Everbound

  Everbound

  The Kindred

  Donna Grant

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  EVERBOUND

  © 2018 by DL Grant, LLC

  Excerpt from Thieves copyright © Lexi Blake

  Cover Design © 2018 by Charity Hendry

  * * *

  ISBN 10: 1635765536

  ISBN 13: 9781635765533

  Available in ebook and print editions

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  www.DonnaGrant.com

  www.MotherofDragonsBooks.com

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Thieves by Lexi Blake

  Thieves

  Steal the Light: An Excerpt

  Thank You!

  Never miss a new book

  Also by Donna Grant

  About the Author

  1

  The bite of winter was cruel and exacting. Helena didn’t pay any heed to the snowfall as she put one foot in front of the other. She kept moving from one place to the next, always checking to see if any witches from the Coven were about.

  She’d run across two in the weeks since the Staff of the Eternal had been found. Helena hadn’t hesitated to dispatch both witches. It was bad enough that the Coven had the staff, but more worrying was the fact that all three elders were dead.

  And Sybbyl had taken over.

  Helena paused next to the river she followed and looked at the path ahead. There was a forest, which would allow her to find a spot to rest. Nightfall was a few hours away, but she was tired of sleeping out in the open, and so exhausted she didn’t think she could remain on her feet much longer. The idea of having the cover of trees was too good to pass up.

  With a tug on the hood of her cloak to keep out the snow, she continued onward. It would be so easy to use magic to conceal herself, but all that would do was signal Sybbyl as to where she was.

  Helena knew she would have to battle Sybbyl. As soon as the witch claimed the staff, Helena had reconciled that fact. But she would get to pick the time and place.

  Twice she’d faced the Coven. The third—and final—time would most likely end in her death. Helena didn’t face anyone unless the odds were in her favor.

  And she was going to make certain of that fact when it came to Sybbyl.

  The snow began to fall so thickly that she could barely see her hand in front of her face by the time she reached the forest. The trees and their numerous branches helped to shield her from the onslaught of snow.

  Helena took refuge in the gnarled limbs of an ancient oak. She huddled in her cloak, hungry, cold, and alone. Part of her wanted to find the witch hunters.

  They had helped her escape the Coven’s clutches once. She’d repaid that debt by saving one of them. They had asked her to join them in their fight. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Yet now, she found it nearly impossible to trust anyone.

  She weighed her distrust with the facts. The Coven elders had been formidable when the three stood together, and Helena never could have bested them if she faced them alone.

  However, now there was only Sybbyl. Yet that didn’t make Helena’s job easier. Sybbyl had killed the last elder, then took the Staff of the Eternal. That in itself made Helena hesitate to confront the witch alone.

  But someone had to.

  If not, the Coven would continue to grow in power. Their goal was to find the scattered bones of the First Witch and reassemble her. The Coven had lost out on the Blood Skull. Thankfully, the Hunters had that safely in their possession.

  With each group having one item from the First Witch, it nearly put them on equal footing. Somewhat. The witches still had magic. Though Helena had witnessed firsthand the skill of the Hunters.

  They had taken out many Coven witches. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

  The Coven sought out witches, giving them the option to join their ranks or die. Helena had chosen death when the Hunter appeared in the Witch’s Grove and freed her.

  Many, many other witches had also preferred death over joining the Coven. But the vast majority joined the Coven because they didn’t want to die.

  While Helena wanted to fight the Coven, she knew she couldn’t do it by herself. And no witch would join her, for they mistrusted as deeply as she did, fearing that it was a ploy by the Coven to get them out of hiding.

  That left Helena only two options. Continue on her own.

  Or find the Hunters.

  She dropped her forehead to her knees. Her eyes closed as she let her memories take her back to happier times. Of a time when life had been simpler, a time when she hadn’t feared anything or anyone.

  The jingle of a bridle snapped her head up. She blinked, only vaguely realizing that while she had been deep in her memories, she had fallen asleep. She had no idea how long she slept. It was still light out, but the heavy clouds and thick trees made it difficult to tell where the sun was in the sky.

  She leaned back against the trunk of the tree and listened for another sound. For endless moments, there was nothing. Just the silence of a winter wood. She was beginning to think she’d imagined the jangle when she heard a horse blow out a breath.

  Cautiously, Helena peered around the tree and saw two men setting up camp about a hundred yards from her. She sighed in frustration and turned away. Now, she’d have to hear them talking all night.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to sleep, but despite her eyes hurting from lack of rest, she couldn’t. It wasn’t long before the crackle of a fire reached her. Helena was able to ignore the thought of the warmth right until she smelled something cooking.

  Her mouth watered, and her stomach grumbled just thinking about food. The last thing she had eaten was a piece of stale bread she’d stolen the night before. The fact that she could solve her problems with magic but didn’t dare for fear of alerting the Coven made it even more difficult to bear.

  The hours stretched by as the sun set and darkness fell over the land like a thick blanket. And the snow continued to fall. The men laughed and talked and ate as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  Helena dozed, but every little sound the men made woke her. She was attempting to find a more comfortable position when a woman’s voice reached her. She stilled, trying to hear the conversation.

  When she couldn’t stand it any longer, Helena leaned around the tree to take a look. Her blood went cold when she saw the yellow-orange magic moving from the witch’s palm towards the
men.

  One lay unmoving, but the other was handing over all his possessions while gazing at the witch as if she were an angel come down from Heaven.

  There was no way Helena could sit there and allow the witch to get away with such behavior. It didn’t matter if the woman was part of the Coven or not. Just because she had magic did not mean she could use it in such a fashion.

  Helena rose and walked around the tree. As she did, she felt the rush of her magic run through her body. Her strides were long, her gaze locked on the witch.

  As soon as Helena was close enough, she let the purple coils of her magic fly from one palm. Before they could strike, the witch leaned out of the way. The woman forgot the men as she shifted her attention to Helena.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?” the witch demanded.

  Helena lowered the hood of her cloak. “Not a whit.”

  “I’m part of the Coven. You will bow before me. Now.”

  There was a smile on Helena’s face as she said, “Make me.”

  The witch peeled back her lips. The yellow-orange magic flew straight at Helena. With a wave of her hand, Helena blocked one blast, but the other slashed her across her upper left arm.

  Helena ignored the pain as she lunged over one of the men and sent more coils of power toward the witch. And, once more, they were evaded.

  When Helena was struck once again with the magic, she clenched her teeth and focused everything she had on the witch. This time, when her blast went for the woman, it sank into the witch’s skin. She began to thrash and scream as she was burned from the inside out.

  The witch turned to ash before she hit the ground. Helena then faced the men to find both of them watching her with fear in their eyes. She grabbed what remained of their meal and stalked off.

  She had to get far away. The Coven tracked any witch not of their group who used magic. They would come for her, so she had to put as much distance between herself and the men as she could. Helena bit into the cold meat of the rabbit as she lifted her skirts in her other hand and trudged through the snow. She glanced behind her to find the newly fallen powder covering her tracks.

  Helena didn’t pause until the sun crested the horizon. The snowfall had finally halted, and the food in her belly helped to keep her on her feet. But what little energy she had was fast being depleted. She needed sleep. Even if it were just a few minutes.

  She spotted a cave and headed toward it. Anything that got her out of the weather was a plus. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably by the time she stumbled inside the shelter. Though she desperately wanted a fire, she didn’t have the wherewithal to find dry wood. And using magic was out of the question.

  She huddled in a ball and tried to find warmth as her eyes slid closed of their own volition.

  2

  So much had changed.

  And yet, so much stayed the same.

  Jarin held his staff and squatted down as he studied the ground of a well-used road. His faithful falcon, Andi, gave a cry overhead. He didn’t need to look to the trees on his left to know that his wolf, Valdr, stood waiting and watching.

  As a Varroki warrior, Jarin’s life was spent alone as he tracked down Coven members. Unlike his counterparts, he chose to have the animals with him.

  The Varroki were descended from the First Witch, a Viking. Jarin’s people had found one of the northernmost isles off the Scottish coast and made it theirs, combining their Viking heritage with that of the Celts. It was an unusual mix of cultures, but one that made his people strong.

  For generations, they were responsible for keeping the Coven from gaining too much power. It wasn’t an easy task, yet it was one he relished. He’d been born for this position. He was an excellent tracker and a powerful warlock. The exact combination needed for a Varroki warrior.

  He hadn’t even been put off by the fact that all warriors were celibate. It was the way of his people. And his position wasn’t the only one that required such dedication.

  Such strict rules had put the Varroki in a tenuous position with rapidly dwindling numbers, however. It was their new Lady—the one chosen to rule his people—who discovered that she had the ability to make changes.

  And she did it without hesitation. Now, the rules for Jarin’s position, along with any others that previously required celibacy, were reversed. He honestly didn’t care one way or another. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

  His searching gaze found what he was looking for. He leaned over and traced his finger along the imprint of a shoe. It was small—likely, a woman’s. It was the only one he saw in the muck and mud of the road.

  Jarin got to his feet and looked ahead. He’d been tracking Sybbyl since the witch had disappeared with the Staff of the Eternal. She used magic to move, which made it difficult to follow her.

  But not impossible.

  He moved into the forest with Valdr, using his staff as a walking stick, though it was much more than that. The wolf came up beside him, rubbing his head against Jarin’s leg. He patted the animal absently.

  “Where are you going?” he whispered, trying to figure out where Sybbyl was headed.

  So far, the new Coven leader had zigzagged all over England. She would stay at a spot for half a day at most and then leave. It meant that Jarin was constantly moving. And continually one step behind her.

  That’s not how he liked to hunt. He needed to figure out where Sybbyl was going—and why. With the staff, she could do untold damage. But, oddly, she hadn’t used it on others.

  “Yet,” he said.

  His thoughts took him to the last time he’d seen Sybbyl. He’d been fighting alongside a nobleman named Carac, and his group of knights to help free one of the Hunters from Sybbyl’s hold.

  Everything had been in Sybbyl’s favor. She hadn’t counted on Jarin, though, and it helped to swing the tide of things away from her. But just when he believed they would save the Hunter and get the staff, Sybbyl managed to get her hands on it.

  He should’ve reported back to Malene, the Lady of the Varroki, with all that he knew. It was his duty to keep her apprised of things. There was magic within Malene that was fiercer than anything he’d seen in the previous Ladies before her. Malene was different in many ways.

  And she might just be what the Varroki needed to not only survive but also thrive.

  If they could stop the Coven.

  Jarin glanced down at Valdr and grinned. “Ready to run?”

  The wolf panted, making it appear as if he were smiling. Jarin took off at a steady jog, while Valdr loped beside him. Above them, Andi followed.

  After fifteen minutes, Jarin slowed when his instincts warned him there was something he needed to see. He stopped and looked at the road. The falcon dove into the trees and landed on a limb above him. The three of them remained silent as a cart drove past.

  The horse threw up its head, snorting and dancing as it smelled Valdr. Jarin didn’t need to tell the wolf to remain beside him. The animal knew.

  Once the cart finally moved past, Jarin walked alone out onto the road. The snowfall from the day before left the ground icy. Frozen mud was great at collecting and holding tracks, but the amount of travel on the road stopped him from seeing whatever it was he’d sensed.

  He glanced back the way he’d come before looking ahead. The road branched off to several locations. Sybbyl hadn’t followed any roads before. So why now?

  His gaze returned to the trees. There were Witch’s Groves deep within the forests. It was a place witches went to perform ceremonies, but since it was sacred and kept anyone out that wasn’t a witch, it was also a safe haven, of sorts, for them.

  He made his way back to his animals. Something told him to remain right where he was. He felt no magic, had no inclination of what kept him there, but he stayed nonetheless.

  Jarin sent Valdr off to hunt. Andi came and went as she pleased, but she stayed with him this time. He found a comfortable spot between the roots of a tree and sat, placing his staff beside him on
the ground, his gaze moving from the road to the forest and back again.

  Hours passed. The moon rose, and with it came Valdr. The wolf lay down beside him, resting his large head on Jarin’s leg. Jarin sank his hands into Valdr’s thick fur to pet the wolf.

  Jarin was about to reach into his bag for some food when he felt it. Magic. Coven magic. He jumped to his feet, Valdr already facing the direction of the power in the air. Jarin never questioned how the animal sensed these things, and the wolf wasn’t the only one. Andi did, as well.

  The falcon spread her wings and flapped them once, her head swiveling to Jarin.

  “Go,” he urged her.

  She jumped into the air and disappeared into the night. Jarin turned toward the magic when he was hit with another dose of it. Except this surge wasn’t from a Coven witch.

  He grabbed his staff and took off toward the witches. Valdr ran ahead of him, leaping over fallen trees and boulders. The cold air Jarin sucked in as he ran filled his lungs, making them ache. But he didn’t stop.

  Nearly forty minutes later, he came upon the men sitting around a fire, seemingly unaware of the snow. Both of their faces were ashen with fear, and neither spoke. They kept looking at a spot on the other side of the fire. Jarin could just make out the pile of ash.

  He walked out of the darkness, holding a hand toward Valdr to keep him out of sight. The men’s heads jerked toward him. They scrambled to their feet.