Mystically Bound (Frostbite, Book Three)

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

Copyright © 2013 by Stacey Kennedy. All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or
transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding
subsidiary rights, please contact Stacey Kennedy.

Stacey Kennedy

www.staceykennedy.com

Edited by Kerry Vail

Copy Edited by Theresa Cole

Cover design by PJ Edwards

Smashwords Edition

Manufactured in Canada

First Edition January 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or
trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks
mentioned in this work of fiction: Jimmy Choo, Best Western.

For my Street Team; a girl couldn’t ask for
better friends!

As always, lots of love to my editor, Kerry,
who didn’t run away screaming when I told her I wanted to make two
books instead of one.

Thanks to my copy editor, Theresa, for making
this book shine.

To my husband and children, who didn’t once
complain when I had to put in long days and work on weekends.

Lastly, a huge thank you to PJ, who made
three covers for Mystically Bound and did so with a smile.

Frostbite Book Three

Find our ghost, and we’ll help save Kipp.

One statement took my already upside down
world, spun it in a new warped direction, and sent hot slivers of
frustration through my veins. Another mystery didn’t interest me.
My to-do list toppled with one important checkbox to mark off: find
my ghost lover, Kipp McGowen, and return him to his comatose
body.

I glanced sideways at my friend, Gretchen.
Her cinnamon-colored hair swept over the side of her face,
deepening the grayish tones in her blue eyes. “Did I hear that
right?”

She nodded tightly. “You did, and they’re
waiting for your answer.”

What if I didn’t want to answer? What if I
didn’t want to help anyone else? Hadn’t the time for someone to
assist me—without my having to return the favor—been earned? Yet,
here I stood in White Castle, Louisiana, presently cornered to use
my gifts to communicate with the dead.

Couldn’t someone cut me a damn break?

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I scanned
the mansion. Its fancy furniture, dating to the nineteenth century,
had an overall charm with gothic detail and rich crimson fabrics.
Even the scent of a spicy potpourri portrayed comfort. Sadly, the
two people—excluding Gretchen—who currently awaited my answer,
didn’t look friendly. Especially the crotchety man in his early
forties, sitting in the dark wood antique wingback chair.

I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t
ignore them. “Sorry, can you repeat the question?”

Wayde Hagen’s light brown eyes blazed with a
bottomless irritation I wouldn’t dare agitate. His thick, six-five
frame put me on edge since next to him, I was a tiny woman. Though
I attempted to hide the fact that he intimidated me, the coldness
in his features, the sharp contours of his face, and his thin hard
lips unnerved me.

“I don’t need to repeat myself.” His low
voice echoed off the high ceilings. “Answer the question.”

I could only gawk at him. Were all the
others
so chilling?

Truth be told, I had no idea what to expect
when I first heard of the
others
from Gretchen. The entire
airplane ride to White Castle, I drilled her on the group she
belonged to. She explained some were mediums, others psychics, and
a few more were witches. But tonight, only two of the group greeted
me—if you could even call it that.

While I sensed energy in the room, much like
an elevated awareness, and assumed it meant all those present held
some level of supernatural power, none held my abilities. Perhaps
they might create a kick-ass spell, predict the future, or sense
ghosts, but no one except me could see and talk to spirits.

Some might think I’d impress them, but
Wayde’s ice-cold gaze declared otherwise. To him, I was an
outsider, and well, I’d prefer to be outside than near him. “Let me
get this straight. You want me to find a ghost, and if I do, you’ll
help me locate Kipp?”

Wayde inclined his head. “That’s the
offer.”

I restrained my snappy response, considering
a morgue would’ve been friendlier than talking to Wayde. He wasn’t
the first to disapprove of my loving a ghost and I doubted he’d be
the last. But I didn’t much give a shit what
he
thought.
“Why do you need me to find your ghost?”

Turning from the towering hand-carved marble
fireplace with the blazing fire, the other woman, Amelia, smiled at
me. She settled in next to Wayde and her crystal blue eyes warmed.
Her shoulder-length honey-colored hair looked soft, leaving me to
wonder what shampoo she used. Everything about this woman screamed
gentle…and maybe a slight undertone of weakness. “Someone killed my
father.”

Perhaps that explained why she welcomed me so
easily, since the matter was personal. “Your father?”

Her voice trembled. “Or I should say, our
Grand Master.”

My lip arched as I glimpsed Gretchen, and she
chuckled. “Alexander was our Grand Master. He ruled us for the last
fifteen years.”

“Oh.” What else could I say? You’re strange.
Or, why am I here?

Gretchen told me the secret society, known as
Animus, was established in the eighteenth century. A group of
supernaturally gifted had come together and formed the
organization. Many of the founding members’ descendants
remained.

To me, it sounded like an unfriendly cult,
since I hadn’t received the warmest of welcomes. Not like I would
call Gretchen a cult member to her face. She’d bailed my ass out of
trouble only days ago. When a demon had come to Memphis to feed on
innocent souls, I had been given the task to rid the world of it.
Thus, Gretchen’s teachings of witchcraft. Her assistance had led to
the demon’s banishment back to Hell.

Trust in Gretchen had been forged out of the
weirdest circumstances, but it held strong. Perhaps I could see
some logic in knowing others who lived a similar lifestyle, since
without her, the demon incident might have turned out very
differently, and not in my favor.

“I know we’re asking a lot of you,” Amelia
continued, leaning her hip against the chair Wayde sat in. “My
husband sensed my father, tried to make contact, and failed.” Tears
welled in her eyes. “I don’t know why my father can’t get through.
Or why he’s hiding from us.”

I gazed over her from head-to-toe. “Aren’t
you a medium, too?”

“No, I’m a witch.” She glanced down at the
hardwood floors, drawing in a long breath. “I’ve tried spells to
grab his energy so my husband could read him, but something is
wrong.” She lifted her head, and a tear slid down her cheek. “At
first, we thought the feeling of my father’s presence was residue
of his energy, but my husband has told me it feels stronger than
that. Almost as if he lingers and can’t break through.”

“So, as we see it,” Wayde interjected,
turning his hard stare to me. “You need our help and we need yours.
It’s a fair trade.”

Nibbling my lip, I considered the proposition
and glimpsed at the crackling fire, focusing on the bright orange
flicker in the flame. I’d give my pinky finger to find a way to
locate Kipp. Not only did I miss him, but his disappearance made no
sense. By all appearances, he’d just up and vanished without a
single trace or a solid reason. I needed answers, not theories or
heartbreak.

The Animus had the power to find a solution.
I wouldn’t sit around and pity myself any longer. If I didn’t
agree, there’d be no moving forward.

Looking from the fire, I focused on Wayde.
“Find Alexander, ask him who killed him, and that’s it? No catch or
read-the-fine-print hidden secrets?”

Wayde snorted, and sat up a little straighter
in his seat. “Precisely.”

I found ghosts all the time—or they found
me—and Amelia’s sadness proved this one recently died. The task
didn’t seem overly difficult, but as the thought crossed my mind, I
knew better. Usually
easy
turned out to be some hazardous
mission I never should’ve accepted. “Before I agree, tell me how
you can help
me
.”

No hint of deception showed in Wayde’s gaze.
“I’ll show you the way to cross through the veil into the
Netherworld.”

While hearing Wayde
might
hold such
knowledge elated me, since Gretchen had zero answers and I was
fresh out of ideas, believing him was another matter. I turned to
the witch I did trust. “Possible, or a lie?”

Gretchen studied me a moment, her brows drawn
together, before she finally said, “The Animus possess witchcraft
that dates to the very beginning of its creation. Anything is
possible with the right spell.” Her head tilted, and her expression
became knowing. “A spell I don’t have access to.”

Perhaps before, I’d doubted her, since all
this witchcraft stuff seemed bogus. Now, I couldn’t reject the idea
that anything was possible. Since meeting Kipp, everything had been
something upward of bizarre.

The list was endless—Kipp was a ghost, but
actually wasn’t dead, and in fact, lay comatose in a hospital; my
recent experience with magical spells, and banishing a demon back
to Hell; and the most implausible of all, I had fallen madly and
deeply in love with a spirit.

When Gretchen told me coming to the Animus
was our best shot at helping Kipp, I figured we’d pull him out of
the Netherworld, not send me into it. “How do you know—without a
doubt—that you can help me cross into the Netherworld to search for
Kipp, and I won’t get killed in the process?”

Wayde’s eyes twinkled. “I know.”

“Yes, good and all,” I retorted. “But how do
you
know
?”

Running a hand through his jet-black slicked
hair, Wayde shifted in his seat and crossed an ankle over his knee.
“We are the Animus. The knowledge you need is within our reach. I
promise to share it, if you help us.”

At my snort, since that reassured me about as
much as someone holding a dagger at my throat saying they weren’t
going to slice my head off, Gretchen interjected. “A promise by a
Grand Master is exactly that, Tess. You can trust him.”

Yeah, right.

Something she said interested me, though. I
turned to Wayde. “You’re the new leader of this…bunch?”

He nodded. “In his will, Alexander requested
I take over. This home always belongs to the Grand Master, so when
he passed, the house was gifted to me.”

I scanned the, more or less, American Castle
in slight awe. Gretchen said it had sixty-four rooms within the
three stories. From what I’d seen already, the mansion had
ornamental iron railings, fifteen-foot ceilings, and innovative
features. Wayde was a lucky man. “Fair enough.” I glanced at him.
“But you need to do better. I won’t help unless I know, without a
doubt, you’re telling me the truth.”

Wayde frowned.

“A binding spell might be the best choice,”
Gretchen offered. “It’s a solution to the problem. Not only will
you,” she looked at me, “feel the truth behind his promise when he
does the spell, but you’ll also know he has to uphold it.” She
glanced at Wayde. “And this will ensure Tess holds up her end of
the deal.”

Wayde hesitated, then gave a firm nod. “I’m
in agreement.” He stared me down. “Will that suffice for you?”

As Gretchen had told me once, magic had to be
conjured in truth, honesty, and full belief or it wouldn’t work,
which left me hopeful. If Wayde agreed to the binding spell, that
meant he
did
have the answer I needed to get to Kipp.
“Possibly,” I answered Wayde, then said to Gretchen. “But first,
how does the binding spell work?”

“Exactly as it sounds,” she replied in her
sweet, soft voice. “Wayde will be bound to uphold his promise to
help you cross into the Netherworld, as you are bound to find and
talk to Alexander.”

Another positive, but my non-magical brain
needed more answers. “What will happen to him if he breaks his
promise?”

“His soul will become tainted.” Gretchen’s
eyes darkened, voice thickened. “He’ll grow sick and eventually
die.”

“Meaning I could grow sick and die, too?” At
her tight nod, I groaned and considered the pact. Did I want to
enter into an agreement that could kill me if I reneged on it?