Fatebound: An Urban Fantasy Epic Adventure (Mortality Bound Book 1)

Chapter 1

I just wanted a Twinkie.

And a warm bed.

Hell, I’d settle for what life was like an hour ago.

At least then I wasn’t being chased by a giant, rampaging monster through the back roads of Quebec …

An hour ago, the darkness had settled in like a blanket just past the headlights of the Mustang. She was Justin’s pride and joy, and he’d kept her up perfectly.

It was a starless, moonless night. A pitch-black night. The perfect night for disappearing into.

But every time we tried to disappear, we were found. We had been running for weeks, and every time they’d found us.

The World Army.

The human army.

Dr. Serena Russo.

At any moment, they could find us again …

And to think: a few weeks ago I was a normal university student enjoying the classic combo of wacky tobacky and Twinkies.

Beside me, Justin’s hand hovered over the gearstick, as though at any moment he would need to use it to bludgeon someone to death.

“We’re OK,” I lied, my hand settling over his. His fingers felt clammy; they shook. Frankly, I didn’t know how he’d stayed upright this long. And yet his jaw remained firm as he stared out the windshield, his left hand overtop the steering wheel.

“I appreciate your optimism, Isa.” A dime-drop of sweat ran from his hairline down the side of his face, clinging to his jawbone.

“Do you want me to drive?” I asked.

One dark eyebrow went up.

“Don’t go all macho manly on me. You’re exhausted, and I’m a kickass driver. I know this car is your baby, but…” I let the last word linger.

He chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just possessive of Sally here.”

“As in Mustang Sally.”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just that you’re a millennial and I didn’t think millennials knew classic rock anymore.”

“Pish posh,” he said with a smile. “The internet won’t let us forget… anyway, let’s switch over we’re out of Canada.” The engine growled as he accelerated us.

Outside, the trees had fallen away to open land, houses winking by.

“All right.” I squeezed his hand. “ Just remember that you’re still sick. You need your rest.” I said it so low I might not have heard it myself if I hadn’t voiced the words.

And yet I knew he’d heard me,
because his fingers squeezed my own. “I’m sick, but I’ll heal. You should know that better than anyone, Little Miss Biologist.”

I forced a laugh, but inside I wanted to scream that I did know better. I understood what Serena did to him better than anyone—possibly even Serena herself—and I knew this wasn’t like a cold that he’d eventually get over.

He needed a cure. An anti-venom to neutralize what the aqrabuamelu poison was doing to him.

He had the cure. Almost took it, too. But instead, he sacrificed himself so that the other soldiers who had been genetically modified could also use the cure.

But that was Justin. He needs came after everyone else’s. Of all the humans I’ve known in my five hundred years of life, he possessed one of the purest souls.

Simply put, Justin was good.

And I loved him for it.

Still, the experiments were taking their toll on him. He was strong now. Stronger than any human should be. I could manufacture a cure for the side effects if I could only get some time in a lab, undisturbed.

But that was a tall order, given we were being hunted.

Another thought occurred to me: we needed to disguise ourselves. Something, as a shapeshifter, I could do easily. Not so easy for him.

I ran my hands through his hair. “I think we need to shave your hair off.”

“Hey, I like my hair. It’s the only part of me that doesn’t hurt right now.” He lifted a hand when my face turned grave. “It’s a joke. I’m joking.”

I drew my fingers through his black hair—one of my favorite things. I gave it a flirtatious tug. “I like your hair, too. It’ll grow back.”

“OK,” he said. “But since we’re talking about disguising ourselves, who are you going to be?”

My eyebrows rose. “I don’t know.”

He gave a single nod, eyes never leaving the empty highway. His throat spasmed as he suppressed another cough. “You’ve been alive five hundred years, right?”

“Five hundred and twelve.”

“How many illusions have you worn in that time?”

“Twelve thousand, eight hundred and thirty-two.” I didn’t hesitate; I knew those faces like I knew that cells were the basic unit of life. I knew them as simply as I knew I loved Justin Truly.

“Holy— Twelve thousand, Isa?” He glanced at me; I held his gaze. “OK, of twelve thousand, pick the one that’s you.”

I sat back into the Mustang’s
bucket seat, closed my eyes. An anxiety came over me, different from the constant adrenaline I’d felt since we had escaped Montreal in the night. Different from the heart-pain of wondering when and how we’d be found by the World Army’s lead scientist—my former boss, Serena Russo.

This was the anxiety of thrill. Changing my appearance was one of the most wonderful, enduring pleasures of my life.

And I knew exactly who I wanted to look like.

My eyes opened, shifted to Justin. “What if you don’t like the way I look?”

“Isabella”—his hand finally left the gearshift and drifted to my thigh—“it’s not about that.”

I pursed my lips.

“OK, it’s not just about that.”

“Ah ha.” I reached down to the hem of my sweater and pulled it up over my head.

Justin could hardly keep his eyes on the road. “What are you doing?”

“These clothes won’t fit once I’m done.” I started on the buttons of my jeans. “Don’t worry—I brought other sizes.”

“You expected this.”

“It’s in my nature. It’s what we encantado do.”

Thirty seconds later I’d stripped down, the buttery leather touching only my bare back and legs, the Mustang purring beneath me. “Don’t get distracted.”

Justin’s eyes flicked toward me, surveyed me once in the almost-darkness before returning to the road. This time he did smile. “Too late.”

Maybe tonight would be one of those nights. I could nearly touch what floated between us, that buzz of energy.

“This won’t be a minute.” Though in truth it wouldn’t take anywhere close to sixty seconds. Shifting to this form would be like passing under a bridge in the rain, a split second absence of noise.

My eyes closed once more. When I opened them, they would be brown. The thigh beneath Justin’s hand would be longer, a bit more slender. I would tell him in a soft alto that I was done.

And no one except him and I would know who I was.

Such was the power of the encantado.