Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation

A ROWAN GANT INVESTIGATION

A Novel of Suspense and Magick

By

E.M.A. Mysteries

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The names
Patrick Owen
,
V.
Ostuni,
and
Velvet
Rieth
, are used with permission, and are loosely based
on actual persons. While some characteristics of the individual
personas are accurate, the characters portrayed herein do not
necessarily reflect the actual personalities or lifestyles of the
aforementioned.

LOVE IS THE
BOND
: A Rowan Gant Investigation

A WillowTree Press Book

E.M.A. Mysteries is an imprint of WillowTree
Press

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2005 by M. R. Sellars

Cover Design Copyright © 2005 Johnathan
Minton

Cover Photography: Johnathan Minton

Cover Model: Ms. Gwendolin “Wendi”
O’Brien

This e-book edition is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This e-book edition may not be re-sold or
given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
person

This book may not be reproduced in whole or
in part, by any means, electronic or mechanical, without
permission.

For information contact: WillowTree
Press on the World Wide Web
http://www.willowtreepress.com

Smashwords Edition – 2010

Once again I find myself with the monumental
task of thanking those who made this installment—and in some cases
even the entire RGI series—possible. As I have said before, with
each book I write, the list of people I feel compelled to thank
grows, and eventually, this roll call will take up an entire volume
in itself. Still, my good and true friends are very important to
me, so this list of “thank you’s” has become like a moral
imperative. That said, if I happen to miss someone, I hope you
understand that it was unintentional, so please accept my apologies
in advance.

Finally, while I may simply run down
this list like an
Oscar
winner
getting the “wind it up” signal, please know that you all made this
possible through your love and support (and in more than one
instance, your abject lunacy)—

Dorothy Morrison: Two words—Dunkin’
Donuts.

Officer Scott Ruddle, SLPD: Two words—Scotch
and Cigars.

Roy Osbourn: I concur! See you at the
buffet.

Trish Telesco: Thanks for being a friend.

A.J Drew, Aimee, and Aubrey: Y’all are
extended family. I’m sorry I only get to see you once each
year.

As always, my ever-expanding, long
distance families:
Mystic Moon Coven
and
Dragon Clan
Circle
.

Duane & Chell: Words still cannot express
my love for you two.

Angel & Randal: Ditto.

Scott & Andrea: Ditto again.

All of my good friends from the various
acronyms: F.O.C.A.S.M.I., H.S.A., M.E.C., S.I.P.A, etc. (And even
the acronyms that have since disappeared…)

Patrick Owen: I’m running low on MX2’s… And,
pass the Rye.

Tish Owen: Love ya’ hon! Tell your husband I
need MX2’s!

Lori, Beth, Jim, Dave, Rachel, Doug, Duncan,
Kitti, Edain, Boom-Boom, Kevin, David, Bella, Shannon, Denessa,
Annette, Boudica, Imajicka, Owl, Breanna, Anne, Maggie, Gail,
Phyllis, Zita, Heather, Kathy, Lin, Jerry, Mark, Christine,
Kristin, Velvet, Rollie, Hardee, Z, and probably twenty or thirty
more…

My parents: You know… I wish you were
here.

“Chunkee”: Two words—Angry Squirrel.

Johnathan Minton: Are we there yet?

My daughter: Yes, tomorrow is after “this
day.”

My wife Kat: Sorry, I have to be serious for
a moment…You are my one, my all, my everything. I love you more
than you will ever know.

Firestorm Publicity Services for making me
look good.

The gang at CAO for the
MX2
and entire
Brazilia
line of cigars…

Coffee, Wendi, E.K.,
The Bobblehead Lady,
Little Green
Men, dancing hamsters, the makers of hard salami…

And, as always, everyone who takes the time
to pick up one of my novels, read it, and then recommends it to a
friend.

For E.K.

Don’t stop until you hear,
“Ushmuff!”

While the city of St. Louis and its various
notable landmarks are certainly real, many names have been changed
and liberties taken with some of the details in this book. They are
fabrications. They are pieces of fiction within fiction to create
an illusion of reality to be experienced and enjoyed.

In short, I made them up because it helped me
make the story more entertaining, or in some cases, just because I
wanted to.

Note also that this book is a first-person
narrative. You are seeing this story through the eyes of Rowan
Gant. The words you are reading are his thoughts. In first person
writing, the narrative should match the dialogue of the character
telling the story. Since Rowan, (and anyone else that I know of for
that matter,) does not speak in perfect, unblemished English
throughout his dialogue, he will not do so throughout his
narrative. Therefore, you will notice that some grammatical
anomalies have been retained (under protest from editors) in order
to support this illusion of reality.

Let me repeat something—I DID IT ON PURPOSE.
Do NOT send me an email complaining about my grammar. It is a rude
thing to do, and it does nothing more than waste your valuable
time. If you find a typo, that is a different story. Even editors
miss a few now and then.

Finally, this book is not intended as a
primer for WitchCraft, Wicca, or any Pagan path. However, please
note that the rituals, spells, and explanations of these
religious/magickal practices are accurate. Some of my explanations
may not fit your particular tradition, but you should remember that
your explanations might not fit mine either.

And, yes, some of the magick is “over the
top.” But, like I said in the first paragraph, this is fiction…

When the wind comes from the South,

Love will kiss thee on the mouth.

Couplet #11

The Wiccan Rede

Lady Gwen Thompson,

First Printing, Green Egg #69, Circa 1975

Friday, December 3

7:23 P.M.

Room 7, Satin Tide Motel

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina

She could feel the tickle rising in her
belly. It had been there ever since they walked into the room
together. It was faint and fleeting, in the background but always
there. Now it was getting stronger.

Steady.

Even.

And, it was crawling upward in an
ever-increasing ripple of internal pleasure. At this particular
moment, the level was comfortable.More than comfortable, really, it
was desirable and almost hypnotically rhythmic.

She knew from experience that as the
rhythm of the tickle increased so would the pleasure—and with it
the hypnotic trance. And, with that trance would come yet another
step in her journey toward an ultimate goal; of course, that was
what this was all about,
her
objective.

Her needs.

Her wants.

She took in a deep breath and closed her
eyes, focusing on that which she desired. As she allowed the breath
to slowly escape between pursed, red-glossed lips, she could feel
the surge beginning. What was at this moment in time merely
titillating would very soon push beyond that fragile envelope,
exploding forth with untamed fury.

But, not until
she
was ready…

Absolutely not until
she
was ready…

It simply wouldn’t be allowed to happen
until
she
deemed it time. This
may only be a game to him, but for her the game was a ritual—and so
much more. And, after all,
she
was the one in control.

She opened her eyes slowly, feeling the rush
as her pulse quickened and her breaths became shallow pants.

“Kneel,” she commanded, her voice alluringly
hoarse but authoritative nonetheless.

The man was facing away from her just as she
had instructed him to do. In response, he uttered a simple, “Yes,
Mistress,” thus finally breaking the silence she had imposed on him
fully fifteen minutes before. He set about complying with the
order, struggling to keep his balance as he began lowering
himself.

He was completely nude with only a few minor
exceptions. His hands were tightly bound behind his back; a beige
athletic bandage stretched securely in a figure eight about his
wrists. A nylon dog collar encircled his neck, and attached to the
chromed D-ring was a matched training lead. The tough strip of
webbing made a straight line down the center of his back where it
eventually looped beneath his restrained arms and trailed off at an
upward angle through the space between the two of them, finally
ending where it was held in a loose grip by his Mistress’
leather-gloved hand.

His right knee hit the floor with a hard
thud, and he rocked forward as he fought for the equilibrium
necessary to keep from slamming face first into the motel room’s
thin carpet. Even so, Mistress didn’t yield her grip on the leash;
instead, much more than simply allowing it to pull taught, she
tugged hard on the end, levering his arms backward and straining
the collar against his throat with delicious agony.

He gurgled for a moment as he choked then
thudded his other knee against the floor as well, still reveling in
the pain that brought him such pleasure. He felt his own tickle
between his thighs and knew without looking that he had begun to
stiffen. Whether the euphoria came from the lack of oxygen to his
brain, the curious bent of being tortured by a beautiful woman, or
both, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that his entire body was
beginning to tingle, and he relished its off-kilter pleasure.

A rush of blood was beginning to roar in his
ears, and bright spots of color flickered before him as the room
began shifting out of focus. His nerve endings were tingling with
what he perceived as pure ecstasy, but he knew also that there was
a danger zone quickly approaching. Reluctantly, he began to shift
his weight back to relieve the strain on the collar that was
choking him into his personal bliss. The resistance he met was
wholly unexpected.

His pathetic gagging was fueling the tickle
in her belly, pushing it up to her solar plexus and out through her
extremities, setting each individual cell in her body alight with a
smoldering pleasure. Her breaths became shallower and quicker still
as she listened to him, twisting the end of the leash in her hand
to pull it even tighter. She could tell by the way he was beginning
to shift that he was reaching his threshold, but she was not yet
ready for it to end. The tickle was still growing, and it had now
become a not-so-singular tingle. It needed to be nurtured, and she
knew just exactly what would feed its hunger.

As he began to lean back, she maintained
tension on the leash and quickly lifted her foot, placing the sole
of her stiletto-heeled pump against his spine. She pushed him back
forward, and though she was shorter and far lighter than he, she
was in full command of the physical laws of leverage.

His gagging and gurgling continued unabated,
and she began to almost tremble as the tingle skipped up the scale
several notches to become a more than pleasurable full-body itch.
She looked up toward the ceiling then closed her eyes yet again,
stretching her milky-skinned form toward something unseen. She took
in a sudden, deep breath out of autonomic reflex and let it go with
an almost imperceptible moan. Opening her eyes she let her gaze
fall back down to her slave then clenched her teeth as she slitted
her cold stare. With a heaving sigh she released her grip on the
leash and gave him a shove with the foot she held planted against
his back. He fell forward into a heap, sputtering and gasping as he
struck the floor. She watched him slowly roll over, his naked chest
rising and falling as he sucked hungrily at the charged air in the
room. Her gaze continued to roam his form, falling momentarily
between his legs. It was obvious that he had been on the verge of
release, and he was still throbbing as he lay there.