Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

  TIME BOUND

  * * *

  THE TIME BOUND SERIES: BOOK 1

  LORA ANDREWS

  TIME BOUND

  The Time Bound Series Book 1

  Copyright ©2018 Lora Andrews

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and written permission from the author. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

  Edited by: CMD Editing

  Cover design by: Lou Harper Designs

  Copyright ©2018 Lora Andrews

  Blood Oath Excerpt

  Edited by: CMD Editing

  Cover design by: Lou Harper Designs

  To Lauren, Ryan, and Rachel—

  You are my world.

  And to Lee, couldn’t have done it without you, babe.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Blood Oath Excerpt

  Also By Lora Andrews

  The past is never where you think you left it.

  ― Katherine Anne Porter

  PROLOGUE

  Kilfinan, Scotland, forty-seven years ago

  “Mariota MacEwen, show yourself.” The man’s angry growl cracked through the empty church like a whip striking innocent flesh. The air grew thick as his words faded into the darkened depths of the building.

  Simon MacInnes crouched behind the church pew. His mother had told him tales of disfigured giants sent by the gods of old to reap justice upon the Earth. Beings who shaped disobedient boys into men. But none of those monsters resembled this man. Tall and dark-skinned with eyes so black Simon could almost see his reflection, the man lunged forward and gripped his arm.

  “If you lied to me boy, my fury will have no bounds.” The words hissed through his clenched teeth.

  No, this creature was no monster, but a demon-god to be feared and obeyed. Simon opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat. He shook his head side to side. “I speak true. They are here.”

  The stranger cocked his head and released Simon. He crashed to the floor and rubbed the spot on his arm where the man’s steel claws had dug into his flesh.

  The sound of footsteps rushed into the church. Reverend Patrick came to a halt between the pews. His old, blue eyes widened at the towering stranger standing in the middle of his kirk. “Let the boy go. He’s an innocent and of no use to you.”

  The stranger laughed. “I determine who is of what use to me, good Father. This boy has served me well. Now release the woman or die.”

  A strange energy filled the room. Goosebumps prickled Simon’s skin.

  “This is a place of worship. We have no—”

  “Enough!” the man bellowed.

  Fear paralyzed the Reverend’s face. His mouth dropped open, and his hands flew to his throat. The doors of the church swung open, slamming against the walls in an earth-shattering bang, but no one entered. Cold wind funneled through the center of the building, muffling the sound of the holy man’s panicked gagging.

  “Stop!” Bursting from a door beyond the altar, John Currie and Graham Patrick rushed to aid the priest. The Reverend stood between the pews at the center of the church clawing at his neck, his skin a deathly shade of blue.

  Simon pointed to the two men. “They know where she’s hidden the stone.”

  The stranger smiled. “Do they?”

  “Yes.” He’d pleased the demon-god. Maybe he’d grant Simon a boon. He’d ask this powerful being to send him home. Home to his mother. He was older now. He could be good. He could avoid his da’s strap.

  Extending his arm toward John and Graham, the demon-god flattened his palm. A wave of energy rippled through the dark church, rumbling beneath Simon’s feet like veins of fire splintering rock. The pews shook. Reverend Patrick crumbled to the floor, and before the men could react, their bodies rose in the air, arms flailing like puppets hung on a string.

  Simon’s heart knocked in his chest. Fascinated by the awesome display of power unraveling before his eyes, he stood and took a small step forward, careful not to draw attention to himself. With a flick of his wrist, the demon-god sent both men flying across the room. Their bodies crashed against the wall with a thud and slid to the floor.

  “No!” a woman screamed.

  Simon couldn’t tell if it was his aunt or Jean who had screamed. They were both on the floor, kneeling beside the fallen men.

  “Surrender the stone, Guardian, and I will allow them to live.”

  At the sound of the demon-god’s voice, his aunt’s attention snapped from her injured compatriots to the being commanding her submission. Fear flashed in Mariota’s eyes.

  Aye, be afraid, witch. His aunt deserved to die. She deserved the torment this demon would ravage upon her heartless soul.

  On the floor, John stirred. Jean kissed her husband’s face and brushed the blood from his skin. His aunt squeezed her friend’s shoulder before rising from the floor. She smoothed her patterned skirt—a piece of bright-colored fabric falling inches above her knees, exposing her limbs to every man in the room. Unlike Simon, his aunt had willingly embraced the customs of this decade. When he returned home—to their rightful time—he would confess all to his father, her chief. How he would enjoy watching his da take the whip to her back for her transgressions.

  Mariota squared her shoulders and lifted her proud chin in the air. Twenty paces separated her from the fearsome being vibrating with power by Simon’s side. MacEwen defiance rolled through her body, so like his father.

  “If I hand you the Tempus Stone, have we your word you will allow us to live out our days in peace?” she asked.

  Simon clutched the varnished pew in anticipation of the demon’s reaction.

  “Of course.” The demon-god smiled, a false smile similar to what Simon’s father used to lure him before a lashing. This fearsome creature would renege on his word. There would be no peace for his aunt and her friends. They’d be hunted and forced to pay for their sins.

  His aunt sighed and opened her hand. Centered in her palm lay a blue stone radiating a soft violet-blue light.

  “No, Mariota.” Jean sobbed in the back
ground. “We must find another way.”

  The floor vibrated as energy pulsed throughout the room. The demon-god moved. Long, powerful strides covered the short distance to where Mariota stood with her arm extended. Claw-like fingers snatched the prize from her palm.

  A burst of blinding light shot from her chest. She tumbled back. The blue stone fell from the demon’s grasp. He roared an ear-splitting howl, the force expelling him from the church as chunks of the ceiling rained to the floor.

  Simon cowered and covered his head with his small hands. A powerful force enveloped his body and yanked. He grasped for the top of the pew, clawed at the seat, the floor—anything that would halt the pull’s momentum. Screaming, he thrashed against the invisible talon latched to his shirt collar, but the force dragged him out of the church and into the hands of the seething monster waiting outside.

  The last sound he heard before the kirk doors slammed shut was the sound of Mariota MacEwen screaming his name.

  ONE

  Fall River, Massachusetts, present time

  Maybe she should have gone with a different color. Like Superman blue or Spiderman red. Caitlin Reed set down the paint roller, pushed a strand of dark hair off her face, and stepped back to assess her work.

  “It’s pretty,” Lila said.

  Ugh. Pretty? “Seven-year-old boys don’t want pretty bedroom walls. I should have gone with the blue instead of the gray.”

  “Stop second-guessing yourself. If you go with the Batman theme, black skyscrapers on that wall will look awesome. Trust me, no seven-year-old boy can resist the power of Batman.”

  “Maybe.” Caitlin bit her lip. “I want him to choose, though. He needs to be part of the process.” She couldn’t wait to see Jadiel’s dark eyes light up when he stepped into his room. He’d never had a room of his own. During the adoption party, he had confided his love of the Patriots and all things Batman while struggling to hide his lisp.

  Most people didn’t want to adopt kids with problems.

  Well, this girl did.

  “Are you nervous?” Lila asked.

  “No.” She wasn’t nervous. She was scared out of her mind. There were too many what-if’s, too many things that could still go wrong. So she did what she did best. She prepared. She researched. And she waited. Patiently.

  Well, almost patiently.

  She bent down and hammered the paint lid onto the can. “It’s been a year in the making, and the worst is behind me. I’m ready. Visitation starts after tomorrow’s disclosure meeting.” Slowly, of course. The transition had to be perfect. Everything about the adoption had to be perfect. “I just hope he loves the room.”

  And me.

  Lila smiled. “How could he not? You’re going to be such a great mom.”

  “So I’ll keep the gray. It’s neutral. If he decides he wants a sports-themed room instead, we’ll go that route.”

  The simple black platform bed and matching bureau sat in the sparse room like an advertisement in a department store catalog, stylish yet sterile. But in a few months’ time, his small closet would burst at the seams with toys and sports equipment. She could already imagine the items spilling onto the hardwood floor. The room would look anything but generic. Caitlin smiled. It would be perfect.

  “It looks amazing. Our work here is done.” When Lila rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, she smeared paint across her skin. The color was a near match to her silver-blue hair in a pixie style that accentuated her almond-shaped eyes.

  Caitlin swallowed a giggle and reached for a paper towel. “Don’t move. You’ve got paint all over you.”

  Lila groaned and took the sheet Caitlin offered. “I wasn’t built to be domestic.” She scrubbed the paint from her face. “Is it off?”

  Faint traces of gray were still visible beneath the reddened area near Lila’s hairline. “Most of it.”

  “Why do people enjoy this DIY shit? It really sucks.” Blotches of dried paint covered Lila’s palms and the pads of her fingertips. “You’re lucky I love you because my nails are ruined.”

  And maybe her designer jeans, but Caitlin wasn’t about to draw attention to the specks of paint spattered on Lila’s pant legs.

  “I believe this calls for a celebration.” Lila threw the soiled paper towel in the bag. “Mario’s Saturday night. My treat. It’ll be great. We’ll eat and toast your upcoming visitation with your son and to my never having to pick up a freaking paintbrush ever again. And for future reference, I’m the cool aunt, not the crazy one.”

  Caitlin laughed. “You’ll be his only aunt. Besides, I can’t lie to my son. What kind of a precedent would I be setting?” Using the inside of a plastic bag, she pulled the paint-soaked roller from the frame and let it drop into the bag’s interior.

  “All right then. Make me the zany aunt. Every family needs one.”

  Zany pretty much described her petite, Boston-accented spitfire of a best friend to a T. Caitlin would have been lost without her this past year.

  “Right. I’ll tell him you’re the one he should call when he’s ready to zip line or skydive or jump out of plane.”

  “Like you’d let him do any of those things,” Lila said.

  “I might surprise you.”

  A yeah-right expression crossed Lila’s face.

  “Hey, I have a sense of adventure.” It was just buried under layers of self-doubt and childhood trauma.

  “In your defense, your parents are a bit overprotective. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  Caitlin grimaced. “Overprotective is an understatement. Try a little weird, paranoid, and excessively private. Normal people don’t build end-of-the-world storm bunkers and believe in conspiracy theories.”

  “Wait? They have a bunker?”

  Guilt made Caitlin wince. She loved her parents. They just made having a normal life hard. She added the plastic tray liner into the growing bag of trash. “Maybe. For years, my mom has wanted one built, and you know my dad. He’s the epitome of the doting husband.”

  Too bad her ex hadn’t been more like him. Then maybe she wouldn’t be a twenty-eight-year-old mother-to-be with a failed marriage on her resume.

  Okay, she sounded bitter. That needed to stop.

  At any rate, her parent’s didn’t believe in credit, paid cash for every single purchase, and were staunch believers in government deregulation and privacy. And in the age of social media and the ever-expanding global market, they were fearful public information was a road map with a huge neon sign that screamed, “Hey world, look at us.”

  Needless to say, they weren’t exactly thrilled with Caitlin’s line of work. A teacher was a very public profession. Of course, she hadn’t told them about her class website. Or the newsletter she emailed students and their families featuring a toothy smile from hers truly, Ms. R. The less they knew, the better. That was her moto. There was no need to spark a wild panic attack in her fifty year old mother’s stubborn-as-all-hell heart.

  Lila picked up several crumpled pieces of paper and a ball of blue tape off the floor and shoved the items into the bag. “You haven’t talked to your mother, have you?”

  “Nope.” Caitlin would rather pick lint from wool than call her mother right now. “My dad called earlier. I’m just not in the mood to get into it with her over the adoption again. I’ll call her tomorrow.” Or maybe over the weekend.

  “Don’t let it go. It’s been a rough year. For all of you.”

  Caitlin traced a finger along the outline of her grandmother’s pendant tucked beneath her shirt. Today, she’d found the strength to wear the necklace for the first time since her grandmother had died. Her seanmhair had often said life was about change, and if a person wasn’t changing, they weren’t living. Well, she’d done a lot of living the past year, and with the adoption looming, she had a feeling there was plenty more to come.

  Surprised at the tingling in her fingertips, Caitlin dropped her hand. Surveying the gray walls and the black valances hanging neatly from the
windows, she banished the eerie sensation that had taken root at the base of her spine, and refocused her thoughts to the future and to what really mattered.

  Her son.

  Lila reached out and touched Caitlin’s arm. “I’ve tipped-toed around mentioning this, but Brian called me.”

  Oh no, here we go. Caitlin knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and she needed to put a stop to it.

  “He told me about the baby.”

  The baby.

  Caitlin swallowed.

  “I could throttle him everytime I think about how much of an ass he was to you.”

  “It doesn’t matter, not anymore.” At least that’s what she kept telling herself. The three of them—Caitlin, Lila, and her ex—had been inseparable for most of their lives, but no one could have predicted the path their lives would take, least of all Brian.

  Caitlin’s eyes stung. Don’t cry. Oh, god, please don’t cry. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “I haven’t forgiven him yet.” Lila’s voice softened. “But he’s still my friend, which makes this whole mess worse, and I’m still pissed as hell he didn’t transfer out.”

  All right, let’s not change the subject.

  “Let it go, Lila. It’s for the best.” Caitlin grabbed the trash bag from the floor, twisted the neck into a knot, and padded barefoot down the hall. “Once the adoption is finalized, I’m applying out of district anyway. I’ll wait until the end of the school year to minimize disruptions to Jadiel’s routine.”

  For her son, she’d stomach the next eight months teaching across the hall from Ann—even if it killed her.

  “You shouldn’t have to be the one to move.” Lila’s hazel eyes flashed hot before she followed Caitlin into the kitchen. “Cait, you’ve spent six years at that school, seven if you count your student teaching. They should transfer out, not you. Besides, I’ll miss you. Who else am I going to bitch and moan to about our awesome new principal?”

  Caitlin snorted. “She’s reason enough for anyone to jump ship.” She opened the back door and set the garbage bag inside the city trash receptacle. The night air was unusually warm for late October.