Lifebound Read online

  Lifebound

  by Leigh Daley

  Copyright © Leigh Daley, 2014

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Musa Publishing

  4815 Iron Horse Trail

  Colorado Springs, CO 80917

  www.MusaPublishing.com

  Issued by Musa Publishing LLC, February 2014

  This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-61937-669-4

  Head Editor: Elspeth McClanahan and Elizabeth Silver

  Editor: Helen Hardt

  Artist: Kelly Shorten

  Line Editor: Kristin Burlingame

  Interior Book Design: Cera Smith

  Warning

  This e-book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your e-books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Dominique Eastwick, Elizabeth Silver, and the entire Wiccan Haus team at Musa! I love Wiccan Haus as a reader, so it was just a short leap to loving it as a writer as well. Also, I want to thank Sara Daniel for her encouragement during the manuscript's early stages and my wonderful editor, Helen Hardt, for the new vision she gave me. I'll never look at a book the same way again!

  Chapter One

  “Last run, Josh! Make it count!” the photographer called as Josh skated past, his board wheels buzzing against the side of the tall ramp.

  “Sure thing, Tyler! How about a Miller Flip on your side, then something really big across the pipe to finish up?” Josh Trenton powered his way up the half-pipe.

  “Yeah! Surprise the hell out of me!” Tyler never took the camera from his face as he yelled back at him.

  Josh caught big air off the near side, then pushed down the vert and across the ramp to hit the flip as big as he could for the shot. His feet flew over his head as he practically turned a cartwheel over the edge of the coping before dropping back into the ramp.

  The sound of the wheels and the feel of the board beneath him vibrated like second nature to him after over twenty years of extreme skateboarding. He was the luckiest guy alive.

  He’d started as a kid goofing around, but by sixteen, when most of his friends had stopped skating to get their driver’s licenses, Josh had won his third pro competition and landed several huge endorsements. At twenty-one, he’d been named a legend with his own board line and video games.

  Now, at thirty-four, he skated as hard as ever and still landed the big tricks, his body lean and hard muscled. But these days, skating wasn’t just fun. It was also business. A boyhood hobby had turned into an obsession and then an empire. Josh Trenton X-Treme Skate VIII was coming to a game system near you in just a few months, and the photographer wanted one last promotional shot of the big trick, the big air, the move kids dreamed about.

  For a moment, he wondered how much longer he’d be able to skate this way. But thoughtfulness blew away into exhilaration as he gathered momentum for the big finish.

  Hell, he had at least another ten years of real skating ahead of him. Tony Hawk had landed a 900 on his forty-second birthday. Josh had eight more years to come up with something even bigger.

  On his next pass up the pipe, he went for the 900, just so Tyler would piss his pants with excitement. As he exploded into the air high above the rim of the pipe, the golden wood of the half-pipe and the steel and glass of the office complex for Josh Trenton Promotions alternated beneath him in a crazy kaleidoscopic effect. He crouched into the board as he made two and a half complete revolutions off the top of the pipe for a full 900 degrees of spin before landing solidly on the curving boards.

  Damn, it felt good.

  “Awesome!” Tyler practically screamed as he snapped frame after frame of action shot. “Perfect! Dude, that was incredible.”

  Josh let his speed drop off as he rolled into the flat to meet Tyler on the ground. The photographer came running forward with his camera in hand, intent on showing him the photos on the screen.

  Josh waved him away. “That’s okay. You make your best call on what to use. I’ll see them when the game comes out.”

  Tyler thanked him for the great shoot and headed to his car. Once he had everything packed away, Tyler cleared his throat. “Thanks so much for giving me this chance. I mean it, man. I still can’t believe you called me like that. This shoot could really get me into the big time.”

  Josh smiled and shook his head. “I’m just glad I caught the spread you posted of last year’s X-Games. You’ve got talent, and I can’t wait to see how these turn out.” He flipped his skateboard up to catch it in his fingertips.

  Once Tyler had pulled out of the parking lot, Josh pushed off again to circle the skatepark he’d built behind the warehouse that housed his headquarters. The sky had begun to turn pink in the afternoon light, but the day had been productive. The shoot felt professional and vibrant, the screenshots he’d seen of the latest game looked awesome, and the newest designs for his clothing line would arrive sometime tomorrow for his approval.

  Plus, his IT specialist, Alicia, had just finished the new phone app that would link his followers to all his activities—the clothes, the boards, the competitions and exhibitions, and his work with kids there in Mobile and the rest of the Gulf Coast. The March sun glowed unseasonably warm on his shoulders as he pushed toward the door of the building. Lights still glowed inside her office, so Alicia hadn’t left yet. He’d check on the final version of the app. Maybe she’d let him load it on his phone as the first official user—unless her husband, his cousin Rob, already had a copy. She let Rob see everything first. Sometimes Josh wished he hadn’t introduced them in the first place.

  As he skated past the big loop, the centerpiece of his park, the setting sun gleamed seductively off its tall golden curve. The plywood and steel tube towered overhead, beckoning to him, pulling him into its grip. One more big trick before turning it in for the day. After all, a celebration was in order.

  He climbed the thirty foot tower up to the big drop that provided the momentum to skate the loop in a full 360 degree circle, judging the remaining light as he did. A successful run depended on good visibility. He had to hit the loop at just the right speed. Too fast, and he’d crash into the top of it. Too slow, and he’d fall from the twelve foot height to the floor below. Many top skaters had hurt themselves badly on that particular stunt. It wasn’t called the Loop of Death for nothing.

  He stalled on the edge of the coping, and a big grin flashed across his face as he tightened the straps of his helmet. Then he pushed off the edge of the run. Adrenaline pumped through him as he sped down the vertical drop, the warm Gulf breeze rippling his shirt around his chest.

  It felt so good.

  But as he entered the loop, a sudden bright glare of light from the setting sun reflected into his ey
es from the windows of the building next door, and he lost track of the surface beneath him. By the time his eyes adjusted back, he knew his speed was all wrong. He was going to lose it right at the top. He was going to hit the ground. Hard.

  He hit the peak too fast, too aggressively, and he flipped off the board as it flew out from under his feet to whiz around the loop without him.

  He plummeted toward the floor, the breeze still dragging at his shirt. The sharp impact of the golden wood slammed into his face. Then everything went dark.

  “Josh! Josh, can you hear me?” Alicia’s voice called to him as if from a great distance. “Don’t move, Josh! I’ve called 9-1-1.”

  What was she talking about? 9-1-1? He wasn’t hurt. He just needed a minute to sit up and breathe.

  But when he tried to move, shooting pains ran from his hip down his leg. He must have groaned out loud, because she immediately shushed him.

  “Shhh. It’s okay. Just don’t move, all right?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wheels of Rob’s chair roll up beside him. “Hang in there, Josh. The ambulance is on its way.”

  He tried once more to turn enough to talk to them, to tell them he was fine, that he didn’t need an ambulance, but the pain lanced through him again, causing his world to go white with agony.

  Damn it. What an ending to a perfect day.

  Some months later, the desk clerk, Myron, sat at the guest register at the Wiccan Haus resort and watched the newest arrivals to the island file through the front door. As she did, she turned over playing cards from the deck in her hand in a sort of unusual game of Solitaire.

  A silver-haired gentleman in a suit approached. “Down the hall, second door to the left,” she said before he spoke a word.

  The man peered at her quizzically.

  Cemil had already stepped out of the back office to reassure the man. “It’s good to see you again, Preston. You were looking for the restroom, weren’t you?”

  As the businessman headed that way, still obviously confused by the exchange, the blond empath shook his head at her. “Please make your powers less apparent to the humans, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind, Cemil, and Preston Mitchell isn’t exactly out of the loop where paras are concerned. Besides, investment bankers don’t count as human in my deck.” Myron turned over another card.

  Cemil snorted with repressed laughter. “Mr. Mitchell is still a guest, so be polite.”

  Myron shrugged, never ceasing to flip the cards in her hand into a semicircle before her. The jack of diamonds, then the two of spades lay before her. “You might want to give this one a hand.” She gestured to the large entry door in the foyer which began to swing open slowly to admit a dark-haired man. He was not overly tall and was dressed like a teenager in cargo shorts and a graphic T-shirt, but Myron knew from the cards in her hand that he was older and wearier than his youthful appearance and short, rakishly spiked hair would lead one to believe.

  He also leaned heavily on a cane.

  Cemil walked around the counter and took the bulky backpack the young man wore. “I’m sorry. One of our porters should have taken this for you.” Cemil reached toward him.

  The man pushed Cemil’s hand away firmly.

  “I don’t need any help, thanks,” he said gruffly. “I’ve got it.” He paused to adjust the strap on his shoulder then limped up to the desk, lines of pain etched around his eyes. “Josh Trenton.” He leaned against Myron’s desk.

  “Room 305,” she said, handing him a key. “Take the last elevator up to the third floor.” Then she reached under her desk and passed him a travel sized bottle of ibuprofen. “You left yours on the ferry,” she explained when he gave her an odd look.

  “Thanks, I guess.” He slipped the bottle into a cargo pocket, then hefted his pack again.

  She watched the young man make his way painfully down the hall to the last elevator, the only elevator that led to the human-only third floor.

  “That one is going to be a challenge, even for your empathic talents, Cemil.” Myron turned over a few more cards. “Tell Rekkus he’s got about an hour before the portal opens for the paras.” She turned over three more cards. “The wolfpack will want a pizza, and they all brought skateboards.”

  Two cards later, she looked up at Cemil, intrigue in her eyes. “One of the Velens is coming too. Does Sarka know?”

  “Does Sarka know what?” An impatient voice came from the office door behind them.

  Cemil cleared his throat. “I thought I mentioned that one of our new paranormal guests is a daughter of the Velen family.” A clear note of nervousness hung in his voice as he addressed his powerful older sister.

  “A lamia?” Sarka snapped back at him. “We have a lamia on the island?”

  Chapter Two

  Sparks flew between the two siblings.

  “She’s in a terrible state,” Cemil began gently. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t hurt anybody, but Adriana needs our help badly.”

  “A lamia!” Sarka still sounded pretty angry. “Do you have any idea just how much havoc she can wreak around here?”

  Myron flipped over another card—the three of clubs. Then she sighed, rose from her seat at the desk, and headed into the supply closet for a package of standard forty watt light bulbs.

  “Where are you off to?” Sarka snipped.

  “I’m going to change the CFLs in her room back to standard light bulbs. You might want to do that wherever she’s likely to go. The cleanup is less messy that way,” Myron said wearily.

  An hour later, the booming sound of the opening portal signaled the arrival of the guests hailing from the paranormal portion of the spa’s clientele. A group of four rowdy teenage boys tumbled into the lobby, the tallest still riding one of the skateboards they had all brought along.

  “Get off that thing in the lobby,” Rekkus, the burly head of security, shouted at them as they bounded into the room. “You cubs ought to be in the kennel anyway.”

  “Lighten up, Rekkus.” Telly picked up his board. “We want a pizza. And where’s Josh Trenton? We want to meet him.”

  “Yeah, I brought along Josh Trenton X-Treme Skate VIII for us to play on the GameStation.” Ben flipped back his shaggy hair. “Maybe he can give us some tips.”

  The youngest of the Rowan siblings, blond-haired Sage, approached and shook her finger at the boys. “You kids leave Mr. Trenton alone for a while. He needs to rest.”

  “Why?” Telly asked curiously. “Cemil only told us he was coming. What’s he here for?”

  “That is none of your business,” Sage said, her no-nonsense tone completely at odds with her soft bohemian appearance. “I’ll have the kitchen make you a pizza and Rekkus or Cyrus will bring it later.”

  The four boys sighed then headed back out the front door. The minute they opened the door, however, they hopped on their boards to race each other down the sidewalk to the barracks the young werewolves called home each full moon.

  “One of them is bound to break an arm,” Rekkus growled.

  At the door, the powerful weretiger stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air then backed away to allow a young woman inside. To Myron, she didn’t seem imposing or threatening in any way, but Rekkus took a step back from her as she entered.

  As the woman approached the front desk, Myron reached over to unscrew the light bulb on the desk lamp.

  Sage looked at her curiously. “Lamia,” Myron whispered.

  “Welcome to Wiccan Haus.” Sage smiled and held out her hand. But as the woman drew nearer, Sage withdrew her hand and her friendly smile slipped a bit.

  “I’m Adriana Velen.” The woman took a breath and closed her eyes briefly.

  “Room 205.” Myron smiled, but was careful not to touch Adriana’s hand as she passed her the key. “Take the seco
nd elevator please.”

  Adriana nodded and headed down the hall.

  “You don’t have any luggage?” Sage asked, her voice gentle.

  “I don’t have anything anymore,” the young woman said sadly as she pressed the button to call the elevator.

  Adriana rode the elevator up to her room. She wanted to lie down for a while. She considered having a good cry too, but if she did that, the power to the entire building would probably go out.

  Empty. Empty and hollow. That was the only way to describe how she felt.

  She’d been Tom Bridges’s personal assistant for nearly ten years. He’d been her first host, and she’d taken him to heights of creativity and productivity the computing world had never seen before and likely never would again.

  Now he was gone. Her ground was broken, her energies unbalanced.

  Lamia thrived on the circulation of energy into and out of themselves. Unless paired with a host who could become the conduit of those forces, the lamia vacillated between starvation and overload with every shifting of the energy lines that crossed the planet.

  Her host had given her stability, and in return, she’d given him a constantly renewing source of vitality.

  But her host had died.

  Adriana felt like some kind of rogue carousel, now slowing to a crawl, now spinning wildly out of control. If she couldn’t learn to cycle down her energetic needs without her host, she’d die before she could find a new one.

  However, she had no desire to find a new host.

  The Velen family’s reputation had suffered a serious blow when Tom had died. With proper acclimation, that should not happen. Indeed, she’d worked for him for years with only the most casual of touches between them enough to keep her energy needs balanced.

  But he’d grown sentimental as he’d gotten older. Once his wife passed away, he couldn’t pass her desk without a touch to her shoulder. “You are the only one I can depend on, Adriana,” he would say as he patted her hand across the desk after a meeting. Loneliness hung over him like a gray cloud. She understood loneliness herself—the way it crept into one’s life, a feeling of separation from the world even in a crowded room. Those casual touches had drained him just a little every time, but she didn’t have it in her to stop him.