Mythbound Trilogy Boxed Set

by Cory Barclay

  “Steve Remington,” Geddon said, his grin disappearing as he neared. “I thought I might never see you again.”

  “I hoped so,” Steve said, frowning. “Do you know what kind of hell you put me through?”

  Geddon had the decency to look ashamed. He averted his gaze until Selestria came up beside him. But Selestria did not defend his actions. Geddon had betrayed Steve to the Brethren of Soreltris and could never be trusted again.

  When Steve saw Pua Kila approach, gratitude showed on his face. But not for Geddon or Selestria—even if Selestria hadn’t played a part in Geddon’s betrayal. Steve’s heartwarming smile was reserved for the Nawao queen.

  “Pua Kila, I’m glad to see you,” he said.

  She nodded formally. “As am I, Koa Steve. It is good to hear your voice without that little goblin man to speak for you.”

  Steve chuckled. The thought of Charlene’s blue hair flashed in his mind and all joviality was lost. Sternly, he said, “What are you all doing here? And why have you teamed up with this . . . man?” He nudged his chin toward Geddon.

  Geddon started. “We’ve come to—”

  He didn’t make it any further than that. Steve’s raised palm stopped him.

  “I asked my friend,” Steve said, a bit childishly.

  Pua Kila said, “As much as you dislike this one, Koa Steve, he helped us get here. We were following the Brethren lords and ladies to the castle, trying to see what was amiss. Then we ran into these two, fleeing the other way.”

  Steve creased his brow.

  “The Myth Hunter,” Pua Kila clarified, motioning to Selestria.

  “Even though you hate me, Steve, the fact remains that we are still Bound,” Geddon said. “That’s how we found you.”

  Steve sighed. He didn’t want to hear Geddon’s voice. But an important question had popped into his head that only Geddon could answer.

  “What if you died?” he asked.

  Geddon was taken aback. “If I were to die, you would be stuck here.”

  Steve nodded and turned. “Then they’re still here,” he said to Aiden, who had approached from behind.

  Aiden looked puzzled.

  “Scarlet, Dale, and Shepherd,” Steve said. “When Charlene died, I thought they might get sent home. But instead they’re . . . stuck here.”

  That was worse, in Steve’s mind. How would he ever get Dale back to Terrus if he never saw the Parallel Reflector again? Scarlet and Shepherd were Mythicus natives, but not Dale.

  Oh well, Steve thought. A problem for another time.

  Steve walked away from the group. He’d had enough conversation for the day. He needed to think.

  Aiden said to Geddon, “Where will you go?”

  “Does it matter?” Geddon asked.

  “As long as you don’t follow us, traitor.” And with that, Aiden fell in step behind Steve.

  “Pua Kila,” Steve called from over his shoulder.

  “Yes, Koa Steve?”

  “Will you lead me to Charles Lee’s burial ground behind the waterfall in the woods?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But why?”

  “I’ve had an itching desire to speak with the Spirit Watcher. I must find out who she is.”

  It was a sensation he’d been trying to hide ever since he’d been cast out from Lig’s body by that menacing, pointing finger. Steve knew the Spirit Watcher played an important part in whatever was happening here on Mythicus.

  She wasn’t only “watching.”

  He needed to find out her purpose and whose side she was on.

  “When will we meet up with the other three?” Aiden asked Steve as they walked.

  “When we get back to San Diego—er, you know what I mean—you can split off from me if you want. You’ll be close to your house.”

  Geddon called from behind: “If anyone cares, me and Selestria will be at Charles Lee’s house. As we promised we would.” He emphasized the last sentence, as if trying to prove that his word could be trusted.

  Steve knew better than that. He waved the big man away. “No one cares.” Inside, something ate at him. He’d promised Annabel he’d watch over Geddon and Selestria at Constantin’s house.

  I’ll have to do that after this . . .

  Together, Steve, Aiden, Pua Kila, and her ten or so Nawao warriors headed toward Central Soreltris. Night would be upon them before they reached the outskirts of the place.

  It gave Steve plenty of time to think.

  He thought of Nersi’s mesmerizing voice and full, red lips; Charlene’s confidence at such a young age, the blue hair and all the studs in her face.

  He wished he’d known them better.

  But that would make the hurt of losing them that much worse.

  No, he thought, shaking his head. It’s better that I didn’t know them well. It’s best that I put them behind me and move on.

  There are other people I need to save.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Richard Remington paced the small room, chewing on his fingernails. It took three steps in either direction before he faced a wall and had to turn around. He was disgusted, sad, enraged. He hardly had time to feel an emotion before it fluttered away to be replaced by something else. In his own mind, he was still Overseer Malachite.

  It was a cruel joke that the prisoners he’d kept in this very room now roamed free, while he was jailed like a common criminal. It was ironic that an actual murderer like Geddon could walk the world without repercussions, while a man like Richard rotted inside a cage.

  He knew he wouldn’t last long in this cellar. He’d been in the room for a couple hours and already felt he was losing his mind.

  He had been the most powerful person in Soreltris. He had risen fast, very fast, but fallen even faster.

  How could it have happened so fast? he wondered. He thought he’d had the ear of the Council. There had been no talks of dissension—Misty would have told him. No one even looked at him the wrong way. Perhaps those were signs . . . the quiet before the storm.

  But Misty hadn’t warned him. How had Jareth been able to amass the entire thirteen-member Council? How had he been able to do it without me knowing?

  It must have been at the most recent meeting, or else Jareth wouldn’t have had the votes possible to overthrow me.

  They had gathered in his house, under his roof, and betrayed him. They all deserved to die. No one had had the decency to warn him about the usurpation. Misty must have been there.

  Why did my spy fail to warn me?

  Richard felt his blood pressure rising. His anger was at risk of boiling over like water on a hot stove. He grunted as he paced, eager to make an escape plan.

  If no one helped me then, why would they help me now? No, I’m on my own.

  What did I do to deserve this? I was not a tyrant. I did not taunt my Council or play favorites. No one had a reason to hate me—much less seven of them!

  All I wanted was to figure out the secrets of the Parallel Reflector, so I could send envoys to Terrus. I’m sure the people of Earth would have been hesitant to welcome Mythics to the fold, but they would have come around. At least enough of them to make my assimilation project worthwhile.

  He felt a headache behind his eyes and stopped pacing, knowing he was driving himself mad. The thought of the Parallel Reflector sitting in his bedroom, unguarded, drove him up the wall.

  Then, in a moment of clarity, he realized something.

  How did this happen so fast? If what Jareth said was true, then it didn’t. This was not a spur of the moment. If that’s the case, then why now?

  His mind came back to the Parallel Reflector.

  Of course. It was obvious.

  Jareth coaxed me into interrogating Geddon and Selestria. He expected me to find the Vagrant leaders. And I did. But it was the interrogation before that that must have truly interested him.

  The question regarding my son: how had he escaped through the Parallel Reflector during the wedding?

  As I learne
d Steve had had his Conveyor on his person and had traveled via Ethereus to go through the Reflector, so did Jareth. Then Jareth could plan his betrayal.

  Richard also knew Jareth had wanted Geddon and Selestria dead. They were minor annoyances, but they could become so much more if freed. They could rebuild the Kinship. So, when Geddon gave up the location of the Kinship leaders, that’s why Jareth had so strongly suggested killing them. They had no use any longer.

  But they were useful to Richard, which was why he’d kept them alive.

  Geddon was Bound to Steve. Selestria was a Myth Hunter. Together, they could locate Richard’s son at any given moment, on either plane. That in itself was valuable to the former Overseer. Despite everything that had happened, he still loved his son.

  Maybe it’s not such a bad thing Geddon and Selestria escaped, Richard thought, biting his bottom lip. He tapped his chin and leaned against the wall. They still live . . . hopefully.

  If they rebuild the Kinship, they might be able to overthrow Jareth!

  He is a diabolical man. The Council will see. They’ll soon understand the mistake they’ve made, and say to themselves, “Hey, maybe Malachite wasn’t such a bad guy.” Jareth wants to force his way onto Terrus and its people. He has no qualms about slavery, treachery, and the things that still pain Terrusians today. He doesn’t understand the history of my world.

  And if Geddon and Selestria overthrow Jareth, then I could be back on the throne!

  And when I am, I will execute my entire Council before starting anew.

  He nodded, feeling pleased with himself. It was a long shot, but it could happen. Richard was convinced he could get his throne back. He wondered how many usurped leaders in history had made triumphant returns to their throne. The number was likely small.

  Then I will be a legend in the Brethren annals. The Once and Future King!

  He giggled at the thought.

  His smirk disappeared as a knock came at the door. His head shot in that direction and he spat, “Who is it?”

  No voice responded.

  Sighing, Richard thought of his options. When he realized he had none, he strode to the door and rapped his knuckles on the wood.

  The door opened.

  Richard took a step back, puzzled at who stood before him.

  Dosira Reynolds rushed into the room, shutting the door behind her. She wore a silky blue dress that reached her ankles. She hadn’t changed since the debacle in the ballroom.

  “What are you doing here?” Richard demanded at once. He gave her a once over and noted how beautiful she looked. No, there was something else in her face. She was tense, on edge, the veins in her neck tightening. She looked . . . vulnerable.

  Richard’s hard gaze softened at the worried expression on Dosira’s face. She had dark, tumbling hair and the broad features of an Eastern European woman.

  Dosira refused to look him in the eye. It was only after he grunted that she looked up.

  “Well?” Richard asked.

  The words tumbled out of her as she snapped back to reality. “I feel terrible for what my husband has done,” she said. “It was not a worthy exit of an Overseer. If anything, it will bring hostility between the Council members. His actions have tarnished the reputation of the Overseer office and have sown the seeds of discord. The split decision has put the Council into two camps.”

  Richard gaped. For a moment, thoughts rolled around his head unbidden. He was unable to focus. He couldn’t believe Jareth’s own wife was speaking this way about him.

  Then he remembered something. The hardness returned to his face, before he gave himself away.

  “You were one of the seven who voted against me, Lady Opal,” he sneered.

  She nodded and averted her gaze once more. “I know. And I regret it. You must understand, to vote against my husband would be to invite death. You know how his temper . . . flares.”

  Richard scoffed. “I’ll pardon the pun,” he said, shaking his head at the memory of Nersi Magdalin burning to ashes. He took a step toward the wall and leaned against it, trying to straighten his mind out. How can I use this newfound knowledge to my favor? This is the scandal of all scandals!

  He noticed Dosira had taken a step toward him as he’d taken a step back. In fact, she’d seemed very close ever since she’d come into the room. Almost like her vulnerability needed a body nearby, or she’d fall apart completely.

  Richard pitied the fragile woman. How a delicate thing like her could have ever coupled with a fiery one like Jareth was beyond understanding.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Richard asked. Of course he agreed with everything Dosira had said. Jareth was a cold-hearted traitor. He had no doubt Jareth’s rise would fracture the Council—but what was her purpose in coming here?

  Dosira gave a small shrug. She joined her hands together at her stomach and fiddled her fingers like an adolescent girl.

  Richard narrowed his eyes on the woman. He felt his own temper “flaring,” in a way, and his mouth went dry. He took a step forward, but remained a fair distance from the woman.

  “I suppose I . . . wish to repay you in some way. You could have made things much more difficult for my husband, if you’d wanted. That was very brave and gallant of you.”

  Actually, no, I had no grand scheme up my sleeve and don’t know what else I could have done, he thought. He accepted her compliments, though, and went with it. When his own blackguards had refused to arrest Jareth, he’d known his time was up. If it had been in his power, he would have struck down every smug face in that ballroom, then and there. But he was only a lowly human. The moment he lost his throne showed him the futility of trying to rule a foreign race in a foreign place. Especially as an outsider.

  Still, he would try again, if given the chance.

  Maybe I am braver and more gallant than I realize, he thought, feeling a bit of self-righteousness.

  Dosira reached out and gently brushed her hand against his. His eyes widened in alarm.

  “What are you doing, Lady Opal?” he asked foolishly. His face turned scarlet and he felt a warmth cycle through him like he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Not since he’d been with April, in fact. Overseeress Garnet had been the last woman he’d made love to.

  His courting skills were a bit rusty, to say the least.

  When Dosira’s hand moved up his forearm, goosebumps formed all over his body. Without thinking, he took a step forward into Dosira’s space, resting his free hand on her back. He ran the hand up and down her bare spine—the blue dress was open-backed. Her skin was soft, inviting, tantalizing . . .

  Dosira tipped her head and kissed Richard.

  Richard’s hand moved to the back of her head. He gripped the root of her hair and held her head as he held the kiss, wanting the moment to last as long as possible.

  Then the heat coursing through his body could no longer be contained.

  When he parted his lips away from Dosira’s, he could hear her breath was heavy. His was, too. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Richard thought he saw her eyes flash a cold, light blue, before reverting back to their natural green.

  He had ignited the passion within her.

  He looked to the door, then back to her.

  He fumbled around like a teenager. He felt foolish, but also free and happy for the first time in a long time. He held Dosira and took her with him as he moved forward, until her back was against the cold wall. He undid the straps of her dress and his hands plunged into her dress. He felt her warm breasts as she let out a slight gasp and tensed.

  It all happened so fast.

  Dosira hiked up her dress. At the same time, Richard’s hands went to his belt and he pulled his pants down just far enough. It was too cold in the room to disrobe completely.

  Richard steadied himself. Without looking at Dosira, hearing only her breathless panting, he entered her and grunted.

  Still standing, he grabbed her ass and pulled her closer as he thrust with mad abandon. He
tried to force out all the anger he’d been feeling.

  He sped, unable to slow himself, and listened as she quietly moaned in his ear, urging him on. He wrapped one hand around her neck and she tensed.

  Red-faced, he felt himself losing control in pure bliss and ecstasy. He gave one last triumphant thrust and cry and held it long and snorted through flared nostrils.

  He pulled himself out of her with a last sigh of satisfaction. He stumbled as he took two steps back and chuckled at his own clumsiness.

  Dosira’s dress fell back over her legs. She smoothed it and watched him.

  Feeling his heart racing in his chest, Richard put his back against the wall and tilted his head to rest. He pulled his pants up and slid down until he was sitting.

  After a silent moment, Richard smirked at her. “Same time tomo—” he cleared his throat, feeling his voice go out.

  “What was that, Richard?” Dosira asked, cocking her head to the side. She had a peculiar look on her face. It was much different than the innocent, soft expression she’d had when she’d barged into the room . . .

  “Tomorr . . .” Richard furrowed his brow. He was unable to get the word out. His heart was slowing, as it usually happened when the adrenaline wore off. But as his heart slowed, he felt it getting heavier and heavier. He put a hand to his neck and could hardly feel his heartbeat.

  In an instant, a feeling of despair washed over him. It wasn’t the usual postcoital lethargy. It was something deeper.

  “What?” Dosira asked when Richard stared up at her confusedly. His eyes had gone wild. He clawed at his throat, trying to make her understand that he couldn’t speak—could hardly breathe!

  “I’m afraid there won’t be another time, Richard,” Dosira said calmly.

  The sinking feeling in Richard’s chest got worse. He clutched at his heart. He pulled his knees to his chest and whimpered. He felt ten years older, in an instant.

  Dosira breathed in deeply and stretched her arms out wide, as if she were an asthmatic who’d just learned she no longer needed her inhaler. She said, “So, this is what a human soul feels like?” Bobbing her head back and forth, she came to a decision.