Timebound (Blade of Shadows #3)

Chapter 1

Marcellious

What kind of man guts you with a blade so sharp you don’t feel it until the blood starts spilling?

A demon.

Not just any monster—he was the darkest of the dark, the kind of nightmare that even the supernatural feared. And right now, that nightmare was fetching something to tend to the wounds he had inflicted on me.

I lay on a filthy bedframe, staring at the gaping wound carved from my navel to my pelvis. My torso was bare, my deerskin breeches unfastened and spread apart, exposing my lower abdomen. My moccasins were gone—discarded like I was already a corpse.

A chill crept over me. Sweat slicked my skin. My stomach churned.

Holy fuck. Was I going to die?

I let my head fall back and closed my eyes.

Whack!

A stinging slap snapped my head to the side. My eyes flew open.

Balthazar.

A thousand flickering candles bathed his lair in eerie light.

A short time ago, I’d been heading for the Catskills with my wife, Emily, and that insufferable bitch, Olivia.

Now, I was here—wherever here was. The last thing I remembered was stepping into John James’ house and finding him decapitated.

Then Balthazar appeared. Then, his blade.

And then—nothing.

How the hell had I ended up in this place? The question gnawed at my mind, but the pain was too much to dwell on for long.

Balthazar lifted an elegant glass vial, its delicate handle resting in a silver holder. His lips curved into something that might have been a smirk.

“Ready? This will make you feel so much better. It’s a healing tonic.”

I barely had the strength to nod. My body was failing, the agony unbearable. If this was a trick, I no longer cared.

Balthazar tipped the vial, and the healing tonic dripped into my wound.

I shrieked like a stuck pig.

The liquid sizzled and burned as it seeped into my wound, scorching my insides like molten iron.

“Stop acting like a little bitch,” Balthazar snarled, his long teeth sharp and unnaturally white despite centuries of existence. “I procured this substance from a necromancer in Italy in the late fifteenth century.”

Pain tore through me like bolts of lightning. The only response I managed was another scream.

“The necromancer said he got the recipe from a corpse. Or maybe from the corpse’s lingering spirit,” Balthazar mused, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s been so long. How can I remember such details?”

I had known pain before. In the eighteenth century, I had been pierced by arrows and tomahawks. As a gladiator in ancient Rome, I had been mauled by lions, harpooned by the three-pronged fascina, and skewered by the curved blades of siccae.

But nothing compared to the agony inflicted by a master of depravity.

No one could rival Balthazar in the art of pain. And no one delighted in suffering more than he did.

The grin on his face as he poured another stream of tonic into my wound was evidence enough.

I nearly blacked out.

Balthazar sneered and struck me across the face, the impact snapping me back to consciousness. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard.

“Don’t you dare lose consciousness,” he growled. “The healing properties won’t work if you’re inert.”

I wheezed, “Who told you that? The Necromancer? Or the dead man?”

Sweat pooled beneath me, soaking the filthy mattress. My skin was drenched, my body reeking of blood and sickness.

Balthazar pried open the edges of my wound with his clawed fingertips, peering inside with a satisfied hum.

“The elixir seems to be working,” he said. “Show some gratitude.”

I sucked in a ragged breath. Gratitude? My entire body was on fire, my mind barely clinging to consciousness.

“It’s hard to be… grateful… when I can barely… think,” I rasped. “You weren’t supposed to… gut me… like that.” My voice was a strangled mess. “You were only…”

I fought to keep my breath steady. Damn it. Focus.

“Supposed… to scare them… away.”

The pain was unbearable—like I was being burned alive from the inside out.

Balthazar twirled a hand in the air, and the candle flames sputtered. “Oh, I think Olivia and Emily were suitably horrified,” he said, voice rich with amusement. “I do love toying with them, especially Olivia. Watching her squirm, seeing her afraid… There’s nothing quite as satisfying.”

He chuckled, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “Besides, I had to make it look real. I couldn’t exactly tell them you’ve been working for me all along, now, could I?”

An angelic smile spread across his devilish face.

I forced my lips to move. “I suppose… not…” My body was seconds away from shutting down. “Still… I didn’t think it would… hurt this… much.”

Balthazar withdrew his fingers and picked up the vial again.

“I missed a spot.”

“No!” I thrashed weakly, my arms flailing.

“Oh, yes. Be the warrior you are. My strongest soldier yet.”

Another stream of silvery liquid splashed into my wound.

The pain was indescribable. My flesh hissed, steam rising from my belly as the tonic burned through my insides.

I screamed—a sound ripped from the depths of my soul.

A man was never meant to look down and see his entrails. But when I lifted my head, that was exactly what I saw—pinkish-white, glistening under candlelight.

Balthazar pressed a firm hand against my chest, flattening me to the mattress.

“Stay still and let the medicine do its magic,” Balthazar murmured, his voice almost soothing. “I’ve seen its effects before. I’m not just using you for torture.”

No—but he was enjoying every second of it.

The pain dulled to a slow, aching throb, pulsing through my body like a heartbeat. I wiped the sweat from my brow with a shaky forearm and exhaled a ragged breath.

“You weren’t supposed to hurt me like that,” I said again, my voice hoarse. “I pledged to work with you because I revel in darkness, not because I have some masochistic desire for suffering.”

Drained, I struggled to prop myself up on my elbows.

Balthazar’s expression darkened. “When I summoned you, I told you to follow my orders, not to make your own choices. Did I ask you to marry Emily?” His lip curled in disgust. “She’s nothing but a fragile, whimpering human.

Do you want lovers? I can provide you with lovers.

A man like you craves something… darker.

You should never have settled for Emily.

No, you need someone much more depraved. ”

He placed the vial on a small, polished table against the wall.

I tracked the movement, watching the glass container like a cornered animal. My entire body tensed, half-expecting him to pick it up again and continue his torment. But instead, he stepped away, sauntering across the room to lean against the fireplace mantel.

Behind him, the logs crackled, sending fiery embers against the iron grate. Shadows stretched across his features while the flames cast an eerie glow behind him.

“I’m waiting,” he said coolly.

“For?”

Holding myself upright became too much effort. My muscles gave out, and I slumped back onto the mattress.

“For your justification.” His voice hardened. “For marrying a human—that human. And for making choices without consulting me.” His face twisted with disgust.

“I had my reasons,” I groaned, attempting to curl my knees to my chest as another wave of pain shot through me. The movement was impossible. My body refused to cooperate.

“And what might those be?”

Balthazar stalked toward me, each step echoing through the cavernous room. The click of his boots against stone was deafening, each impact striking my ears like gunfire.

“She’s Olivia’s sister.” My voice was raw, strained. “So, I married her.”

Balthazar stilled.

I squeezed my eyes shut, panting through the searing pain. When I caught enough breath to continue, I forced the words out.

“It had to look real… I had to pretend…” My abdomen throbbed, the agony coiling tighter. “I had to pretend I was a changed man.”

Balthazar’s brows furrowed, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. His entire body went still.

“What did you just say?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “The first part.”

He loomed over me, shadows twisting across his features.

I tried to shove him away—weakly, pathetically.

“Emily… she’s Olivia’s sister.” My body tensed against another jolt of pain. “Alina had two children.” I groaned and writhed, bile rising in my throat. “Different fathers.”

A horrifying realization spread across Balthazar’s face.

“That means Emily is a Timebound.”

His head snapped back, and a roar tore from his throat, shaking the rafters.

I flinched, instinctively throwing my arms over my head for protection. When no blow came, I risked a glance at him.

Trying to redirect his rage, I rasped, “What is a Timebound?”

“Fuck Alina!” Balthazar snarled, completely ignoring my question. “She gave birth to two bastards and never gave me a child! Instead, I have a son who is an idiot and a complete failure.”

A son?

Balthazar has a son?

The revelation barely registered as fresh waves of agony racked my body. It felt like wild dogs were tearing into my entrails, gnawing and snapping at exposed flesh.

Balthazar stormed around the room, his fury rattling everything—the bed, the candles, the ancient books lining the shelves. Even the logs in the fireplace crackled and flared as if feeding off his wrath.

Then he stopped.

He stood beside my bed, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes and inhaled, long and deep, as though forcing himself into control.

I braced myself.

When he opened his eyes again, they burned like rubies, a molten, seething red. He ran his tongue over his sharp incisors, his gaze fixed on my wound.

His fingers drummed against his thighs methodically.

If he had a tail, I was sure it would lash like a predator on the verge of striking.

“You should have brought this information to me sooner. Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”