Deadly Vows

by Keri Arthur

  Copyright © 2020 by Keri Arthur

  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.

  * * *

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-6484973-7-0

  Created with Vellum

  With thanks to:

  * * *

  The Lulus

  Indigo Chick Designs

  Hot Tree Editing

  Debbie from DP+

  Robyn E.

  The lovely ladies from Central Vic Writers

  Lori from Cover Reveal Designs for the amazing cover

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Keri Arthur

  Chapter One

  “The point of a muting spell is to actually mute your output, not amplify it.”

  Monty’s voice was dry, and I scowled at him. He was the resident witch for the Faelan Reservation—a position that theoretically meant he was the government’s mouthpiece and enforcer, but in reality he did little more than provide magical assistance to the reservation’s rangers, if and when needed. He was also my cousin, and the only relative I had any contact with, let alone actually liked.

  “I am trying—”

  “Then try harder.” Amusement creased the corners of his silvery eyes. “Right now, blind Freddy could see the ebb and flow of your magic.”

  “It’s not like I have a lot of the goddamn stuff—”

  “If we were just talking about personal magic, that might be true. But we’re not, are we?”

  No, we weren’t, thanks to the presence of wild magic. My mother had unknowingly been pregnant with me when she’d been sent to restrain an emerging wellspring, and the energy that had almost killed her should certainly have destroyed me. Instead, it had somehow fused to my DNA, giving me a deep connection to the wilder forces of this world—though it was a connection no one, least of all me, had been aware of until I’d come into this reservation less than a year ago.

  I sucked in a frustrated breath and tried to envision the shield Monty was attempting to teach me. Like any witch, I’d been taught the basics of controlling magical output at school, but Belle—who wasn’t only my best friend and a fellow witch, but also my familiar—and I had never gone beyond that. We’d run from Canberra, my parents, and my husband when we were barely sixteen, and had generally avoided witches ever since.

  But basic wasn’t going to cut it now. Not when Clayton Marlowe—the bastard I’d been forced to marry—was on his way here to claim his errant bride and no doubt take what he’d been denied on our wedding night. We had no idea when or how he’d arrive; we only knew the looming confrontation would not be pleasant. And not only because our escape had made an utter fool of him, but because Belle had placed an anti-erection spell on him, thereby emasculating him.

  “Start again,” Monty added. “And this time, say the spell out loud so I can check your sequencing.”

  I did so. The air shimmered as power rose in response, and the glittering threads of magic quickly formed a shield that I then attempted to draw back inside.

  This time, the damn thing failed the instant it touched my skin.

  I growled in frustration. “What the hell am I doing wrong?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  He picked up his coffee and took a contemplative sip. We were sitting on the floor in the middle of his sparsely furnished living room. The orange menace that was his cat—and familiar—watched from the sofa, a mix of disdain and amusement on his furry features. Eamon and I had something of a love/hate relationship—I hated him, and he loved attacking me. I daresay the only reason he hadn’t launched his deadly little claws my way today was because Monty was in the room.

  Outside, the wind howled and rain drummed across the tin roof, a sound I normally found comforting. This afternoon, it set my teeth on edge, if only because it held echoes of the personal storm I sensed coming my way.

  I took another of those deep breaths that did absolutely nothing to control the uneasy churning in my gut, and then picked up my coffee. It needed a shot or two of whiskey to make it more palatable, and while I had no doubt Monty would provide it if asked, I did have to drive home. I might be dating the reservation’s head ranger, but he wasn’t the type to look the other way if he caught me doing the wrong thing.

  I took a sip and then said, “Do you think the wild magic is the problem here?”

  He hesitated. “It’s not entwining itself through the actual spell threads, but it may well be that it’s somehow disrupting your ability to draw the spell into your body. It shouldn’t, but—”

  “The wild magic does a lot of things it shouldn’t in this reservation.”

  “And that’s problematic in this particular case.”

  Because the one thing we desperately needed to do was conceal my connection to that magic. Clayton had to believe I was still the underpowered, inconsequential witch who had escaped his clutches nearly thirteen years ago. If he believed me to be anything else—if he saw the wild magic within me—there would be absolutely no escape from him.

  While he was powerful enough in his own right, our marriage had given him a direct connection to my parents, who were arguably the most powerful couple currently working within the hallowed halls of Canberra’s High Witch Council. Any child conceived between us would—even with my lower-class magical status—naturally be treated with greater deference.

  But if he saw the wild magic?

  Not only would I be placed under a microscope in order to understand how it had happened, I’d be treated as nothing more than a baby-making machine in the hope that at least one child would be similarly gifted. I didn’t want that outcome for me, let alone any daughter of mine.

  Odd that you mention a daughter rather than a son. Belle’s thought whispered into my mind, her mental tone sleepy enough to suggest she’d been taking an afternoon nap. While she was telepathic, I actually wasn’t. The ability to share thoughts as easily as speaking out loud was one of the many benefits that came with her being my familiar. It’s not like he’d be treated as any less of a science experiment.

  Yes, but I’ve just got an inner feeling my firstborn will be a daughter. It certainly wasn’t the first time the certainty of a daughter had risen, though usually it rose in conjunction with the desire for a more permanent relationship with Aiden, and was swiftly followed by the acknowledgement that that would never happen. When it came to witches and werewolves, we were a fun time, not a long time. The fact that my relationship with Aiden had lasted over five months now was something of a miracle.

  I hope my frustration wasn’t responsible for waking you.

  No, I had the alarm set. Kash and I are heading down to some fancy new restaurant his mate is opening in Argyle tonight.

  I thought you’d stopped dating Kash because you were getting bad vibes about his interest in your grans books?

  I did, but he’s no longer working on the books and he keeps flinging interesting enticements my way. Her amusement echoed down the mental lines. Besides, the man is good in bed, and it’s not like I
’m getting a lot of action elsewhere at the moment.

  Only because she wasn’t trying all that hard. Hell, she was just over six feet tall, with ebony skin, long black hair, eyes as bright as polished silver, and a build that was Amazonian. To say she attracted adoring male gazes wherever she went was something of an understatement.

  “I get the feeling,” Monty said, “that your attention is elsewhere.”

  I blinked and refocused on him. “Sorry, Belle was chatting to me.”

  “I don’t suppose she came up with a solution to our current problem, did she?”

  “No—”

  “Then tell her to shut the hell up, because we need to pin this spell down.” He paused. “Be polite, of course. I don’t want my future wife getting annoyed with me.”

  Belle’s snort echoed so loudly down the mental lines that I winced. He is persistent, isn’t he?

  You’ve only yourself to blame. You did go to that premiere with him.

  And I have absolutely no regrets—it was a brilliant night, and he was, for once, most charming company. Shame he reverted to his usual annoying self the next day.

  “Do I want to know what she’s currently saying?” he asked, amusement twitching his lips.

  Say anything, and you die, Belle said.

  I grinned and risked death. “She called you extremely annoying, but I reckon if you were to get premiere tickets for the latest incarnation of Evita, she’ll get over that opinion real quick.”

  I’d normally threaten to kill you right now, but you speak nothing but the truth.

  Of course I did. I was privy to her thoughts, after all, and knew she liked Monty far more than she was willing to admit.

  “I expect dinner to be included in the deal, given how hard those tickets are to get,” Monty said.

  If he gets tickets to the premiere, dinner will be on me. Fair’s fair, even when it comes to Monty.

  I passed this on and he grinned. “Challenge accepted. Now, can we get back to the business at hand? Because, seriously, we have no idea how long we actually have before Clayton appears, and if it’s tomorrow, you’re in trouble.”

  I was in trouble anyway, and we all knew it—especially if my father decided to accompany Clayton. We’d had no word that he’d left Canberra, but that didn’t mean anything. Not when he had the means and the power to stop any unwanted attention.

  I tried the spell again. The result was exactly the same.

  Perhaps, Belle said, the problem is the teaching method.

  Meaning Monty?

  Her laugh echoed through my thoughts. No. I meant the formality of the spell. What you’re both forgetting is that we’ve spent the last twelve years reorganizing various spells to suit ourselves. Why would this be any different?

  I repeated her comment for Monty’s sake, and his eyebrows rose. “You know, that’s a possibility I hadn’t considered. And while I don’t usually condone stuffing about with the semantics of spells, it’s definitely worth trying in this case.”

  Any other suggestions, Belle?

  She hesitated. What you’re trying to do is cloak the wild magic’s output by putting an internal barrier between it, your own natural magic, and the world in general. So perhaps imagine that from the get-go rather than trying to drag the shield inside after formation.

  I took another useless deep breath and then began the spell yet again; this time, rather than imagining a shield, I created a wispy, silvery curtain that filtered down through the inner me, forming a barrier that covered me from the top of my head to the very bottom of my feet, and through which only my natural magic was visible. I tied off the end of the spell very carefully, using the wild magic deep within as a power source so that it didn’t draw too much on my own strength, and then activated it.

  Monty sucked in a deep breath. “Whatever the fuck you just did, it totally worked.”

  Relief surged so fiercely that it left me shaking. I licked my lips, trying to keep calm, and then said, “Is there any magical output at all?”

  “There’s a faint bleed of your natural magic, but that’s it. How long do you think you’ll be able to sustain it?”

  “I don’t know.” I wrinkled my nose. “What’s the usual time span for these sorts of spells?”

  “Generally, twelve to fifteen hours, depending on the strength of the practitioner and how long they’ve been shielding. It gets easier the longer you do it.”

  “Yours isn’t on full time, though.”

  “It’s always partially on—I generally only fully mute when I’m in the presence of unknown witches. I also disconnect when I’m sleeping.”

  You can’t risk partial coverage, Belle commented. Not when we haven’t a clue how or when the bastard will make his grand appearance.

  Agreed. I pushed upright and walked around the room. Eamon took a half-hearted swipe at me as I passed his sofa. “Is the spell covering movement? Is there any accidental leakage?”

  “None. It’s bloody brilliant.” He took another sip of coffee, his eyes slightly narrowed as he continued to study me. “I guess the next question is, how easy will it be to drop if you do need to use the wild magic? Or did you weave in an exception to allow that?”

  “I didn’t, but I could easily enough. I might just see how long this spell lasts first, though.”

  He nodded. “Once you’re used to its presence, you can start honing the technique and adding exceptions.”

  And then pray like hell that it works in the presence of someone as powerful as Clayton, Belle said.

  If it doesn’t, then the game is over before it starts. And that was something I certainly didn’t want to think about right now. Hadn’t you better go get glammed up for your date?

  Just about to. Oh, and don’t forget to stop at the bottle shop on the way home.

  That’s the one thing I won’t forget. Not when we’d used the last of the Glenfiddich in the Irish coffees we’d made last night—a fact that had horrified Ashworth, the Regional Witch Association representative who’d come here to investigate a murder and had not only decided to stay, but was now the closest thing to a grandfather I had. His horror over the ‘waste’ of such fine whiskey didn’t stop him and Eli—his husband, and a retired RWA witch—from partaking in quite a few, however.

  I picked up my cup and drank the remainder of the coffee. “Are you going out tonight?”

  Monty nodded. “Got an invite to that new restaurant that’s opening in Argyle.”

  I gave him a long look. “Why do I suspect it isn’t a coincidence that you and Belle are going to the same event?”

  “Because you’re always reading a devious intent behind any action I might take when it comes to her. And while it generally is the case, this time I was actually invited out by a rather lovely young woman.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “And do I know this paragon?”

  “Probably not, as she’s only new in town. I literally ran into her just over a week ago at the supermarket.”

  “And as a thank-you, she invited you to an exclusive evening?”

  My disbelief was evident, and he grinned. “I think it safe to say she was bowled over by my charm.”

  I snorted. “I take it you’ve already been out with her?”

  He nodded. “Her brother is the restaurant’s owner, and she came up from Melbourne for a few weeks to help out.”

  “So, what was she doing in Castle Rock?”

  “She wasn’t. I was down there.” He grimaced. “I’d been investigating the wedding reception murder at the Lake House and—”

  “Murder?” I cut in. “I thought the groom had had a heart attack?”

  “That’s what his poor bride initially thought, but the ambulance crew discovered otherwise and called Aiden.”

  “I take it an autopsy has been performed?”

  He nodded. “It revealed he’d lost all his blood and his heart was missing.”

  I blinked. “How?”

  “Via a cut under his ribs, apparently.”


  “How big was the damn cut?”

  “Tiny.”

  “Then how—”

  “We have no idea,” he cut in. “If it happens again, I’ve suggested they bring you in. You might be able to pull something useful from the poor sod’s memories.”

  “Only if his death is fresh.”

  The brain didn’t die the minute the heart stopped—generally, there was up to a six-minute window of brain viability in which memories could be read. After that, deterioration began. But even within that window there were some levels of memory that could be affected, particularly short term. In the past, reading the minds of the dead had provided vital clues about the killer, though it wasn’t without cost or dangers. There were plenty of stories around about psychics being ensnared by death while psychically connected to the mind of another, and it wasn’t something I wanted to risk too often.

  “Fresh or not,” Monty said, “your other psychic senses might pick up something Aiden and I missed.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Once upon a time, you would never have admitted my psi skills were useful.”

  “Yeah, but I was young and dumb back then.”

  My smile grew. “So, do you think we’re dealing with some sort of vampire?”

  He hesitated. “The typical vampire bite mark was absent, but the whole ‘no blood’ thing does tend to indicate a bloodsucker of some kind.”

  “The kind that apparently also has a liking for hearts.” I shuddered at the thought. “At least that should narrow down the search parameters.”

  “One would think so, but my research has so far revealed a surprising number of supernatural beasties that like their blood with a bit of human heart on the side.”

  “Then let’s hope it’s nothing more than a top-up feeding and the creature behind it has long gone.”

  Monty snorted as he climbed to his feet. He was tall and well-built, with bright silver eyes and short crimson hair that gleamed like dark fire. “In this reservation? Unlikely.”