Cure Bound: A Dark Vampire Romance (The Witches' Bind Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Cure Bound (The Witches’ Bind Trilogy #1)

  Copyright © 2021 by M.L. Philpitt

  ISBN 13: 978-1-7774731-0-5

  ISBN 10: 1-7774731-0-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hanson, Okay Creations.

  Editing: Rebecca Barney, Fairest Reviews Editing Services

  Proofreading: Amy Briggs, Briggs Consulting LLC

  Formatting: M.L. Philpitt

  “Into the Lair” by Zedd

  “Zombie” by Bad Wolves

  “Ever Fallen in Love” by Pete Yorn

  “Walk Through Fire” by Klergy ft. Bellsaint

  “The Unforgiven” by Metallica

  “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran

  “Believer” by Imagine Dragons

  “Eyes on Fire” by Blue Foundation

  “Mad World” by KJ Apa, Lili Reinhart, & Camila Mendes

  “Calling From Above” by Bassnectar

  “Sparks” by Hilary Duff

  “My Immortal” by Evanescence

  Listen here

  Cure Bound is the first book in The Witches’ Bind Trilogy. Cure Bound reads as a standalone, but the trilogy should be read in order due to the overarching series plot.

  Cure Bound is a dark vampire romance with content some readers may find triggering. Trigger warnings include dubious consent, explicit sexual content, kidnapping, physical violence, swearing, attempted rape, and death.

  For everyone who ever believed I could do it

  1521

  Magic jolts through Mary, the first of her kind and earth-bound representative of the Goddess. Prophecies of the future—the near future, in fact—explode in her mind and her eyes jerk open.

  Tomorrow, two powerful spells will be cast, deepening the war between witches and vampires. Mary’s wistful sigh carries over the glistening pond in front of her. The hate needs to end. If only she could interfere more directly, but the Goddess would have her magic for doing so.

  As if summoned, the Goddess’s melodious voice floats in with the warm, summer breeze. Daughter, she greets. Her winds ruffle the strands of Mary’s golden hair.

  “Goddess.”

  Your hopes are answered. I am here to provide you with three tasks. The interspecies wars need to conclude, as there is too much bloodshed. My witches are dying with no gain.

  Mary’s head goes up, alert. “What will you have me do?”

  You have seen what tomorrow will bring. Let the future unfold, because it is those precise spells that will alter the association between witches and vampires. It will transform the warring relationship into something more unifying. Your first task is to ensure this is seen through.

  The glittering pond ripples, leaving behind an image occurring sometime in the far future, based on the clothing they wear. A man—the same man seen in one of tomorrow’s visions—embraces a woman with long, red hair. A Sinclair witch. That red hair has represented their fiery magic for centuries. His face nuzzles into her neck and at closer inspection, his fangs scrape her skin.

  As the image settles upon the water, the Goddess speaks again. There is a witch…A witch from a fiery coven, with red hair. There is a vampire. A vampire who exists in darkness and feels only darkness. Together, they will make up the first fated pair and will rule the two groups into the future. Together, she will find herself again and he will be undone.

  Mary’s eyes bulge at the image in the pond and the prophecy she listens to. “Interesting, Goddess, very interesting. Seems like quite the millennia it shall be. What do I need to do?” Her stomach flutters in anticipation. Helping witches gives Mary purpose.

  Instead of responding, more images flow over the water. Clips of the same vampire over the course of time, and his resistance to the truth and his future.

  He will be your challenge, the Goddess declares. Your first task will also be your most taxing. Good luck, daughter.

  The warm air dissipates into a cool breeze as the Goddess leaves Mary to her own deliberations and growing plans. She closes her eyes again and lets the future wash over her. The future which starts with tomorrow…

  The next day, the attack is the catalyst for fate’s change.

  The vampire leaps from where she hovers, hidden in the shadows of the trees. Her claw-like nails sink into the witch’s side as she brings them both crashing to the ground. She shoves the witch’s face into the dirt as her two needlepointed fangs sink into the witch’s neck. Her prey thrashes against the bite, arms flailing, but she is nothing against immortal strength. Ice-cold hands press her wrists into the ground as the teeth bite deeper.

  Gulps of blood flow from her into the vampire’s mouth and between the weakening of her body and the hands holding her, she stops fighting back, welcoming the sweet sensation of peace that hovers right there in her mind. Her eyes slide shut for what feels like the final time.

  “Elizabeth!” the voice of her sister calls out to her. Clarice Sinclair rushes into the clearing, a spell sizzling on her fingertips.

  The teeth rip from her throat with a snarl, and Elizabeth cries out at the tearing of her skin. The weight of the body disappears and a hoarse cry floats from close by. She turns her head to the side and slowly pries open her eyes, forcing them against the striking pain. Only a few feet from her, Clarice has her attacker pinned to the ground with a spell. Her expression is tight and fury is distinct over the glow emitting from her. The vampire fights against the invisible bonds pinning her to the ground while her blood-stained mouth is pried open, fangs protruding, in a silent scream.

  Elizabeth, being new in the art of defensive magic, can’t identify the spell Clarice is using, but it exudes the scent of victory. Knowing Clarice will survive the fight, Elizabeth welcomes the lulling sense of death, her eyes drooping closed again.

  “Elizabeth, don’t die on me. She’s gone now.”

  Again, Elizabeth slowly pries open her exhausted lids, spotting Clarice hovering over her. Her expression is a weak attempt at masking the evident fear. Her lips tremble, worry lines crease her forehead, and her eyes dart around Elizabeth’s body before settling on the wound at the base of her neck.

  “I will fix this.” The tremor in her tone is too harsh to be ignored and Elizabeth knows Clarice doesn’t believe her own words.

  A vampire’s bite is death to a witch. It is nature’s way of protecting the Goddess’s children from being turned into a servant of the devil.

  Elizabeth doesn’t know if it is possible or not, but blood magic is a strong thing. Her eyes flutter, her body going numb, and sleep is on the immediate horizon, but she pushes out, “Use me. My blood.”

  “Shh.” Clarice takes Elizabeth’s hand. “You have learned the craft well, sister. I wish there was more time to teach you the rest. Please, go well and be with all our other sister witches in the afterlife.”

  With the little strength she has remaining, Elizabeth gestures to her wound. “Use my blood. Curse…my bloodline. My baby girl.” She stops for a moment to gulp in air, seeing the daughter she had to
send away. Her soft baby cheeks and the mop of light red hair that had already formed. “My bloodline…a cure for vampirism. No more…vampires.”

  On the last word, the young witch’s hand falls back to the ground and her eyes drift close. She shudders one last time, sealing her legacy.

  Clarice solemnly rips a strip of cloth from her drabby dress and sops up some of Elizabeth’s blood, gathering it to do as she requested. A plan that will be the ultimate stake to the vampires.

  Later that night, Clarice stands in the centre of a pentacle of candles, holding one unlit red candle in her hand. She closes her eyes, tipping her head to the sky and speaks the words:

  Blood of blood,

  the Goddess’s daughters

  will rid this world of its evil.

  Blood of the Sinclairs

  Be the shield and the sword.

  Rid this world of vampires.

  “It is recognized from here and now the female bloodline of Elizabeth Sinclair will forever be the cure for vampirism. Through the power of her family, there will be no more vampires. No more witches will die from their bite.”

  She drops the blood-soaked cloth onto the candle. A flame ignites and seals in the spell, consuming the cloth with every flicker of the fire.

  Somewhere far away, Elizabeth’s abandoned baby girl cries when she is jolted from sleep.

  While Clarice is casting the first spell, Alec walks through the underbrush in search of Cora. She left for a snack, but that was hours ago, and she never strays too far from him.

  A breeze picks up through the trees and the sweet scent of honey floats into his vicinity. Cora. Pushing his feet forward, he is a blur through the woods until breaking into the clearing where her scent leads. His gaze darts around the space until he sees it.

  A body across the clearing.

  Her body. Unmoving. The odour of death is strong. He’s too late.

  Alec’s eyes squeeze shut once before he walks toward her sluggishly, muscles tight at what he knows he’s going to find. If he were a human, his skin would clam up, his legs would grow weak, but unfortunately for him, his immortal strength takes him easily to her side.

  She’s pale—paler than normal. Her blonde hair lies across her chest, concealing the corset of her favourite dress. He brushes the strands aside, knowing it’ll be the final time he regards her. Her fangs are peeking out from the fold of her mouth, the shine of the moonlight a glint against their dainty points. He constantly enjoyed teasing her about her small fangs, despite the fact he loved them.

  There’s no mark of damage, no sign of a stake in her heart, therefore this must be witchcraft’s doing. There’s no physical sign of death, so it’s the only thing it can be.

  His body shudders in anguish and he clutches the strands of his hair, wishing this would all go away. His hands fist on the ground, his nails dragging through the hard dirt as rage consumes him. The need to destroy whoever did this.

  The wind blows again, reminding him he’s still alive, while Cora is not. By no means will he ever lie with her again, never share a human’s blood, never kiss her again. He had planned on centuries with her, but they were cut short after one.

  Alec runs his hands through his hair, once, then twice, while he watches her still form. I’d give up everything to have you back.

  His jittery hand takes hers and he holds it to his face, pressing his cool lips upon her skin. I love you. She’ll never hear the words again, and with this thought, a whimper finally escapes his lips.

  For a long while, he sits there, holding Cora’s hand in his own, so still a squirrel decides to inspect them, before disappearing into the woods again and away from the sorrowful scene.

  Eventually Alec stands, knowing what needs to happen next. He swallows down his pain and pulls a match from his pocket, lighting it before throwing it on her body. Her slim figure, silky hair, and soft face are consumed by the flames as they alight every part of her.

  It’ll be the last time he feels any emotion, he vows. I will never love, never care for anyone again. You will be my one and only, forever, he thinks, watching the flickering fire. Losing her doesn’t mean she can be replaced at any time.

  The nighttime casts shadows over the area, merging in with his soul. If he could ever be considered a good person, it’s gone now, replaced by only darkness. The cool breeze is sucked into his chest, freezing and numbing his heart to any feeling.

  Alec remains there until the fire consumes Cora’s body, but before he walks away, he makes a final promise to her ashes. “I will destroy the witches that did this to you.”

  He leaves Cora behind, with only the memories of her accompanying him through the rest of his existence.

  It takes Alec less than a day to discover the witches at fault is the Sinclairs, the very coven he planned on attacking for their land. The final memory of Cora before she went off to hunt, when she kissed him goodbye, leaving nothing but a serene smile for him to hold onto in her absence, fuels him through his retribution. The slaughter of the Sinclairs is much too quick a death for what they did, but his wrath won’t be contained.

  The force of his sword plunges into the witch’s chest, shoving her dying body to the dry ground, and a satisfied smugness drives him to finish this. The tip of his boot hits the corpse as he steps over it, sword still standing from her chest, and heads for the remaining witch. She lays on the dirt-coated ground, grasping the bleeding wound on her neck he had given her moments ago. His large frame casts a shadow over her form; her impending death is but a moment away.

  “You lost.” His eyes narrow as he takes her in, feeling his triumph. “And after you’re gone, there will be no one from your damn bloodline still alive. If there is, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth.” No Sinclair witch will survive his rage, and for that, his arrogant laugh can’t be contained.

  She spits, blood hitting his leather boot, before sucking in a deep, ragged breath to utter, “My coven did nothing to you. We are protected by the Goddess.”

  “Nothing to me?” He crouches down to her level, his brow hiking in disbelief at her asinine remark. “You did everything to me. You killed her.”

  The witch’s eyes swell with realization and dread, while her weakening muscles tremble, and the scent of fear and sweat grows strong. He knows he saved the most important witch for last; the one who murdered Cora.

  Needing to feel this witch’s death, he tugs her body toward him. She sags helplessly, no remainder of fight left in her bones. Her lips crack open, as if she’s going to speak, but he cuts her off. “I will be the one to take your life, just as you did to her.” His eyes, deadly white, are consumed with bloodlust and the crazed anger infusing him since the second he found Cora dead.

  His teeth sink into the clean side of her neck and he pulls deep gulps of blood from her. As he takes her life force, his rage cools, rolling from his shoulder and into the night air, leaving nothing behind but the shell of the man he was. He releases her limp body, dropping her unceremoniously to the ground in order to observe her final moment. Her heavy panting and dulling eyes shift his mood into pure satisfaction.

  “You are…a monster,” she whispers, her words fading alongside her life. “One day…a witch will be…your…un…undoing.”

  A snarl rips from his throat and blood rushes to his ears. “One already was. You. When you took her from me.” Memories of Cora interrupt his anger, but he pushes her away once more. This is for you, Cora.

  As the dying witch closes her eyes forever, she mumbles something under her breath. Something even his enhanced hearing does not pick up. When she’s finally another withered body amongst the many around the clearing, he takes his leave.

  That night, he dreams of red hair.

  Present Day

  My fangs unhook from the girl’s soft skin and I scrape them along the length of her neck. “Where is he hiding?” Her hands loop around my neck, fingers brushing the tips of my hair and she giggles demurely, giving nothing away. “You can tell me,”
I push on. “Where can I find him?”

  She sits up straight, leaning her body away from mine. The girl’s blue, human eyes shine with trust, exactly how he’s trained her to feel around any one of us. From her willingness to join me, it’s clear she doesn’t have the same healthy inherent fear other humans have.

  “I don’t think I should.” A timid expression flashes across her face again and her hand slowly travels down the length of my bare chest until she finds my cock, taking it into her small grasp. “However, I do want more of this.”

  I push her hand away in order to get a firmer grasp on her hips, and pull her closer, ridding the space between us.

  “Last chance,” I purr, nuzzling her neck. My nose bumps her pulse point; the rapid beat playing music for me. “Tell me where he is and you are free.”

  She bites her bottom lip, and a streak of fear finally crosses her expression. “I can’t. I love him.” With her words, her heartbeat rockets under her skin and her eyes flash, uncertain. She knows she’s said the wrong thing.

  Stockholm Syndrome at its finest. I fall back against the leather chair, examining the beautiful, naked human on my lap. He trains them well and it’s a shame how her life will end.

  Faster than she can track, I move, pinning her hands to her side so she can’t fight against my attack. I sink my teeth back into her neck, but this time deeper, pulling more blood from her with the intention to kill rather than feed. Within seconds, her neck falls to the side, her body slumping and becoming heavy against my own. After a few more sips, she’s nothing more than dead human and I let her fall to the carpeted floor as I stand up.

  After a quick text message, my stubby assistant wobbles into the room. Basset was a pity change—someone who came to me requesting an out of his mundane life in exchange for anything. I needed an assistant for my growing business ventures, and so a deal was struck. He’s remained loyal for the past century.