Free Soul Unbound (Key to the Cursed Book 3) by Jean Murray Page A

up
to sit. Her head bobbed under the weight of pain. Snapping her hand to her
waistband, she found the saber snug in its sheath.
    What of the dark figure? Her eyes swept the beach.
Surely, she had not imagined the intruder. She touched the side of her head.
Blood knotted the thick strands of her hair, but overall her skin was intact.
    She palpated the back of her neck. Oddly, the mark
was warm to the touch instead of ice cold. If not for the irregular skin
beneath her touch, she would have believed she had been absolved of her
sentence.
    With a grunt she stood, but not without a
significant amount of dizziness. The blow to her head could explain her
hallucination. She blinked a few times and gauged her surroundings. Execution’s
hoof prints and the surf had erased any evidence of an intruder.
    He had been real, solid enough she felt his firm
touch. She tightened her grip around her sword. A siravant would not be
merciful. It would have ensured she was awake when it consumed her soul. If it
had been Menthu, she would have been shackled or dead. No, this enemy was
playing with her. Why else would she have her weapons back.
    She surveyed the shadows shifting beneath the
large canopy of branches. Inhaling, she sifted through the scents carried in
the air. Nothing stood out among the salt and vegetation. No scent?
    Despite his severe limp, Execution had wandered
down the beach to some fresh vegetation. He surely would have alerted her. The
beast hated all but her. Even the younglings.
    Could she have imagined the hard planes of his
chest or the strong arms restraining her? She pushed away the doubt, trusting
her instincts. He was out there watching.
    She had set out to find Henry’s devil when in
fact, the devil had found her. Now, what to do about it? The intruder wanted
her to believe he was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
    Fine.
    She would play his game.
    For now.

Chapter Twelve
    The goddess stood on unsteady legs and watched the
hillside. It took longer for her to wake than Bomani expected, long enough his
anger waned. He should have returned to the human realm long ago, but he stayed
out of guilt. He stared down at his palm that still tingled. He feared he had
damaged the goddess by absorbing too much of her living energy. Despite his
hunger being sated, he hated himself for being too weak to carry on without it.
    Light green eyes targeted his location. The grip
on her sword tightened. His ruse was up. It had been a calculated risk. He
readied himself to escape but paused when the goddess stowed her weapon and
brushed the sand off her arms. Maybe his plan worked, at least for the moment.
    “Ex.” Her husky voice carried in the wind. The steed’s
head jerked up and the animal ambled towards her. Bomani resisted the urge to
do the same. The horse snorted as he passed.
    “What the hell happened to you?” The goddess
grabbed the horse’s reins and led him in a circle. She knelt and ran her hand
over the horse’s ribcage. The steed sidestepped at the contact. “Easy, boy.”
    A frown marred her beautiful face. Bomani blinked,
unable to break the trance this woman had upon him. How well did Khalfani know
her? Or did he at all? From what Bomani read in the archives, the Underworld
legions had augmented the Creation’s forces. Many dark warriors had lost their
lives out of poor leadership. Warriors were an expendable resource ,
Khalfani had written in the Commander’s journal.
    Bomani’s hatred of the Creation gods grew the
longer he watched this female. She was an outcast not unlike himself. A
potential ally against Bast? Or his bargaining chip? He weighed the risk of
revealing himself.
    Bast’s wrath and his expulsion from the human
realm was far too great a risk. He shifted his energy to disappear. A ripple of
dark power slammed into his chest despite the fact he was nothing more than
vapor. The blow forced him to rematerialize, and he arched back, barely missing
the tip of the goddess’ sword.
    When