SoulBound: Book Two of the Ace Assassin Series Read online

  SoulBound

  Book Two of the Ace Assassin Series

  Kaija Rayne

  Kaija Rayne Books

  Copyright ©2021 by Kaija Rayne

  Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright ©2021

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the USA, Canada

  First Edition

  June 2021

  MOBI ISBN: 978-1-7776118-9-7

  EPUB ISBN: 978-1-7776118-9-7

  PDF ISBN: 978-1-7776118-8-0

  Print Softcover ISBN: 978-1-7776118-1-1

  Print Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-990471-02-5

  Audio Book ISBN: 978-1-990471-01-8 (forthcoming)

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Title and Series

  Content and Trigger Warnings

  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

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Appendix

  Notes

  About the Author

  How to connect

  Also by Kaija Rayne

  BloodBound Recap-The Story so Far

  Acknowledgments

  Forthcoming

  Title and Series

  SOULBOUND

  Book Two of the Ace Assassin Series

  By

  Kaija Rayne

  Content and Trigger Warnings

  Use of a slur for mixed-race people as a self-reference.

  Use of slurs regarding intellectual disability and mental illness as a self-reference.

  Bloodletting, consumption, and exchange

  Childbirth

  Graphic Violence

  Gore

  Graphic shape change

  Suicidal ideation and intent

  Depression, anxiety, C-PTSD

  Extreme body modification, scarification, branding

  Food

  Alcohol

  Clothing sizes

  Sibling death

  Twin death

  Mention of child abuse as a memory (no scenes)

  Domestic violence references (no scenes)

  Reference to animal abuse (no scenes)

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers, rough sex with willing participants and R.A.C.K (Risk Aware Consensual Kink) BDSM

  For my children

  May the world be kinder for you, my darling loves.

  1

  ONE: GET USED TO THAT

  Ready for some more stories on how I fuck my life up? Got tissues? A drink? You might need them. Okay. Oh… and yeah, I still swear a lot, so you probably need to get used to that.

  Rhian

  Chill fall rain slithered like a snake down my spine and into the waistband of my pants, between my skin and pistol holster. It sucked; wet leather chafes. I shrugged my shoulders to loosen my muscles under my black, calf-skin jacket as I waited for my prey to show themselves.

  Autumn had hit London, Ontario, Canada with a vengeance in the past two days and it was rather obvious to me now why colonists had named it London.

  Personally, I think they should’ve kept the First Nations’ name of Kotequogong, but I’m not really a fan of colonists. The people had occupied the area for over 10,000 years; why invaders always have to change names I’ll never get.

  Remember, I’m Welsh… Wales wasn’t always a part of the UK.

  Only an English—or apparently, a Canadian—town could be so miserable, damp, and inhospitable as London, Ontario, proved to be in those first few wet days of fall. The weather is so weird in London. Meg had warned me, but I hadn’t quite understood how odd it could be.

  Today had been long, and I needed it finished. My skin and muscles ached with the chill and my feet were probably up for some sort of whose-toes-are-the-most-waterlogged award, even though I’d been avoiding the puddles as best I could, and we waterproofed my boots.

  Seriously, by that point, my brain wanted to crawl out of my head with how frustrated and impatient this hunt had left me.

  My insides were crawly with irritation that it had taken me so long. The tension of my bloodlust had long since taken up residence in my shoulders and the back of my neck. It always showed up there, and little but killing eased it.

  Hunting on this side of the shroud had never been my favourite activity. Not only did I have to track the quarry and eliminate their asses, I had to do it discreetly so humans wouldn’t catch on. If they ever did, en masse, that would signal the tearing of the veil and the return of all the nice supernatural critters humans tell horror stories about.

  Horrific for good reason, humankind doesn’t like to think of themselves as prey, but to many supernats, that’s exactly what they are. Dinner.

  I shoved down on the rising need to kill in my gut and sliding up my back, while continuing my stake-out. Cars with glaring headlights swished through puddles out on Richmond Street and the air brushed heavy, frigid, and moist against my skin.

  I huddled somewhat miserably with one leather-clad knee on the gravelly ground, the other foot planted for a quick leap if I needed to chase after the bloke again.

  The alley I lurked in resembled a post-apocalyptic landscape, torn up and rugged from construction. Chunks of ripped tarmacadam lay in grit covered splendour next to twisted and rusty rebar. Orange safety netting and traffic cones festooned the alley in a bizarre, Halloween-like atmosphere. Steam billowed from an open sewer hole and the smell? Let’s just call it unpleasant and leave it at that. Humans stink.

  The rain dampened down the stench of dust, shit, and tar enough to let me concentrate on the swampy-muddy scent of the frog-man I’d tracked for the better part of the day and evening. His aroma of damp, rotting wood, musty greenery, and the earthy taste of fungus was unique enough that I didn’t have any trouble parsing it from the effluvial reek.

  He’d started preying on homeless huma
ns for some reason—even though humans tasted absolutely terrible more of the time than they didn’t—and been avoiding his superior on this side of the veil to give an explanation.

  The leader of the Llamhigyn y Dŵr had called me for help, my responsibility and a part of my duties. I’d been tracking this guy for far too many hours now. I wanted to finish this contract and go home damnit, tonight was my night with Kai.

  Down, girl, no need to get your knickers in a wad. That’ll make it hard for Kai to take them off later.

  I snickered quietly and perked up, not moving to do more than breathe when the glamoured frog-man came out of the strip club I’d tracked him to. I should really learn how to shadow-walk, it would make things so much easier for me, but fuck it.

  I could use the exercise, anyway. Staying quiet for so long with my bloodlust riding me made me antsy, and I didn’t think I’d have to shift to take this guy down. For the sake of my tetchiness, it would’ve been nice if I had needed to shadowmelt.

  I stood, slowly, easing my long-still muscles as I did so, then ghosted along behind him as he waited for the crosswalk. Cloaked in shadows, he couldn’t see or sense me with any physical abilities, but he knew he’d done wrong. Or he was naturally wary because he kept glancing back over his shoulder. Maybe he could discern my presence—maybe not—many otherkin are jumpy types.

  Well, when you live lives like a lot of us do, hunted or hunter, it pays in the best sort of coin to be like that. The coin of survival.

  He hopped a fence into the park next to a school on Queens Avenue. I followed. My boots made a slight squelch when I landed, but my shadowcloak obscured all senses. To anyone looking my way, I didn’t exist. They couldn’t hear or smell me either.

  The scent of wet earth, dampened car exhaust, falafel, and pickled turnips from a food truck filled my head as I followed, tracking him. The scent of food had my stomach growling. I’d been at this so long I’d almost started eyeing the frog-man as a potential food source.

  Hawthorn, holly, and henbane. No, not really. Geez, you eat one pizza delivery guy…

  I shoved my frigid fingers into the pockets of my leather jacket. The wet pavement at the intersection gleamed with first red, then green, then yellow as the lights changed.

  My quarry took cover from the worsening storm under a bedraggled oak tree, and it was time. It wouldn’t get any darker or more obscure than this. An actinic streak of lightning brightened the moonless night, the sky rumbled, and a torrent of rain bucketed down.

  I pulled one of my thigh blades, flipped it to an underhand grip, and crouched down to reduce my profile. A quick step-step-step and I reared up behind the huddled frogger and drove my blade underhanded into the base of his skull. The slight popping, sucking sound of the strike ensured me I’d hit my target.

  There wasn’t a lot of blood with that blow, and I liked things clean. The act of making a killing strike eased my bloodlust, and my muscles melted at the release. Godsdamnit that build-up had to be the most unpleasant feeling.

  With my other hand, I shoved his now pliant form to the ground. He landed with a squelch and I glanced around to make sure we remained unnoticed before crouching down and pulling him into my shadowcloak.

  I cleaned my fingers off on his damp jeans and yanked a yellow, plastic grocery sack out of my inner pocket. Bagging his head in canary environmental hazard; I obligingly poked a few holes in it near his face. He was still breathing, and I didn’t want to suffocate the putz.

  He’d live; I shrugged, if his leader wanted him to. We really are nigh indestructible. I left my blade in place so he wouldn’t heal the wound too quickly. I wanted to get home, not have a life or death tussle with this man-eating jerk.

  I texted a number on my phone, then hauled frogger into a firefighter’s carry and lugged him to the limo that now waited for me at the corner. I tossed him into the plastic-lined trunk, made sure my blade remained sturdily planted in his foramen magnum—the hole in our skulls where the spinal cord passes through, that sweet little spot at the back of your neck that’s so perfect for an assassin’s blade—and tapped the roof so the driver could close the lid.

  Come on, now. Don’t call me creepy, I hate that. I studied killing people; you studied whatever it was you studied. I don’t call you names, now do I?

  I instructed the driver where to take us and rode up front with her to the frog-folk clan-home out by Sifton bog. I stepped back out into the rain, opened the trunk, and hauled my prey inside.

  Staff got out of the way as I dumped his limp form in the middle of the elaborately tiled foyer.

  Warrior-frogs came out and tied the creature hand, wing, and foot, running cords from ankles to wrists, to the joints of his wings and then the neck. Poor homeless-eating frogger wasn’t going anywhere. Not that I gave a rat’s sphincter. I just wanted to finish my duty and go home.

  I stood to the side, using a warmed towel to soak water out of my braid. My everything was soaked and unpleasantly drippy. My gaze took in the high-class digs that were so different from their homes in the swamps of Annwvyn.

  The leader stood silently next to me. Her glamour in place so she appeared like a slight, middle-aged-woman with silver locs and dark brown skin. I could've seen through it easily enough, but in my culture, that's extremely rude unless your life is on the line.

  Even though I didn’t push, the lines of her form wavered in my vision, like heat coming off a summer road.

  At her instruction, I retrieved my stiletto from my prey’s head. Bloody ichor and brain matter slid along the fuller and painted the tips of my fingers when I yanked it out; I accepted a cloth to clean my blade with from a waiting attendant.

  “Do you want me to hang around for this?” My voice husked around gravel with hours of disuse. I glanced up from my crouched position into the sweet-faced glamour of the leader of the Llamhigyn y Dŵr.

  “No, Lady Guardian.” Her voice was a soft mezzo-soprano with a deeper note vibrating underneath, hidden by her obfuscation. “We’ll take it from here. We caught on to what he was doing before the humans did, so we’ll handle it in house.”

  “Good enough. It happens again he won’t get a second chance; you know that. I have to maintain the veil between us and the humans.”

  “Understood, My Lady.”

  I sheathed my blade and left, eager to spend the night with my partner.

  Recap of BloodBound: The Story so Far

  2

  TWO: CROWS ON STEROIDS

  Rhian

  Several days after Kai and I had made up and decided we’d work on our relationship, and the morning after my adventure in frogger-skull knifing; I had my head buried under my many pillows in the embassy.

  The high-thread-count cotton sheets caressed my skin in Kai-scented luxury as I floated. Drowsy and well-fucked, I lay drifting in endorphin-soaked bliss in the early darkness of a November pre-dawn; my feet weighed down by the furry weight of a living shadow-wolf. A new friend who wouldn’t take no for an answer about sleeping on the bed with me. Thankfully, the stench of damp canid had faded overnight.

  Kai had kissed me on the butt and wandered away to shower off the sweat of our exertions, and the soothing patter of falling water filled my suite.

  At least, until a woman’s bloodcurdling scream lifted out of the backyard like a cloud of crows on steroids.

  “Fuck!”

  I wrestled my way out of the sheets without breaking my bloody neck. My motions startled the over-sized wolf the shade of a grackles wing—oil-slick black and blue—into lifting his head. I grabbed my Razorback from its holster on the headboard and raced out of the room, automatically checking the load on my magazine as I ran. Kai’s urgency through our bond shrilled along my nerves, but I was faster. Mostly because I didn’t have shampoo searing my eyes.

  The gods-fucked house was still too damned big, but I flashed past startled servants and the security staff naked as the day I’d been born. I burst through the door to the backyard, slamming the thick woo
d to the stone-faced wall, and stopped with my pistol trained on my brother. I narrowed my eyes and tried to figure out if he was actually Rhys or some sort of clever attack; I examined him. My index finger rested alongside the trigger guard, but my safety was off.

  The misty air weighed like a soft, damp blanket on us as I eyed him over the sights. He stuck his tongue out at me. I rolled my eyes, then looked around.

  I drew shadows around me to hide my nudity and the creepy, crawly sensation of so many peoples’ eyes on me. Then I pointed the nose of my 10 mm at the earth.

  The human cook—my Tylwyth Teg chef’s replacement—stood with her back plastered to the stone facade of the ambassadorial mansion, her eyes glued to the admittedly intimidating form of my brother.

  He stood just past the circular yew hedge surrounding the nine circles around the dolmen, clothed in his hunting leathers.