First Bond: The Faelinn Chronicles, #2

By Sarah Husch

When the Cataclysm came, the Earth fractured. The new Veil offered easy passage between dimensions, though what came through wasn't always friendly….

 

Shellie Roberts never expected to be a hero or a seer, but the final Gargoyle battle solidified her as both. When she bonds with one of the Faelinn—large lynx-like cats from beyond the Veil—her abilities to see the future increase.

 

A painful, life-threatening injury from fighting Gargoyles forced Mark Dennison to retire from the Army. His new mission: to turn his family lands into a Haven for different friendly races seeking refuge.

 

When a new, vicious invading force from beyond the Veil arrives, Shellie and Mark face a dangerous battle with even higher stakes.

 

Their love for each other—and their trust in the elusive Faelinn—hold the only key to their success.

 

New voice Sarah Husch continues The Faelinn Chronicles with an installment full of magic, thrills, and a romance that you won't easily forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Soul's Road Press
• Release date: Jan 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224735181

Book preview

Chapter 1

Luray, early spring

The cool mountain breeze ruffled the loose hairs that had escaped from Shellie’s tight victory curls. She tried to tuck them back in but her hair had a mind of its own. She made do with tucking them behind her ear. She hurried along the brick sidewalk, glad to be walking along this side of the street. The other side was still old planks that tended to shift and catch at her feet.

Hurry up, Roxie called back over her shoulder. I don’t want to be late.

The dance isn’t going anywhere, Shellie answered, but she quickened her step. They were headed to the monthly dance organized by the Women’s Club for the young soldiers stationed at the local base. She usually never went. Dancing wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed but this time Roxie had been very persuasive. And that niggle in the back of her head that she’d learned to listen to had pushed her along in its own way.

The incandescent bulbs of the streetlights reflected in the glass windows of the closed businesses along Main Street. They passed the hardware store, the little clothing boutique where she’d gotten the blue dress she was wearing, and her favorite pair of peep-toed wedge heels. The steel struts of the bridge over the Shenandoah River were up ahead. On the other side was the military base that had grown up at the edge of town.

There’d never been a base there until the Cataclysm. Until the Veil had appeared deep down in the Caverns allowing the Gargoyles to come through and make new homes in the dark depths. The soldiers had been needed when the Gargoyles began nightly attacks on the local population. There was a truce in place now, hard-won, but it had provided safety to them. Enough that she didn’t feel threatened to be walking outside in the early spring night.

The door to the community hall pulled open and the two women entered the foyer. They checked their coats with the older woman who smiled widely at them. Roxie caught Shellie’s hand, practically dragging her through the double doors into the main space. Tables and chairs lined the edges. On the stage, a small band played Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.

Let’s dance! Roxie shouted. Shellie shook her head and nudged her friend toward the floor. She’d dance, but she wanted to calm herself first. That niggling in her head was getting stronger, and the loud music and all the people were just adding to it.

The hall was dim and smoky. Music swirled through the wisps, stirring them into shadow dancers alongside the men and women who jived out on the dance floor. Shellie leaned on the railing separating the dance floor from the tables, her foot tapping to the beat of the house band. She felt a little silly. Roxie was dancing with a tall soldier, her cherry-red hair swinging in a long ponytail. And here she was, watching as usual while her more vivacious friend danced, laughed, and flirted her way through the room.

That was the story of her life. Shellie was the solid one, the dependable one. Roxie was the mad schemer. Anything that caught her attention was fodder for an adventure. It fell to Shellie to rein her in, to plan the activities so that they would go smoothly. To talk Roxie down from her wilder plans.

Shellie was boring. Which was why she was so surprised she’d let herself be talked into coming to the dance. It wasn’t her type of place. The music made her want to dance, but she knew that if she tried, her partner would have swollen toes by the next morning. Normally, she would have been happy at home, curled up with a good book or perhaps a few papers to grade. Instead, she’d let Roxie talk her into a party dress, and shoes that made her petite frame taller. And now here she was.

Roxie waved from the dance floor, and Shellie smiled and waved back.

If she was being honest with herself, it was that feeling that kept poking at her mind that had made her come tonight. The kind that used to make her mother roll her eyes, even after what she’d predicted had come true. The kind that her parents never believed in, not even when she’d begged and pleaded for them to stay home that night because she knew something terrible was going to happen.

The kind of feeling she’d gotten when the terrible thing had happened, and she’d seen it, every bit of it, even though she’d been miles away.

Those feelings were few and far between now and that was perfectly okay with her. But this one had come on strong when Roxie had told her about the dance. The fine blond hair on her arms had risen; a warm tingling had tightened the muscles along her shoulders. She’d known, plain and simple, that this dance was important. To miss it would be to miss something that would change her life.

She’d almost stayed home anyway.

And so far, it looked like her feeling had been dead wrong.

A little sigh escaped Shellie’s lips and she turned away from the crowd. The tables were filled with soldiers and the local girls who’d come out both to support them and maybe find a little romance. There was a small table in the corner. She’d sit and watch a bit. Aiming for the table, Shellie twisted and turned her way through the crowd.

The brush of a hand along her arm stopped her short. She’d reached the table, had ignored all the bodies that had bumped into her along the way, but this grabbed her attention. This one warm touch along her bare arm stopped her. Raising her head, Shellie met grey eyes.

Oh.

This was why she’d come. This was the cause of the feeling that had put her into a sleek dress and heels that pinched her toes. These grey eyes and the man they belonged to. Dark brows matched the color of the military haircut. A nose that had been broken at least once, just a little crooked but appealingly so. A nice mouth that was currently curving up into a smile that creased his cheeks. His insignia indicated Major. His nametag said Dennison.

Dance with me, he said, the husky voice making it an order rather than a request.

I’ll step on your feet, Shellie said. Her voice didn’t shake, which surprised her.

He glanced down at his feet. Steel-toed boots, he told her, wiggling one foot back and forth.

She laughed, her heart light. When he took her hand to lead her onto the floor, she curled her fingers around his and felt her world settle into a new shape.

The music changed to something slower, a popular tune perfect for holding someone close. His fingers were strong and a little callused around hers as he held one of her hands over his heart. The other rested at her waist. She didn’t need to know his first name; that would come later. And there was plenty of time for later.

Now there was only the music, and the man she knew was going to be hers forever.

She didn’t step on his toes once.

When the music changed, they slipped to the edge of the floor, still wrapped together. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. His breath stirred her hair. They danced to their own music, lost to the faster-paced dancers.

There was a clatter up on the roof. Another, louder, loud enough to cut through the music. Paint flakes drifted like snowflakes from the ceiling. The soldier in her arms tensed. A crash, what sounded like an explosion, and a fissure opened in the ceiling. Fractures raced outwards from its center.

The music stopped. The sudden silence filled with a rumbling, low, and deep enough to vibrate through the floor. Something huge and dark dropped from the ceiling. The tile floor cracked.

Shellie’s heart stuttered in fear. A shrill scream signaled the beginning of pandemonium. A rush to the door caught them up like leaves at the edge of a stream. Her soldier broke them free, scooped her up, and carried her to a corner. Strong hands on her shoulders pushed her down beneath the sheltering wood of a table.

Stay here and don’t move, he yelled. Behind him, a second huge, grey Gargoyle fell from above. When it hit the ground, the floor trembled. I’ll come back for you, he promised.

Terror choked her, but it was all for him because he was going to head into the chaos and fight the intruders. Framing his lean cheeks with her palms, Shellie tugged his mouth hard to hers. The heat was instantaneous and far too brief because she let him go and slid back to hide in the shadows.

Nightmares stalked the room. Glass shattered inwards as windows were broken from outside. The tide of screaming people reversed direction and rushed away from the now-broken doors. Grey shapes poured in. To her left, part of the ceiling collapsed, stars briefly visible before they were obscured by dust and the stark outline of the body dropping into the dance hall.

Squat and broad, the Gargoyle wore the black and green colors of his clan across the pitted skin of his chest. Tusks thrust from between thin lips beneath a porcine nose. Shellie stopped breathing. She held herself as still as possible and prayed that he wouldn’t notice her. His hairless head swiveled, nostrils twitched, and then with a roar, the Gargoyle launched himself toward the terrified mob in the middle of the room.

Hearing Dennison’s name, Shellie eased forward enough to see a slice of the mayhem. Shapes moved through the smoke and dust, limbs rising and falling. A woman ran, was caught by her hair. A negligent swipe of a clawed hand ripped her head partially around. The body slid under Shellie’s table, eyes already blind with death.

Don’t scream, Shellie silently yelled at herself. Just do what her major had said—hide and he would come back for her. Please be safe, her heart called to his. She closed her eyes and drew her knees up tightly to her chest. The wall at her back was hard and she made herself melt against it. The dead woman had red hair, but she wasn’t Roxie. Fear for her friend had her peeking out again.

Too much smoke obscured faces. Bodies, all human, were scattered everywhere. They looked like broken dolls. She caught a glimpse of Dennison through the dust. He commanded a group of soldiers, directing them to defend against nearly unbeatable opponents.

A great stony wing flared wide. A thrown chair smashed into the tip and broke it off. The roar of the injured Gargoyle was deafening. As the wing folded back tightly against the chiseled back, Shellie saw her major. Blood stained his skin from temple to jaw. Those luscious lips were pulled back into a snarl. In his hands he still held the remains of the chair he’d used as a weapon. The muscles in the Gargoyle’s back tensed and Shellie knew—knew—that Dennison would be hurt.

There was a dinner knife in one of her hands and a woman’s purse in her other. No memory of getting to her feet. No memory of rushing across the floor. Only the slow-motion swing of that immense arm and the slower fall of her major’s broken body. The purse swung, hitting the Gargoyle’s mottled head. Nothing more than an irritant, but he turned to see who would dare stand against him. The hand holding the knife flashed forward and the blunt blade, driven by her despair, plunged into its dark eye.

The Gargoyle stiffened, shuddered, and fell at her feet.

Shellie’s knees hit the ground at her soldier’s side. Relief hit her like a balm when she saw that his chest rose and fell. His shoulder hung at an odd angle and there was blood staining his shirt on that side, but he was alive. Shellie took his good hand and was relieved when he squeezed back.

I told you to stay hidden, he said. There was a wheezing quality to his voice she didn’t like. She wondered if his ribs were broken.

I don’t follow orders well, Shellie said. Her eyes flicked around. The humans were huddled in a corner at the far side of the dance floor. There were far too few left. Any moment now, one of the Gargoyles would notice the two of them crouched on the floor.

I’ll keep that in mind, he said.

Can you move?

In response, he tried to sit up. Agony distorted his handsome features, but Shellie hardened her heart against it, put her arm around his back, and pulled him up. She only let him rest a moment before trying to get him to stand. He made it, but his skin was ghostly, and he leaned heavily against her.

My name’s Mark, he told her between shuddering gasps. It’s important you know that since you’re going to marry me.

I’m Shellie, she said.

He repeated her name softly. It sounded like a caress.

Happiness bloomed inside her. Yes, the feeling she’d had was definitely changing her life. She smiled up into his grey eyes, and over his shoulder she saw an immense shape move.

Dennison, the Gargoyle hissed. The gravelly voice was rich with anticipation.

Shellie found herself tucked neatly at Mark’s back. He’d placed his body between her and the Gargoyle. Tritus, he greeted. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, but I am. I thought your father had you well under his wing.

Lips cracked wide. No tusks here, but he bore the distinctive needle-like teeth of the ruling family. His name struck a chord, and Shellie cast her mind over what she knew about the clan that had taken up residence in the Luray Caverns. With a start, she realized he was the Crown Prince.

The truce was broken. What had caused the fragile peace to shatter, she didn’t know. The Gargoyles were a violent race. The initiation rites of their adolescent males compelled them to seek out humans for insane amusements. The bodies of their victims were displayed on the rooftops of buildings, frozen into distorted shapes by the venom in the Gargoyles’ bite. They were a human caricature of the Gargoyle statues that protected the gutters of old cathedrals. A deliberate taunt.

Human leaders had struggled to make peace. It was only recently that the current Gargoyle King had been willing to listen. And now that was all gone. Shattered into dust by this attack.

I’m not his lackey to be struck into obedience, Tritus answered. I am a warrior who protects his people. We don’t forget the past. Your people tortured and killed mine, stuck us on top of your houses of worship as a mockery to our own beliefs. There will never be peace between us.

That was hundreds of years ago. Those were not my people, Mark answered. None of us were alive then. We’ve outgrown our barbaric treatments.

Titus laughed. It was an ugly grinding sound. I was alive then. I remember seeing my brother’s body displayed for the peasants’ amusement, rainwater pouring from his mouth. I will never forget.

That must have been horrible, Shellie said softly from behind Mark’s shoulder.

Those needle teeth bristled when Tritus bared them at her. It was. And when I’m done with you, I’ll be sure to do the same with your carcass. Too bad your man won’t be around to see it.

A wing swept forward, much faster than someone would expect from living rock. Mark took the blow in his damaged side and crumpled. Shellie swung the purse she still held, but Tritus swatted it aside. She backed up a step, came up against something hard. Hands clamped around her arms, squeezing so hard the bones creaked. Her whimper of pain made the Gargoyles laugh.

Mark pushed himself up. Blood dripped from one corner of his mouth. Tritus reached down and bunched Mark’s shirt into his fist, lifting him into the air. You’re moving too much. You need to stay still and watch what I do to her. He bared his teeth, thin lips pulled back farther than it looked possible. A droplet of green venom dripped from one needled tooth. He grazed Mark’s cheek, laughing when the man struggled.

Enough!

The word shattered the din. Tritus levitated off the floor, his face contorting in surprise. Mark dropped from the Gargoyle’s clenched fist, landing badly on his hip. Tritus shook back and forth. The Gargoyle holding Shellie let her go, backing away. She went to her knees and wrapped her arms protectively around Mark. He moaned, his eyelids fluttering. Blood continued to trickle from his mouth.

You dare break the King’s Truce? Each word was punctuated by a shake. The owner of the voice stood behind the Crown Prince. He was a good head taller. His features were more chiseled and almost bordered on attractive. Despite that, there was enough of a resemblance to mark him as a relative.

Tritus’s wings buffeted his attacker. The moment his feet hit the floor, he whipped around. Uncle, you have no right to stop me.

I have every right, the older Gargoyle responded. He slapped Tritus. The Prince staggered. I am Ichirius, the King’s Hammer. I’m responsible for the laws of our people, and you are breaking them. You’ve gone against your King’s wishes, thrown aside his Truce, and dared to bring your cohorts to slaughter these humans. You will answer to me.

A gob of green venom splattered the Hammer’s cheek. I don’t recognize your justice, or your rules, Uncle. Tritus barked a short command, and his men stepped forward, forming a ring around the group.

The Hammer smiled. His eyes moved from face to face before pinning his nephew again. Your men are so loyal, Tritus. Will they be as loyal when they realize that I can sentence them to death for their deeds here tonight?

You wouldn’t dare.

Beneath Shellie’s fingers, Mark’s pulse hesitated a beat. Fear for his life overpowered the fear for her own. Whatever it is you’re going to do, do it now, or you’ll have another human life on your hands.

The Gargoyle glanced down at her. Tourmaline eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. He gave her the slightest nod, looking as regal as if he’d swept a deep courtly bow at her feet. I will see that Major Dennison receives medical care, my lady.

He deserves to die, Tritus said. His slick-tongued agreements with my father have shamed our race.

Another open-handed slap rocked the Crown Prince’s head. The sound of a rockslide came from his chest and he took a step forward. Ichirius stopped him with a fist to the throat. Tritus dropped to one knee. The tile floor buckled at the impact. The blade of a black-edged short sword creased the side of his neck. The hand that held it never wavered.

You have shamed our race, Tritus, Ichirius hissed. A flex of his fingers and the sword opened a narrow slice in the Prince’s hard flesh. Blood oozed out, black in the flickering light of the dance hall. For your actions here, for inciting war and killing our sworn allies, I sentence you to death.

The soldier in her arms shuddered and Shellie’s attention was torn from the scene and back to Mark’s face. He was looking up at her. One pupil was blown wide open, sure sign of head trauma, but he turned his head to watch the Gargoyles. Because her attention was on Mark, Shellie missed the King’s arrival.

Chapter 2

The King swept in through the door. The force of his presence in the room heated the air. The scent of sulfur burned in Shellie’s nasal passages. He shook out his wings and sparks fell from the molten edges. The finely woven chain mail of his skirt glowed red-gold from those falling sparks. Around his waist, huge links made of alternating green and black gemstones showed his Clan colors. He needed no crown, no deliberate markings of regency. It was understood at once that he ruled here.

Ephestu, Mark breathed. The name was barely audible but the King’s head swiveled, nonetheless. He stared for a long moment at the Major’s broken body and then gave the briefest of nods.

What have you done, Tritus? he asked. His voice was cold. The ice of it was a stark contrast to the fire limning the edges of his wings. Even as he spoke, he gave the wings a shake and folded them back.

Uncle dared to strike me, Tritus replied.

In response, Ichirius used his sword’s point to tilt the Prince’s head back. It forced the captive to look up into his father’s eyes.

You dare to break our Truce, Ephestu answered. You brought your men here, you slaughtered humans, all against my word of honor that there would be peace between us. And yet you complain that your uncle has drawn a droplet of your blood?

The King spat in his son’s face, the green venomous spittle dripping from the younger Gargoyle’s cheek. You shame me. I cast you out. You are no longer my son, no longer my firstborn. You are clanless and will receive no succor.

Tritus made to rise, was forced back down by the sword at his throat. Father!

Father no more.

Ephestu looked at Ichirius, his Hammer. As my Hammer, I ask you to take his life.

Something vital fled from Ichirius’s eyes.

"As my brother, I cannot ask this of you. No longer my son, he still