Unearth (The Bound Ones Book 3)

by Tricia Barr

  His words sounded so heartfelt, and his face as he looked down on her was so achingly beautiful. When he drew in for a kiss, she was powerless to resist. Such a soft and sweet kiss, she could taste the pure love and adoration on his lips.

  “You are my everything, Ayanna,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her as he spoke. “This world is not worth ruling if you are not by my side.”

  “Oh, Joran…” Ayanna whispered, butterflies fluttering in her belly.

  “There are people who would take you from me,” he said. “Word of your condition has spread, not only to our followers but to our enemies as well. They will try to convince you of some ludicrous things. You must not believe anything anyone else tells you. I am the only one you can trust.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I understand.” She didn’t think that she was a gullible person, but right now she was a dry sponge, soaking up every bit of information that touched her. She could not discern for herself what was true and what was a lie. She would have to depend on Joran to verify everything.

  “I spent too long in the ground without you,” he said. “I will not lose you again.”

  “You won’t have to,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.” She lifted up on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

  When she pulled back, his lips spread in a smile. “Thank you, my love. I am so looking forward to our new life together. Now, I know you must be hungry. Let us finish our tour of the grounds so we can sit down to a delicious dinner.”

  She was hungry. But dinner could wait. She was greatly enjoying strolling through the garden, holding his hand all the while.

  As they walked, Joran told her stories from their youth, how they first met as children, when they first kissed as teenagers. And with each story he told her, the memory of those events came to life, filling in a few of the many blanks in her mind. It was like magic.

  Ayanna was so excited about this manifestation that she was sorry when it was time to go inside. She could listen to Joran’s stories forever. Not a bad way to spend eternity.

  Ayanna

  Ayanna woke up with her face resting on Joran’s firm bare chest. Their arms and legs were lazily tangled around each other. She couldn’t imagine waking up any happier than she felt right now. She snuggled into his pillowy pectoral, smiling to herself about the events of the night before.

  After the most delicious dinner, they had stayed up late into the night talking about their history together. Joran told her all that he had learned about life after death from the spirits who roamed the spirit world, and she could see it all so vividly in her head. He was absolutely fascinating, and he knew just the right words to say to make her laugh. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she was completely in love with him.

  The conversation had slowly turned into flirtation and seduction, and they spent the rest of the night getting lost in each other, making love until exhaustion pulled them both into a deep contented slumber.

  She knew that she must have had sex before, having lived as long as she had, but in a way last night was her first time, and she couldn’t have imagined it being an better than it was. Ayanna would cherish that memory forever.

  Joran’s body began to stir under her, his arms tightening around her as he roused.

  “I can’t believe I get to wake up like this every morning for the rest of time, with you naked in my bed,” he said, pulling up her chin so his lips could reach hers.

  What started out as a sweet, chaste kiss quickly became passionate and demanding, and they began the morning just as they had ended the night—with Joran on top of her, inside her, all around her.

  When they were both finally spent, there was a timid knock on the door. Joran stood up and wrapped the bed sheet around his waist before answering. He opened the door, and a young man stood outside holding a tray topped with pancakes and eggs and bacon, whose delicious aromas were now wafting in through the open door.

  “Ah, excellent timing,” Joran said, taking the tray from the man. “Oh, and would you send the lady’s maids up in a half hour?”

  “Yes, my lord?” the man said, and then briskly walked off.

  Joran closed the door and set the tray on the bed for both of them to dig in. The maple-covered pancakes were amazing, and the bacon was an explosion of salty smoky goodness.

  As she ate, a memory of her flipping pancakes herself over a stove top flashed into her mind. Did royalty typically cook their own meals? Not that it mattered. She was starting to remember that she was an independent person. If she wanted something, she was more than happy to get it herself. Perhaps that had something to do with her accident. Well, maybe she could tone it down a few notches.

  “Why did you send for the lady’s maids?” she asked after swallowing a bite of bacon, the savory taste still clinging to the tip of her tongue.

  “With the ball taking place this evening, you will need to look your best,” he said. “We both will. The girls will help you with your hair and makeup.”

  “We need to start this early in the day?” she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly. “My love, it’s already past noon.”

  Ayanna looked over his shoulder at the little digital clock on the bedside table. It read 12:34.

  “Oh wow,” she said, surprised. “Time really flies when you’re…having fun.” They shared an intimate smile and continued eating.

  When the tray was cleared, Joran set it on the nightstand.

  “Before I take my leave of you to attend to my duties, I would like to show you something,” he said. “I have had your closet stalked with only the finest fashion, and I would like you to pick a dress for the gala event tonight.”

  “Wait, at this ball, will I be expected to dance?” she asked, stuck in her spot on the bed. “Do I even know how to dance?”

  Though she was starting to get a better sense of who she was, she had no such confidence in her fine motor skills. Had she ever been taught to dance? If so, would she remember it now? She would hate to look like a fool in front of their guests.

  He laughed. “Yes, you are a splendid dancer. You have nothing to worry about. Muscles retain memories even when the mind does not. I’m certain that as soon as your feet hit the ballroom floor, your body will take over, and you will surprise yourself. I should know—you never fail to surprise me.”

  He said it like a compliment, but it didn’t feel like one. Was that bitterness she heard hiding in his tone? She assumed it had something to do with whatever incident led to her memory loss. Ayanna determined that, somehow, she was going to make it up to him. She was going to be the partner, the wife, the queen that he deserved.

  “Now come, choose a dress,” he invited, opening the doors of the large closet to reveal its treasure trove of truly stunning dresses.

  Ayanna got off the bed and went to the closet for a better look. She didn’t know how she knew this, but these dresses were an interesting combination of old world fashion and modern day chique. There were gowns for every occasion. Some were minimal and short for enjoying leisure activities on a summer day, some were elegant and sleek for evening affairs, and some were unblinkingly extravagant, meant for nothing more than a statement of wealth and power.

  For a moment, she wondered why there were no blouses or pants in this closet. She had been in jeans yesterday. Was that not appropriate for a queen? They were so comfortable. The idea of squeezing into one of these dresses was less than appealing.

  “Which dress would you like to wear?” Joran prompted.

  She looked back and forth through the closet, parting the hung gowns to get a better look at each one. After long deliberation, she decided on a sleek and shimmery navy blue evening gown. It was very long and backless, and its lines were trimmed with rhinestones. This seemed fitting for a ball.

  “An excellent choice, my sweet,” Joran praised. “Let me help you into it. I’ll take any excuse to touch you.”

  She giggled, and he took the dress
off the hanger.

  Holding on to Joran’s shoulders, Ayanna stepped into the gown, and Joran pulled it up and helped her slip her arms through the tiny straps. The gown clung to her like a glove, following every curve and dip of her body.

  Joran guided her to the full-length mirror against the wall so that she could appraise her appearance. As soon as her reflection stepped forward, Ayanna gasped. The girl looking back at her, while beautiful and familiar, had a large purple bruise trailing down the left side of her face. She tentatively touched it, applying the slightest pressure, and a dull pain responded.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Joran said. “That can be easily concealed with makeup if it offends you.”

  “What happened to my face?” she asked, placing her hand gently over her cheek to cover the blemish.

  “As I told you, you had an accident,” he replied simply. “But, thanks to our immortality, you heal very quickly, so the bruise will fade before you know it, and you will be just as beautiful as ever.”

  So her deductions were true, she had somehow hit her head. That’s what caused her memory loss. But would a strike to the side of her face really cause amnesia? Perhaps a blow to the back of her head, but to her face?

  No sense in dwelling on it now. Whatever the cause, the damage had been done, and she would just have to adapt and move on the best she could. Some of her memories were already returning, but only when prompted. Perhaps in time, they would all come back.

  She averted her eyes from her face and tried to look at the rest of her reflection. Satisfied, she turned around, but something in the mirror caught in her peripheral vision and she did a double take. As she looked over her shoulder at her reflection, the backless gown revealed long deep gashes across her otherwise smooth skin. They were mostly healed, the scabs even flaking off in some places. They clearly didn’t hurt, as the misadventures in the bedroom had proven, but the lack of current pain did not alleviate the shock she felt at seeing them. These cuts were no accident. Someone had inflicted them on her.

  Before she could ask about the cuts, Joran was pulling her toward the door, responding to the knocking.

  He opened the door and two women just a bit younger than Ayanna—or Ayanna’s appearance anyway—were standing in the hall in an obedient pose with their hands clasped at their waists.

  “These girls will fix your hair and makeup any way you wish,” Joran said. “If you will excuse me, I have some loose ends to tie up before the festivities begin. I will return to escort you to the ball shortly.” He planted a soft kiss on her bruised cheek and then left the room.

  How strange. Though she had only just met him a day ago, and he had just left the room not two seconds ago, she missed him already. There was a pain in her stomach, a gnawing emptiness that hadn’t been there when he was in her presence, and now it was growing quickly and filling her with a sense of panic.

  She shook her head, trying to rid herself of these ridiculous feelings. She may not remember much, but she knew that it wasn’t healthy to rely on someone so much. Perhaps it was just a side effect of her amnesia. She was just confused and lost and desperate for any foothold on something familiar. Surely she would feel better after some time passed and she got used to her new life.

  The girls came inside and led Ayanna to a makeup table, inviting her to sit.

  Without a word, the girls began to brush Ayanna’s hair and dab powder onto her cheeks. It felt strange to be pampered, to have others working on her appearance. Ayanna felt the urge to dismiss the girls and finish her makeup on her own. But if this was the way things were, who was she to change it, especially in her current state.

  As one of the girls reached over to pick up the mascara brush, Ayanna noticed that her hand was trembling. Ayanna looked up at the girl’s face and, though her expression was a mask, Ayanna saw a glint of fear in the girl’s eyes.

  “Are you alright?” Ayanna asked her.

  The two girls exchanged glances, and then the girl replied, “Yes, or course, my queen. H-how are you feeling?”

  Ayanna looked at the other girl and saw the same look of fear in her eyes as well. Why were these two afraid? Something about this didn’t feel right.

  “I’m fine,” Ayanna lied. “What are your names? Forgive me for having to ask, as I’m sure I must have known you both for a long time, but you must have heard of my memory loss.”

  The girls exchanged another strange glance, then nodded.

  “Of course, my queen,” the girl on the right behind Ayanna said. “I am Ingrid and this is Jessa.”

  “Thank you, Ingrid,” Ayanna said. “Maybe one of you could answer a question for me.”

  “Whatever you need, your highness,” Ingrid said.

  “While I don’t want the details of the incident that caused my amnesia, I would just like to know, do either of you know anything about the cuts on my back?” Ayanna asked.

  “No, my queen, I’m sorry,” Jessa answered very quickly.

  “With all due respect, your grace, we must finish getting you ready,” Ingrid said. “The ball will be starting soon, and King Joran will not be pleased if we make you late.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Ayanna said, smiling politely and patting the girl’s hand. “Continue.”

  So, the girls were afraid of Joran. Maybe they just didn’t want to anger him because he was their king. What subject would risk displeasing their king, even a great and just king? But Ayanna felt she was missing something here.

  What were these girls not telling her? What was Joran not telling her?

  The sky was still an ugly gray, a pretense with not a single drop of rain. The clouds had not cleared since Joran’s release three days ago, as if the universe was saying that there would never be a sunny day again. How could anyone be optimistic when the world itself had lost its light?

  Phoenyx was sitting under this bruised sky, leaning up against the wall of their hotel room on the patio. She was exhausted through and through from training with Skylar to block her mind from his mental x-ray vision. She had gotten much better at it, but the constant focus had left her mentally drained, with her body following suit.

  They had all needed a break, so Sebastian had gone down to the pool, needing his element to rejuvenate him, while Lily and Skylar had gone out with Sam to get some food. Lily and Sam seemed to have developed a…closeness, for lack of a better word. Whenever Sam texted them with updates, he texted Lily, and whenever he was around, the two kept a close proximity, stealing secret glances. What a strange time and place for a romance to bloom.

  Phoenyx had declined joining them. The thought of getting some fresh air had sounded good enough, but the blanket of clouds above was so smotheringly depressing. Ultimately, it didn’t matter where she was, because she was trapped inside her head, drowning in her worry for Ayanna.

  It had been days now that Ayanna had been held captive. Sam hadn’t seen any sign of their stolen friend. All he knew was that she was at the castle. He told them that Joran was holding some event at his castle tonight, and that all the members from around the world were expected to attend, so he would look for Ayanna while he was there.

  Phoenyx couldn’t help but picture Ayanna in a dungeon somewhere, tied up and starving and vulnerable to whatever punishment Joran decided to inflict on her. Ayanna had no offensive powers, and though she could easily defend herself against a dozen men with her martial arts skills, Phoenyx knew that she was defenseless against Joran, both by circumstance and by choice.

  Growling at her inability to stop torturing herself, Phoenyx kicked at the banister that enclosed the small balcony. She needed to burn something. She needed to have an effect on something, be in control of just one thing. She stood up and slid the glass door open, scanning the room for something disposable that she could torch.

  The take out bag full of the garbage from last night’s dinner was sitting on the end table next to the couch, just begging to be set on fire. Phoenyx glared down at the paper bag, channeling all of her frus
tration and fear and anger into that stare.

  “Burn,” she commanded, her upper lip twitching dangerously as she spoke.

  The bag obeyed, bursting into flames, the warmth of the blaze strangely comforting. She stared at its brightness, grateful for the light that made her forget for a moment about the dreary darkness outside. Watching the bag smolder to smoke and ashes on the table was the most satisfying thing she’d done in the last three days—well, aside from the midnight marathons with Sebastian every night. It felt wonderful to be in control, and right now she had full control of this bag’s fate, whether it disappeared in the flames or ceased burning completely and found refuge in the garbage bin instead.

  “Ah, that’s my Fire,” said a terribly familiar male voice behind her.

  Spinning around as fast as she could, she faced the source of that voice. Joran was standing only a foot from her, dressed in a fancy black suit trimmed with an intricate Celtic braided pattern on the lapel and cuffs, a strange yet beautifully done mixture of old world and contemporary design. His cheeks were full and he looked completely restored from the Grim Reaper he had been upon rising from the earth.

  Phoenyx’s anxiety kicked up to red alert, and she looked around frantically for anything she could use to help her, for any way to escape.

  “How did you find us?” she asked, slowly backing up. But with every step she took backwards, he took one forwards, until her back hit the wall and she could go no further.

  “I know your souls better than anyone else’s,” Joran said. “I have hundreds of years of experience tracking down my Bound Ones, and my powers have only grown while I slept in the prison in which you trapped me.”

  He raised his hand, and she flinched, expecting him to hit her. But he touched a strand of her orange hair instead, far too intimately for comfort.

  “You were always my favorite,” he said in a hushed tone. “My Fire, who is so like me.”

  “I am nothing like you,” Phoenyx said defiantly.

  “Oh but you are,” Joran insisted. “You are the only one who knows what it’s like to battle against your own darkness. To be tempted by the pull of your powers every single day.”