lord?”

“Maker help them if I did,” Ileana murmurs to me.

I stare at him wide-eyed. “Do you know how dangerous it is to give a bloodwitch something like this?” Having but a drop of someone’s blood grants me power over them, a direct link to their collective, and the Black Art has just given me a bottle of his.

It’s the most mouthwatering thing I’ve ever seen. And definitely the Black Art’s deadliest weapon.

🙄😂 really

“I’m going to wash up before turning in for the night, but thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Langston.” “Then I shall bid you farewell, my Lady.” With a polite smile, I turn to leave but stop when he calls after me. Wearing an expression more serious than I’d seen all night, he says, “Keep your ears open, Wren. You never know what threats are lurking just beneath your nose.”

And the worst part about loving him isn’t his need for control or violence. It’s knowing that no matter what he does, or who he hurts, my heart will still burn for him.

“Where have you been?” I ask softly, brushing the hair from her eyes. She raises a bone white arm and, with a trembling finger, points behind me. “With the Black Art.”

Damn