Kept

Kept BITTEN AND BOUND BOOK THREE AMY PENNZA Kept Copyright © 2023 by Amy Pennza No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All rights reserved. Content Notice The Bitten and Bound Series contains themes that may not be suitable for all readers. Please see my website for a more detailed explanation so you can decide if the series is right for you. This is a dark romance, but there is light, love, and magic within these pages—and a happily ever after at the end of the journey. 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 Epilogue About the Author Also by Amy Pennza Chapter One GIVEN “You… Evil…” My brother’s last words echoed in my mind as I watched the sun rise over Lar Katerin. The Deepnight twinkled overhead like a giant had drawn a curtain of perpetual twilight across the sky. Still, the sun shone through, bathing the vampire capital in muted but cheery light. Snow sparkled on rooftops, and curls of smoke drifted from thousands of chimneys. On any other day, I would have basked in the winter sun as I watched the city come alive. But not this day. Today was for death, not life. Laurent was due to fetch me within the hour, and together we would cross the Rift and attend my brother Rolund’s funeral. Against my will, my gaze was drawn to my hands curled around the balcony railing. As I had so many times over the past four days, I expected to see blood. When I closed my eyes, I saw Rolund’s blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief as he lifted his gaze from the sword I’d thrust into his belly. Kinslayer. King killer. Already, the whispers raced across Ter Isir. Rumors swirled, linking me to Rolund’s death. No one could prove I killed him. After all, Sithistrans didn’t believe in farseeing. At least, they weren’t supposed to. But that hadn’t stopped the whispers. Jordan of Twyl had mages embedded in the Towers of the Mir. According to their reports, the Brotherhood believed I was responsible for assassinating Rolund. A sentry swore he’d heard a woman’s voice drifting from the king’s tent the night my brother died. A southern knight claimed he’d seen the tent’s flap move of its own accord. By the time Rolund’s men checked on him, my brother lay cold on the ground with a gaping wound in his gut and no murder weapon in sight. And now Sithistra had no king—and no heir. Unless, of course, the Brotherhood chose me to succeed my brother. I was Baylen of Sithistra’s daughter. Half human. Born a royal princess of the South. But no woman had ever ruled the southern kingdom. And even if the Brotherhood was willing to overlook my sex, they would never turn a blind eye to my vampire blood. And now I knew I wasn’t exactly a vampire, either. In the eyes of the Brotherhood, I was an abomination. “You… Evil…” I had no way of knowing what Rolund meant. If I had to guess, he referred to the prophecy. The savior of the realm will be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift. The mages believed my actions—and inactions—could steer the prophecy’s outcome, leaving the cryptic words open to interpretation—and political maneuvering. But Rolund and the Brotherhood were convinced I had to perish in the Rift to break a curse my father brought down on Sithistra when he married my elven-born mother. Not content with letting magic run its course, Rolund had attempted to carry out the prophecy the night I appeared in his camp. I’d defended myself, my hand filling with Avenor’s sword when I needed it most. The sword’s unexpected appearance was a comfort. But Rolund’s words still plagued me. Because I worried he was right—not about the prophecy, but about an entirely different kind of evil. Midian’s evil, which the demon king had force-fed me after I foolishly tried to kill him in Vai Seren. I hadn’t heard his voice since Varick and I fled the Thicket, but I feared that could change at any moment. Like Rolund’s, Midian’s last words to me ran on a permanent loop in my mind. “Now I’m inside you, child. And this way, I won’t ever have to leave.” The demon king was a liar. He might have lied about that, too. But I couldn’t afford to assume I was free from his influence. There is power in blood. I knew it to be true. But what if mine was tainted beyond repair? If Midian was truly inside me, he might be able to take control of me the same way he’d taken over Avenor. The demon king had fed me intrusive, twisted thoughts when Varick and I ran from Vai Seren. Midian had tempted me with the promise of unimaginable power. He’d tried to convince me to take Avenor’s sword and seize all of Ter Isir for myself. And the terrifying thing was, if Varick hadn’t shaken me from my trance, I might have succumbed to Midian’s sway. What if it happened again? I looked at the city…and then down at the courtyard far below the balcony. If the demon king broke into my head again, would I be able to fight him off? And if I couldn’t, would I have the presence of mind—and the courage—to do what needed to be done? Midian wanted out of Eldenvalla. If we were linked by blood, he might be able to enter my mind.