Blood Bond (The Stones of Terrene Chronicles Book 4)
Blood Bond
Stones of Terrene Chronicles
Book Four
R. J. Metcalf
Copyright © 2021 R. J. Metcalf
Published in Santa Clarita, California by R. J. Metcalf
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either used fictitiously or are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Design: Magpie Designs, Ltd
Model credit: Eric Sasina photographed by Bryan Wark
Texture Credit: Sascha Duensing
Photo Credit: Pixabay
To my mom
1951-2021
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Epilogue
Map
Blood Bond Register
About the Author
Acknowledgements
At long last, this story is complete.
I’ve known the ending since before I even started writing, and it is such a relief to finally hand this off to you, dear reader, and let you enjoy the end of this adventure. Or perhaps it’s the beginning, for when something ends, that means something new begins. The end of a story can mean the start of a new story. The end of winter means the start of spring. The end of night means the beginning glimmerings of dawn.
Do not cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.
I could never have finished this without the support I have had. My “framily,” my FCC family, CC community, Mike, my parents…it’s been a hard season, and God has graciously given me an amazing support system to keep me sane through fires, depression, the pandemic, my mom’s cancer, and all the little trials in between.
Thank you, my friends, for standing with me and giving me encouragement and lighting a fire in my belly when I didn’t feel like I could fight any longer.
L, your memes and GIFs and random, ‘hey, I love you, don’t forget to smile today’ messages provided a lifeline in the midst of darkness, tugging me back to civilization and laughter and reminders of God’s goodness. Thank you for your faithful efforts to keep me from drowning in the mud. Words cannot do justice to the endless affection and love I have for you and our bond. My world would be so much less colorful without you in it, and with far less holding-my-sides, crying-from-laughter moments.
Heather (I nearly called you Tahli, again, I don’t think that’s ever going to change at this point), I’m sorry (kinda) for all the times I’ve made you facepalm, choke on laughter, and shake your head at L’s and my shenanigans. Thank you for putting up with us, and for agreeing to “consider” bailing us out, if we ever do half the stuff we’ve discussed. XD
Jamie…it’s your fault that I started writing in the first place (insert ‘I blame you’ GIF from the Road to El Dorado), so thank you for dragging me into this amazing world. Thank you for the exclamations of delight as you read through the first draft, and the Chipotle gift cards when mom started declining, and the quiet nudges of love throughout everything. Thank you for training up this grasshopper.
Lizzy. My, dear Lizzy. You rock. Thank you for all the alpha reader screaming and all caps text messages. Your input and your reactions give me life, and I readily admit that I’ve scrolled through those responses while editing, just so I can cackle aloud and have the moxie to continue going.
My publishing team is just as fantastic as they have ever been. Magpie Designs Ltd., Sarah Grimm, Sarah Delena White, Bryan Wark Photography, Eric Sasina, CW Briar, and Fayette Press. This book would not be what it is without y’all. Thank you for working with me all these years!
Mike. What can I say that you don’t already know? Thank you for being my faithful muse and partner, the gentle leash to my crazy, the anchor in my storms. I cannot fathom getting through this year and all these trials without you. I love you, babe.
Mom. You’ll never read this. Not this side of Heaven, at least. Thank you for all the years of supporting me, teaching me, sitting at the whiteboard and crying with me over fractions. Your late nights editing my essays (I still hate red ink on paper, by the way) and your motherly pride when my first book was published. You earned those beautiful white hairs from me, and I thank you for never giving up on me, always loving me, Mike, and our boys. Thank you for the years of watching my kids while I write or edit or panic over publishing deadlines. I wish I’d finished this before you were gone, so I could read to you from the book itself. I’m grateful for the time we had, though it turned out to be far shorter than I’d wanted. I love you. See you in Heaven.
And above all, thank you Lord, for being the Author of my story, the one who has known the end before it even began. I trust your timing.
Prologue
Sara
The sun-dappled gravestone blurred, and Sara blinked, trying desperately to see through tears. “I miss you.”
She fished a battered tissue from her oversized jacket pocket. Ben’s jacket. The scent of her brother in the fabric had disappeared too many washes ago, leaving
her with memories that also threatened to fade over time. Sara sniffled.
“You promised.” Her voice warbled. “You promised you’d come back.” She sank down, the damp grass soaking her jeans. She pounded her fist against the ground, a howl ripping from her throat. “You promised, and family doesn’t break promises! They don’t just disappear!”
Disappear. That word provided a fool’s hope that Ben was alive. That her brother had somehow survived the complete destruction of his unit. That maybe he hadn’t been killed with them. But as far as the military was concerned, Benjamin William Dubray was dead. That was what the general who’d given her a medallion in her brother’s memory had said. As if a piece of cold metal could be a comfort in the place of her lost family.
Her hope clung to the fact that they hadn’t found a single scrap of evidence to prove his death. Nothing. Not a piece of his clothing, not his dog tags, not their mother’s ring. And even though logic pointed out the horrific destruction of a grenade, she’d take that slim hope. Anything to keep her sane.
How cruel hope could be.
Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the little voice in the dead of night that spoke the truth she didn’t want to hear. It spoke to her in the quiet lapses between work and home. In the dark hours of the morning when memories reminded her that he was gone. Her best friend. Her brother. The one who’d laughed with her. Annoyed her before sunrise to make her get out of bed and go for a run with him. The one who fought to protect her. The one who put her pieces back together and reminded her daily that she was stronger than she thought. He was scattered to the four winds, and she was here, facing her terrifying future.
Her roommate, Christine, was getting married in a week. She’d be moving out of Sara’s apartment. Ben wasn’t returning.
And still Sara remained. Waiting for a ghost.
Alone.
Chapter One
Ben
Ben glanced back into the silent hallway. The dimmed gas lights flickered in concession to the early hour, and he opened the door to the rooftop of Francene’s villa. An expanse of deep blue stretched overhead, and the crisp, cold air zinged in his lungs as he stepped out and clicked the door shut behind him. This was a good spot to be alone with his thoughts. The flat roof spread out almost as far as the sprawling building underneath. Chairs and tables were scattered across the surface with pockets of potted foliage dotting the scenery and adding privacy screens between the graveled walkways. He avoided those as best he could, in case he wasn’t alone up here, preferring silence to blanket his steps. His thoughts turned to Raine as he tucked his hands into his pockets and rounded the corner toward the east.
He edged past a chair that nearly blended with the shale. Raine hadn’t given him an answer yet, and despite the nervous tremors in his stomach, he was glad she hadn’t given him a quick response. She was thinking it through. Weighing the decision.
Making the choice to return to Earth with him wasn’t something to be decided lightly. He would be going back to familiarity, she to the unknown.
It didn’t make the waiting any easier, though. He wanted to help her however he could. Even if it meant just shadowing her, being a presence of understanding and patience. A presence of lov—no. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, put words to what beat inside his chest. Not yet. Not even in his own head.
But he couldn’t leave Raine behind. Not any more than he could just accept the idea of not returning to Sara. One ruled his heart, the other shared his blood. How could he choose to abandon family for love, or vice versa? It wasn’t like he could send Sara a message stating that he’d fallen in love and was stuck in a different world. There was no through-the-Void mail system.
He scrubbed his face with his hands, wrestling with that thought. Even if Finn discovered a way to send a message to Sara, how could Ben possibly explain everything? What would he say? That he’d been caught up in some other world’s war and met a woman that he wanted to marry, and that was the reason he wasn’t desperately trying to return home? No. He couldn’t leave Raine behind, but he had to find a way to reach Sara. They were family. And he wouldn’t break his promise to her.
Family did not abandon family.
A warm, buttery glow shone from behind a shrubbery, and Ben slowed. Who else was up here at this hour? He didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s solitude. He peered around the bush to catch a glimpse of whoever it was, but his shin hit a low table, and he stumbled forward. He threw his weight back to avoid falling on his hands and knees, but didn’t account for the loose gravel under his heels. Shale shifted, and he flailed, landing on his back with a pained groan. The tender skin on his still-healing leg twinged. He rubbed his head and winced, keeping his eyes shut. There went discretion and not interrupting whoever else was up here.
“Ben?”
He looked over the scuffed toes of his boots to stare at Raine’s surprised face. She held a gas light in one hand, and the other clutched what looked like a paintbrush. A thick blanket draped over her shoulders, her frayed braid tucked into its folds. She blinked at him, consternation clearly warring with the upward tilt of her lips.
She shook her head at him. “Are you … hurt?”
He hesitated before admitting the truth. “Only my dignity.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Well, that sounds like a pretty grievous injury.” Her small smirk took any sting out of her words as she set down the lamp and held her hand out to him. “May I recommend a chair instead? It may be a bit more comfortable than the floor for nursing a bruised ego.”
Delight at her banter rippled through Ben, and he accepted her hand, staggering to his feet. No chance of forgetting this particular embarrassing incident anytime soon. But this was the most … herself … she’d sounded lately. If his awkwardness helped her to feel at ease, then it was a price worth paying.
“Why are you up here?” She tugged her blanket tighter around herself and picked up the lantern she’d set aside.
He shrugged. “I wanted to watch the sunrise.” He could feel the weight of her gaze studying him.
She turned abruptly, and the light spilled around her, illuminating the traitorous glossy black table that he’d tripped into.
She flicked her wrist. “There’s a second chair over here.” Her volume dropped before strengthening again. “If you want to join me, that is.”
Ben didn’t hesitate. He immediately followed her around the shrub and paused, surprised. Raine took a seat behind an easel, facing the edge of the roof. Her lantern sat to her left, and a tray of paints to her right.
Black swirled with red on her canvas, giving life to what Ben could only think of as dried blood. In the center of her art, shades of brown created a rumpled body. Raine perched on the edge of her stool, slightly hunched, looking over her shoulder at him, her jaw tight. Likely waiting for his reaction.
She’d been painting the scene from the arena of the Hollows. When she’d killed Simon.
He kept his face neutral—burying his anger at Simon and sorrow for Raine—as he sank into the available chair to her left. “I didn’t know you painted.”
“I don’t.” Raine bit her lower lip. “Francene suggested this. She … she said it can help.” Raine swallowed and stared down at the shadows below the easel. “Did you know that she sets up a retirement of sorts, for the women who work for her, the ones who have been … abused? Even though they come to her for the work, she protects them as much as she can.”
Art therapy. He didn’t know if they had shrinks here in Terrene for traumatized victims, but clearly Francene had some understanding of how to help. Made sense, actually, considering her profession. She probably witnessed far more cruelty than the average person, and for her to suggest this for Raine… Did this mean Raine had opened up some, confided in Francene? That was encouraging.
But his lungs felt like he’d been holding his breath underwater for too long, the quiet ache in Raine’s words having sucked the air out of him. There was too much in Raine’s words for h
im to unpack right now. He couldn’t think of what Francene did with herself and the lives of others. He had to stay focused on the most important topic: Raine.
“What’s your home like?” Raine carefully lifted her piece off the easel, set it on a small table next to the shrub, and lifted a clean canvas into place.
Ben hummed, buying himself a moment to organize his thoughts. Nothing about this morning was going like he’d envisioned. This was the first time since he’d posed his question to her that she’d asked about Earth.
“Where I grew up is beautiful. Peaceful.” Ben looked out over the banister at the sleeping city beyond, just barely visible in the lightening sky. “I don’t know if you like apples, but the apple brandy there is amazing. Sara and my mom would bake the most amazing tarts, and we’d sometimes go out for a picnic with nothing but those.”
He grinned to himself, fond memories overlapping in his mind like ocean waves. Sara’s outrage and laughter as her tart oozed onto her favorite gloves. Walking with his mom over the bridge in Saint Ceneri Le Gerei, every plant alive with spring’s glorious bouquet of colors. His dad, sitting with him on their porch, letting him know they’d be moving to Paris for his job. Then the bomb that changed everything—he shook his head, banishing that train of thought.
“Sara and I lived in Paris. It’s just as beautiful, but in a different way. It’s busier, not as rural as where we’d been before.” He stood, cautious to not jostle Raine’s project, and leaned against the railing, gesturing at the expanse of Lucrum. “It’s even more active than here.”
Raine kept her gaze away from him, fixed on the horizon beyond his shoulder. “What do you think I would do, if I were there?”
He pushed off the rail and settled into his vacated chair. He’d been wrestling that same question. Turned it over in his mind every night, wondering when she’d bring it up and ask.
The first rays of sunlight burst over the plains, limning Raine’s profile with gold.
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Being a swordswoman isn’t exactly an occupation there, though there are hobbyists for the art. So maybe you could teach classes? Or be an herbalist?”