Bound to the Beast (Sons of Atlantis #1)

Chapter 1

Atlantis never slept. It just simmered.

Skylanes roared overhead, striplight ads flickered against chrome-tinted towers, and rain slicked the city’s lower tiers in a sheen of filth and neon. Down here in the Seam, it always smelled like wet stone, synth-oil, and smoke—like the bones of a city trying to burn itself clean.

Riven didn’t slow his pace.

He cut through a crowded crosswalk, head down, hood up, boots hammering asphalt.

The weight in his jacket pocket swung against his ribs—a slim silver case, padded and rune-sealed.

No bigger than a wallet, but valuable enough to earn him a bolt between the eyes if the wrong people caught him holding it.

He didn’t stick around to see if anyone had followed.

He’d grabbed the thing from a transit drone outside a mid-tier syndicate’s courier hub, one of those shell Houses that wasn’t quite major enough to matter—until you messed with their money.

He’d hacked the routing spell mid-flight, yanked the drone down behind a noodle shack, and disappeared into the backstreets before the ward alarms even fully tripped.

That was twenty minutes ago. Long enough for the sirens to go up. Not long enough for him to be safe.

A tram screamed past overhead, sparks jumping from its rail. Riven ducked under a broken streetlight and slid into a half-shuttered stairwell, jumping three steps at a time. He emerged into the top level of a parking deck, where a single hoverbike rested in a shadowed corner like a waiting beast.

“Please still be here,” he muttered.

It was. And it was his. Stolen six months ago, untraceable, and rewired so many times it didn’t even hum right.

He kicked the ignition rune and took off.

Fifteen minutes later, he was deep in the Drift: all sagging chainlink, flickering holo-ads, and buildings leaning like drunk uncles. A part of the city so chewed-up the Houses barely bothered patrolling it. Which made it perfect.

He parked behind a noodle stall that smelled more like rot than broth and knocked twice on the steel door beside it.

The slot peeled open. A pair of watery blue eyes peered through.

“Shit, Riven,” the man grunted. “You look like hell.”

“I bring gifts,” Riven said, pulling the case from his jacket.

The door opened. Riven stepped into a cramped, dimly-lit room stuffed with ancient monitors, rune-inscribed safes, and the sour musk of too many locked boxes. The fence—Fellik—waddled over to the nearest table, scratching at his wiry beard.

“You’re late,” he muttered. “And stupid. You know what people are saying out there?”

“I try not to listen when I’m running for my life.”

Fellik cracked open the case. The inside glowed faintly, a soft green shimmer from the containment glyphs. Inside, a series of thin crystalline vials sat cradled in spellfoam.

Fellik swore.

“You really did it. Pulled from a House shipment?”

“Not a real House,” Riven said. “One of the trade-shells.”

“Doesn’t matter. Still got a sigil. Still got teeth. You get caught with this, they’ll skin you before your sentence finishes loading.”

“That’s why I’m selling to you. Unless you’re growing a conscience.”

Fellik snorted and reached for a scanner. Riven let the man work. Light pinged off the vials, runes sparking faintly as their contents were verified.

While he waited, Riven leaned against a stack of old spell-drives and stared at nothing.

This was stupid.

Not the theft—he was good at those. But the risk. Every time, the stakes got higher. Every time, he let desperation push him further.

He thought of his sister. The debts that still chained her wrist. The healers that still hadn’t fixed their father.

The slow, helpless fall of a family that had never had enough to begin with.

He’d tried jobs, real ones—warehouse runs, courier work, even bounty lifting.

It was never enough. So he’d picked a lock one day. Then a pocket. Then a vault.

Ten years later, he was better at it than he liked to admit.

Fellik sealed the case.

“I’ll take it,” he said, not meeting Riven’s eyes. “But I’m telling you now, don’t come back next week with another House pull. Not till things cool down.”

“You say that every week.”

“Yeah,” Fellik muttered. “And one of these weeks, you won’t walk back out.”

He handed over a credit chip—modest, but real—and Riven tucked it into his belt.

Just as he turned to leave, his pocket buzzed.

Riven sighed and pulled out his phone. One message from his sister.

“Come home. Urgent.”

His stomach turned.

He stared at the words for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. He resisted the urge to send a snarky message back. It was always urgent with her.

Then he shoved the phone back into his pocket and stepped out into the night.

The city was still out there. Chewing, gnashing, glittering like a blade.

And now, so was something worse.

By the time he reached home, early morning light illuminated the bustling megacity of Atlantis.

The building he and his sister called home looked worse in daylight, which said something, because it was already a crumbling eyesore by moonlight.

Concrete cracked like dry skin. The stairwell stank of mildew and cheap incense.

Someone had tagged a curse glyph over the buzzer panel again, low-level hexwork meant to sour luck and rot bones.

Riven stepped over it, jaw tight, and froze the moment he saw the vehicle out front.

Sleek. Black. Subtle as a gun to the temple.

The Virellien sigil gleamed silver on the driver-side door—an elegant dagger driven through the heart of a lily in bloom. Riven swore under his breath and took the stairs two at a time.

Inside, the apartment was a familiar mess of too much and not enough.

Threadbare furniture crowded against cracked walls.

An ancient vidscreen flickered blue static over a stained rug.

The air smelled like burnt coffee and leftover synth-noodles, and half the lights didn’t work unless you kicked the baseboards.

He shoved the door open, half-expecting a shakedown already in progress.

Instead, he found his sister trying and failing to talk her way out of something she clearly couldn’t fix.

Kaya stood just inside the living room, slim arms crossed tight over her chest, face drawn and pale beneath her tangled black curls.

Her coat hung off one shoulder, and her eyeliner had smudged like she’d been rubbing her eyes.

They looked alike, more than either of them liked to admit—same dark hair, same angular cheekbones, same storm-gray eyes that saw too much and gave away too little.

But while Riven carried himself like a blade half-drawn, she always looked close to falling apart.

Facing her was a tall elf woman clad in full House tactical gear, the dark fabric lined with thin rune-silver that gleamed faintly in the shadows.

Her face was unreadable, lips pressed in a line of quiet impatience, her hands resting on the belt of her armor.

She didn’t look impressed. She looked like someone who was here to tick a box and leave with a problem crossed off.

“I just need more time,” Kaya was saying. “I can make it up, I swear. I’ve got something lined up, it’s just—”

“No more time,” the woman said flatly.

Riven stepped inside. “What’s going on?”

The elf’s eyes flicked toward him. “She’s out of time. The House has waited long enough.”

He stared at his sister, who avoided his gaze. Her arms tightened around herself, like they could hold in the mess she’d made. The apartment suddenly felt too small, the air too thin.

“What happens now?” Riven asked quietly.

“She’ll be remanded into House custody and assigned labor until her debts are cleared.” The elf said it like reading off a list.

“No,” Riven said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of cash, the last of what the fence had handed him, and held it out. “Take this.”

She didn’t move. “It’s not enough.”

“I can get more.”

“You don’t have time either.”

There was a tremble in the silence that followed. Kaya looked up at him finally, tears glinting in her eyes. “Riven, please—”

She didn’t need to say more. He knew her. Knew she couldn’t hold down a job. Knew the gambling had only gotten worse, even when she promised it wouldn’t. She wasn’t cut out for House work. Not the kind they assigned to debtors.

He wanted to scream. Instead, he closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight, and said, “Then take me.”

The elf raised a brow. “You’re not the one who owes the debt.”

“I’ll pay it for her,” Riven said. “Whatever it takes.”

The woman studied him for a long moment. Then she pulled out a sleek comm device, turned away, and spoke quietly into it. Riven didn’t hear the words, just the cadence—crisp and professional, like she was ordering a room cleaned.

Kaya grabbed his arm. “Riven, thank you. Thank you, I swear I’ll make it up to you—”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, and all he could think was how this would be one more mistake he’d regret.

The elf turned back.

“The House accepts your offer. You’re to come with me. Now.”