by Rachel Shane
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRAVEBOUND BLURB
GRAVEBOUND - CHAPTER ONE
Other titles by Rachel Shane
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRAVEBOUND BLURB
GRAVEBOUND - CHAPTER ONE
Other titles by Rachel Shane
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CURSEBOUND
Copyright © 2016 Rachel Shane
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electrical or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Rachel Shane
Interior design and layout by Rachel Shane
Graphical elements from Freepik.com
DEDICATION
To My Grandma
I wrote this while you were still here and published it when you were not. I miss you.
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CHAPTER ONE
COLE
Cole Tiernan had only known Delilah York for a few days, but in that time, she’d saved his life. He intended to live the rest of it to its fullest, starting with a kiss when she climbed back into bed, this time wearing lacy black lingerie that hugged her curves.
He motioned her toward him in her bed, and she obliged, but only to slide a heavy silver tray onto his lap, her face stoic, the tips of her long dark hair brushing his bare chest. Tingles radiated across his skin. A glass vase with a single red rose wobbled as she balanced the tray on his defined abs. Curls of steam billowed from a handmade ceramic mug. In the center of the tray, a silver lid covered a white plate, as if Delilah was running a chic bed and breakfast and not housing Cole and his three nephews, who were sleeping soundlessly in her guest bedroom, oblivious to the turmoil of the last few days. Cole grinned at the silver tray, then at Delilah, remembering how she had told him if she had a hobby, it would be cooking.
“Wow. Breakfast in bed? I don’t deserve you. It smells…” He paused, sniffing the air. His stomach roiled at the pungent scent. It didn’t actually smell good. Or like breakfast. He lifted the steaming mug to his nose, expecting the scent of freshly brewed French coffee. Instead he got a whiff of musty cologne mixed with incense that made him cough. He tilted his head at her. “This isn’t coffee, is it?”
Her face remained void of smiles or emotions. All business with her. He lived for the brief moments where he could break her shell with a joke and get her to crack a smile. “Try it,” she said. “You might like it.”
“That’s the same thing you said the other night when you handcuffed me to the bed.” Of course, she had to handcuff him to stop him from thrashing as she performed a ritual to rid him of deadly curse. How could he not like that?
Delilah studied him in a way that made it seem like she was holding her breath. He knew he was getting into something weird when he got involved with a witch lawyer, but he’d assumed the weirdness would be contained to the full moon and love spells. Not a girl wearing lingerie that made his mouth water and offering him a beverage that decidedly didn’t. Still, she’d saved his life. She wouldn’t hurt him. He shrugged and lifted the cup to his lips.
“Wait!” Now Delilah cracked a smile, but this one seemed strategic. “Not quite yet.” Her eyes landed on the silver platter wobbling on his lap.
A flicker of apprehension knotted at the base of Cole’s throat. His shaky hand clasped around the metallic lid. Please be eggs, he thought, and instantly wished he could take it back. He’d trusted Delilah with his life, so why couldn’t he trust her with his breakfast? He took a deep breath for courage and lifted the lid.
His appetite vanished.
Because instead of jiggling eggs resting on the plate there was a sharp silver dagger with an etching engraved in the hilt. He swallowed hard, lifting his eyes to Delilah who was studying him intently.
“And here I thought we waited until at least noon for blood sacrifices. Or is that the kind of thing that falls under the lame excuse of it’s always noon somewhere.” He grinned, trying to get her to crack a smile. Or maybe just crack.
“Oh yeah, sacrifices are only performed past noon for sure. But rituals? Anytime.” It worked, the corners of her mouth quirked as she picked up the dagger and dragged the tip across her index finger. A drop of blood pooled on her skin, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains. She squeezed the drop into the mug, shaking her finger and then covering it with a white cloth that had disguised itself as a napkin. “If you’re nervous, I know how to fix that.”
And then she lifted the lacy lingerie over her head, wearing nothing but the white cloth covering her bleeding finger. Cole wanted to center his eyes on her amazing breasts but his vision kept drifting in the wrong direction, flitting between the dagger and her finger. “That kind of uniform would definitely help for the ritual I had in mind.” His ritual involved condoms and her on all fours.
She disinfected the dagger with alcohol—and probably a dash of magic—and handed it to him, pointy side facing her. “Your turn.”
He grabbed the dagger in shaking hands, all joking vanishing from his lips. “What exactly am I signing here?” Because the last time he signed a contract in blood with her, they’d both ended up almost dying. He’d prefer to avoid scenarios like that. He’d also like to avoid any scenario that involved her putting back on her clothes.
Delilah lifted the tray off his lap and set it on the bedside table, then she climbed on top of him, straddling him in just the right place. His body instantly responded as she gently rocked against him despite the pesky boxers he still wore under the sheets.
“This will break our initial agreement.” She leaned down and pressed her lips against his, hard and fierce. The dagger fell from his hands and he wrapped his arms around her, letting out a desperate breath as her hips worked. “You’ll no longer be indebted to me.”
The first contract he’d signed with Delilah—befor
e they’re dual near-death experience—involved him agreeing to help her with whatever she needed as long as she helped him. She’d confessed that she needed his help in cursing someone but hadn’t said anything more in days. And she wasn’t saying anything now as her lips moved against his, fierce and melodic. Her hand reached down below their bodies and tugged his boxers off. A condom appeared in her palm as if she’d conjured it out of thin air—and she probably had. He didn’t care, he was so lost in her intoxicating jasmine scent, burying his face in her neck. She slid it on him and took him inside her. It felt amazing to be so close, her legs wrapped around his waist, her breath growing heavy in a way that made him know he was doing this to her. That he was creating magic for her for once.
He forgot everything except this. The feeling welling in his abdomen, growing stronger as electric rivulets shot through him. She kept one hand steady on his back as she reached for the dagger with the other.
He pulled back, studying her, trying to focus on the dagger in her hand and not the sensation gearing up to explode inside him. “But—” he gasped out. “I want to help you.”
Delilah shook her head, moaning as she did so. “I promise you,” she breathed, heady and intermixed with panting. “You don’t. Plus—” Her eyes slipped closed and she arched her back, her breasts inching toward Cole’s face. “I can’t risk it,” she whispered, the words clearly hard for her to get out past the pleasure coursing through her.
Can’t risk it? That statement was enough to bring clarity Cole. He opened his mouth to ask but she let out a loud scream, her body shuddering on top of him. God, he loved making her come. It was enough to trigger his own orgasm, despite the way his brain was trying very hard to ruin this for him. His own breath came out heavy as the explosion shot through him, eliciting a scream of his own.
Their bodies rocked together a few more times, sweaty, happy, before she let out a sigh and collapsed next to him, the dagger still in her hands. Still pointed at him.
He flopped backward on the bed, draping an arm over his forehead, trying to make sense of what was going on. She was clearly trying to distract him. Weaken him. Tempt him. And God was he tempted. He wanted to take her again, right now. Give in to whatever she was suggesting. Except… “Why can’t you risk it?”
“Damn,” she whispered. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I said that.”
“I’m a poker shark. I know when people are trying to trick me.”
She kissed his nose. “I’m not trying to trick you. I’m trying to protect you.” Her face grew serious again. “The last client who tried to help me via the same contract you signed ended up decapitated in a green garbage bin.”
Sharp dread landed with a thud in Cole’s stomach. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“The one before that,” Delilah continued, “had her memory wiped from a very powerful and irreversible spell. She had to re-learn everything, including basic language and swallowing skills.”
Cole gulped.
“The one before that lost use of his vocals. Straight out of The Little Mermaid.” Delilah leaned forward, her hair draping over his bare shoulders, and pinned him with a gaze so intense, Cole burrowed deeper into the mattress. “This is dangerous—and I won’t be able to help you if you go through with it.”
Cole’s heart was beating fast, a sense of urgency racing through him. Run, it demanded. Not from her, but from whatever she was trying to protect him against. Because it sounded scary as hell. “Why—” His throat was dry and scratchy, so he cleared it. “Why won’t you be able to help me?”
Delilah reached over to her nightstand and yanked out a heavy stack of papers. She flipped through them and slapped one paragraph on page nine hard, with a sound that made Cole’s teeth snap. “One of the clauses in the contract we signed makes saving those who help me exempt from my vigilante curse.”
Cole swallowed hard. Delilah had been willingly put under a curse that called her every night at dusk to prowl the streets and help those in need, Superhero style. If she didn’t give in to the need, her body would ache and revolt, making her physically sick until she scratched the desperate itch in the form of helping someone. It was this curse that had almost been her downfall when she’d saved Cole. And it was why Cole was so eager to return the favor and help her with her quest.
If Delilah needed help, he had to give it to her. Even if it was dangerous. Even if it would get him killed. She’d almost sacrificed everything for him.
Cole lifted his chin as he gently pried the dagger out of her hands and set it on the nightstand with a final sounding little clink. Delilah’s shoulders started to sag but Cole pressed a single finger beneath her chin and lifted her face toward his gaze. “What can I say?” He grinned. “I’m a gambler. I’m willing to throw in all my chips and bet on you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed for a few moments, lashes vibrating on her cheeks. Her face was a mix of pain and relief, as if both emotions were warring for prominence. “The World Poker Championship is in four days.” Her words were a whisper, like she couldn’t bare to say them out loud.
Cole let out a small laugh. “I know. I’m trying not to think about it.” Cole had won his spot in the tournament by the skin of his teeth thanks to a lucky bet he had no business playing without the cards to back it up, beating out his best friend now turned enemy Derek Hamel. Now, even more, Cole needed the money he might get for winning the tournament. Now that he had his three nephews in his temporary custody after his sister landed in a mental hospital as a result of his curse, he needed the cash desperately. He’d saved up just enough to cover tuition for Jonah’s, the oldest one, private school, but that didn’t factor in costs for preschool or after school care for the other two. He had to win.
He wasn’t sure he had it in him to win.
But it seemed Delilah was counting on him winning too. “You already have a spot in the tournament,” she continued. “It’s the perfect opportunity—which is why I need to break the curse now, before the tournament begins.”
He trailed his finger in concentric circles over her collarbone. “I’m staying in the tournament. I’m helping you. So why don’t you skip to the part where you tell me why I need to be in the tournament?”
“The tournament is being organized by Kendrick McCoy.”
Cole’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. I know.”
Because who didn’t know Kendrick McCoy? Or more accurately, who did? He was notorious for owning the most luxurious casino in all of Las Vegas. Hell, in all of the world. Every inch of the inside and outside was covered in lavish gold filigree. The cheapest rooms cost upwards of five thousand a night. The most expensive could cost the average person an entire year’s salary per night. He was known for throwing exclusive parties celebrities flocked to, the invitation being the hardest to get and the most coveted. The stuff that went down at the parties was the epitome of the famous phrase what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. He single handedly put together the World Poker Championship, trumping the original one that had made Texas Hold’em so popular in the early 2000s. He’d revolutionized Las Vegas, drawing flocks of tourists eager to stand outside and gawk at his empire since entry into the elite casino area cost a cool million. He was the Mark Zuckerberg of hotels. He was a constant source of news on all the buzzy media sites.
He was also an enigma.
He never showed his face. Ever. No one knew what he looked like and that was part of the mystique. The intrigue. The reason people flew from all over to Las Vegas aside for the obvious reasons of losing money at casino tables. He was the Lock Ness monster and every tourist wanted to be the first person to catch a glimpse.
“Then you know he’s impossible to locate and his fortress is impenetrable to infiltrate,” Delilah said.
Cole let out a sharp laugh. “Unless you have a couple thousand at your ready.”
“It’s not just money. His whole empire is protected by spells preventing magic. Against me, specifically. But any person who is magically inclined
who tries to enter his casino, his penthouse, or even his fucking parking garage—can’t. The consequences are depending on that day’s flavor of spells but I’ve seen someone burned alive. Someone else ricocheted off an invisible force field and flung hundreds of yards before she landing in moving traffic. I’ve seen someone else simply go insane the instant her toe crossed over the invisible threshold.”
Goosebumps prickled over the back of Cole’s neck as he figured out another thing Kendrick McCoy was. “He’s a witch?”
Delilah nodded. “The most powerful one I’ve ever seen, though there’s a reason for that. He siphons power and energy from any human who sets foot into the casino. Most don’t even realize—they feel a little light headed, or maybe come down with a generic cold a few days later—but the ones who linger in the hotel, who stay there for days, they get it worse. They develop cancers a few years later. Have heart attacks after a big steak dinner months after their stay. It’s untraceable, but people are fucking dying because of him and he happily churns their demise into energy he can use to fuel his magic. He didn’t get rich because he earned it. He got rich because he weakened enough people to take what he wanted.” Delilah’s hands curled into fists. “All these people are dying and there’s no way I can stop it because I enter the damn premises.”
Her breath was coming ragged now, her face pained. Cole placed a hand to her shoulder, understanding. “Your vigilante curse demands you help them but you can’t.”
She swatted him away. “I want to help them. I want to save them. Independent of the vigilante curse.”
And if she wanted it, he wanted it to. Even if he turned out incinerated or decapitated or whatever other medieval torture Kendrick wanted to deploy. “What do you need?”
“I need someone who can’t be traced back to me. Who has no magical ability of their own. Who can get close to him.”
Cole winced. For some reason, this truth of his lacking stung him deep in his core even though until a few days ago, magic to him was just a ridiculous fairy tale in the stories he stopped reading as a child.