Soul Unbound Key to the Cursed, Book 3
WHEN LOVE AND HONOR IS LOSTBomani escapes his Underworld home under a cloud of loss and shame into the realm of the living, a place he doesn’t belong. Desperate to stay hidden from his family, Bomani agrees to track an exiler with strict orders to look but not touch. The moment he encounters his mark, the Goddess of War, he knows he is damned to break the one order that is keeping him from facing his shame.
NOT ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WARExiled to the human realm over four thousand years ago with a stay of execution, Siya struggles to ensure that the good of humanity prospers despite the evil invading its core. Memories of a forbidden love affair resurface when she is haunted by a dark warrior lurking in the shadows. Fate has told her there are no second chances at love, especially when the next day may be her last.
Read ~ Soul Unbound
The wind screamed through the dark alley and kicked up black rotten garbage. The debris hit the back of Bomani’s legs along with the damp air clawing up the gap in his coat. He gritted his teeth. Bast was late, again. Bomani’s bounty cowered in the corner next to the green dumpster. The exiler had been easy to find and subdue. Not unlike the prior five he had caught, but this one sliced a damn hole through his wool coat. The exiler shifted. “Go ahead. Run. It will only give me another reason to beat your ass,” Bomani snarled. The minor god buried his head in his knees and sobbed. “I am innocent. You have the wrong god.” Bomani stared at the scarab mark on the back of the god’s neck. He did not know this exiler’s crime, nor did he care. In all his years as the Underworld Legion Commander, he had yet to see one innocent of the crime. “Yeah, I believe you.” Bomani snorted. Memories of his former life inflamed the pain in his chest. The warrior and leader he had once been died along with Kendra, the first to capture his heart and the last to break it. Heat, as hot as the sun, rippled over Bomani’s shoulders and in through the new tear in his coat. It was about fucking time. A slender white hand pressed against his shoulder. He stifled his urge to rip it away. “Very good.” Bast patted him like he was some mangy dog who just retrieved the stick she had thrown. Her hot breath curled around his exposed neck, burning the skin between his scarification tattoos. “I hope he was not too much trouble,” Bast said, not to Bomani, but to the god quivering on the ground. The god raised his swollen face. The bruises had yet to clear even with the god’s innate healing powers. “Since when did the Creation Protectors have an Underworld warrior on their enforcement team?” Bast crouched, her white gown flowing out around her. She traced the purple egg-shaped bulge on the prisoner’s face with her sharp, pointed nail. “Mention this to anyone and you will lose more than your powers,” she hissed and dug her nails into his throat. “And that is after I let him carve those tattoos into your skin.” Bomani glared at Bast, hating she was his only option and the fact he would take great pleasure in doing exactly as she commanded. How things had changed. The male he had once been would have never done what he had to stay here, but he could not go home. Not now. A renewed fury burned in his gut. His honor had denied him so much. Otherwise, Kendra, the young demi-god, would have been his. He’d had his chance. She had offered herself to him, but he had taken the moral high ground and refused. What did his selfless act get him? Bomani turned away from the reality of his mistakes and the sorrow settling deep in his soul. He would not allow Bast to see his pain, let alone feel the extent of his losses. His home. His legion. Life as he had always known it to be.