Haunted Bond (Cursed Legacies)

Prologue

ASHER

"What a valiant little fighter this one is. Don't you think, Koa?"

"He is, my love."

"Bow your head, boy. We will make you as mighty as a phoenix rising from ashes."

___

"You know I'm proud of you getting into the Legacy Council's hunter training program, Asher. I know that's hard to do, and you should celebrate, but…you can't be here. Your father will be back any minute, and I can't stand seeing you fight."

"I'm always fighting, Mom. It's all I do. And why the hell is that fucker back again?"

"Please just drop it. Things are different this time.”

"Bullshit. Is he still hitting you?"

"That's enough! I don't want to deal with this right now.”

"I swear on everything holy, if he hurts you again, I'll put a godsdamned bullet in his head. Scratch that, the next time I so much as see him, I’ll—"

"Asher, just go. It's what's best for everyone."

"Mom—"

"I said, get out!"

___

"This one's got a big mouth, sir. I was just teaching him a lesson for shit-talking the Council."

"By gutting him in his sleep? I knew you had a bad habit of hazing atypical casters, Davies, but I didn't know you were such a coward.

Attacking an unarmed fellow hunter-in-training in his sleep just because of his personal opinions?

Cut the shit, we both know this is really because the others prefer his leadership to yours. Are you all right, Douglas?"

"Can't complain now that my innards are back inside me, sir."

"Sir, he was—"

"Get out, Davies. And don't bother showing up for the hellhound assignation tomorrow.

You're a disgrace to this program. Douglas, get your rest. As you know, a hellhound won't imprint on a hunter unless it's one they'd place all their infernal lives on the line for.

If you want a strong hellhound, you've gotta be strong tomorrow. "

___

"You'll be sitting out this hunt, Douglas. Take a few days to cope at the training facility."

"You're benching me? All due respect, sir, that's fucking insane. The others can't track this target without my sixth sense, and I'm not going to let you send them on a damned suicide mission."

"You and I both know you're in no state to hunt."

"What the hell makes you think—"

"I heard about your mother and what that DeLune bastard did to your father for it. You need time to grieve, kid. Go to her funeral, take some time off, and get your head right."

"My head's fine, I'm not a kid anymore, and you know what? Fuck this. I don't need you assigning my targets anymore, anyway. Everyone knows I get the job done, whether it's the Legacy Council hiring me or some other fat cat. I'm going with the others."

"Where are you going? Get your ass back here. You go rogue as a bounty hunter, Douglas, and you'll last one month, tops. Don't you dare storm out of my office! Mark my words, you’ll get yourself killed out there!"

“Consider them marked and ignored, sir.”

___

"Ima sangfluir! Let me out! Sequi mi leanthin! You damned leprechaun, let me out! Liberathe debeo ech bring her back!"

"Has he been like this all day?"

"All week. Look, Frost, I get that he's your quintet member and all, but…

that fae's brain is scrambled. He tried to kill Lillian the last time she stepped in here.

Don't try to scare me with that look—I'm not saying give up on the zombie-raiser.

I'm just saying, don't let Lillian visit him anymore unless you or I come with her. "

"Fine. Force feed him again and tell your men we'll leave within the hour."

___

"Medic! Medic! Everyone, move out of the way—we've got another one straight from the arena combat zone!"

"Gods, this battle is fucking brutal."

"Here. Set him down."

"Wait…is that the Asher Douglas? Holy hell, I almost didn't recognize him. What happened?"

"Bullet to the brain, blood loss, and gods know what else. It's severe. Only reason his heart's still beating at all is because that hellhound of his protected his body 'til it got offed."

"Damn it, the swelling is worse than I thought. We may need a craniectomy over here."

"Hand me that elixir. Quickly."

"More pressure!"

"We're losing him!"

___

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"But he's stable now?"

"Yes, Mr. Frost. All signs of life are there."

"Can he hear us?"

"We're not sure. He's been comatose for days, but…"

"Spit it out, Doctor."

"I've seen cases this severe once or twice back while I was working as a combat medic at the Divide.

Even with top healers doing their best to magically repair a body and wiping away all traces of scarring, it can take time for that body to adjust to the magical interference and truly patch itself up.

Magic-assisted healing is multifaceted, especially with traumatic brain injuries this extensive. "

"But he will wake up and make a full recovery?"

"We are very optimistic in that regard. However, he may remain under for some time. Weeks, or possibly months. I understand that you've rather stubbornly stepped in as Mr. Douglas's guarantor."

"He's a friend, and I owe him."

"He's very fortunate to be alive. The gods must have favored him in that nightmarish battle.

Now, we would be happy to continue caring for him here, in our inpatient facility, only…

with so many recovering from the Battle of the Citadel, all hospitals are running low on beds.

If you'd rather he be watched over in a private residence until his condition improves, I could help you arrange it.

Twenty-four-seven care from a private team of healers and nurses is usually quite expensive, but—"

"Give me your recommendations for the very best of them."

My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton.

And what the hell is up my nose and down my throat? A feeding tube?

I try to lift a hand to feel what's strapped to my face, but it's as if all muscles have been removed from my limbs. They must've been taken from my face, too, because I can't open my eyes.

Soft beeping picks up its pace somewhere nearby.

I can sense that my numb, annoyingly weak body rests on a firm bed.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that those vague hallucinations circling inside my damaged head must've actually happened.

This must be wherever Frost put me while I was under.

I try to open my heavy eyelids again. And again.

Seriously, were they cemented shut? Any fucking day now would be nice.

"He's regaining consciousness," an older man's voice whispers nearby.

My eyes don't get the telltale glow since they're shut, but I feel someone using magic beside me.

I've been able to pick up on unique magical signatures ever since Koa decided to make me an atypical caster.

It's a sixth sense that identifies magic, turning it into something like a flavor that my brain automatically codifies.

Whoever this caster is, I could now track him by his magic alone, even if he were miles away.

"Mr. Douglas?" the caster checks gently, still using common magic. "My name is Doctor Stant. You've been under for quite some time."

"Coma," I try to say to show I get the gist of what's going on.

It comes out as something between a grunt and a dumbass-sounding croak.

"Yes, that's very good, Mr. Douglas," the doctor says, like he's praising a toddler who drew a picture to tape onto his fridge.

Motherfucker, don't patronize me.

If I can't form words or open my eyes, I'm a lot more fucked up than I realized.

"He's responsive!" a woman gasps nearby. "Doctor Stant, should I send a message to let Mr. Frost know he seems to be truly waking this time?"

"Yes, thank you. Now, Mr. Douglas, please grunt again if you understand me."

It feels a lot like barking on command, but I grunt anyway.

"Excellent. Well, Asher, I'm afraid you've been in a coma for nearly four months now, ever since the Battle of the Citadel was won.

As a result, you've lost a fair amount of muscle mass, so it may take you a little bit of time and hard work to return to normal.

Everett Frost has ensured you have the best of the best here to help you get up and going again, but…

well, we're not you. Healing's hard for some of us," he chuckles.

I let myself absorb all of that. That felt like a long-ass nap, not months passing me by. Nearly four months after shit went down with the Entity would put us at…what, late November? Damn.

Whatever. If it takes even longer to heal and rebuild my muscles and shit, I can handle it. At least I'm still alive.

Then my stomach plummets.

"Werrsmuhown?" I try to demand, slurring around the tube running down my throat.

The doctor is confused. "I'm not sure what you're—"

I fight harder to open my eyes and sit up, my heart slamming inside my chest. The nearby beeping goes haywire. I manage to get one eye open and start to sit in bed before sudden weakness makes me slump back. Exhaustion turns my breathing ragged, dragging my eyelids shut again.

Pretty sure my lungs are giving out.

"Cathy? We may need oxygen in here again," Doctor Stant calls, alarmed. "Mr. Douglas, please try to relax. You're still very unwell, and you shouldn't be—"

"Dev," I force out, wheezing through the panic and my weakened lungs. "Where'smyhound?"

"Oh, your hellhound!" He pauses as if trying to pick his words carefully.

The pain starts to choke me before he even gets it out.

"I'm afraid he hasn't respawned from the Battle of the Citadel.

One of your bounty hunter friends buried his fangs and promised to send updates if there were any, but so far… "

No.

No, he isn't gone for good.

Can't be. He'll be back.

Someone is moving whatever's on my face until much-needed oxygen suddenly flows into my lungs.

I'm pretty sure I feel a needle slide into my arm.

Vaguely, I hear the doctor apologizing, telling me I'm in a delicate state still and they're just trying to help by giving me anesthesia, blah, blah, blah.

He's putting me under again, but who fucking cares?

Hellhounds are ancient, infernal creatures that get sixty-six lives.

They pop up over and over, respawning from their fangs the same way demons respawn from their horns.

The further along hellhounds are in their infernal timeline and the more times they've respawned, the bigger and stronger they get.

Dev was the biggest and strongest of the hellhounds—the oldest. No one was really sure exactly how old he was when he surprised the hell out of everyone by imprinting on me back in hunter training.

But he couldn't have been in his last life. I refuse to believe that. So long as my pal's fangs are sitting in a sack of ash under some charred earth right now, he'll respawn sooner or later.

He has to, because he's all I've got in this world. With all my family six feet under and not even one match from the Seekings I attended before I quit trying, that big teddy bear death machine of a hellhound has become family to me.

I'm not giving up on him, like he never gave up on me.

That's my last thought before darkness rises, dragging me under once again.