Heart Bound
FORBIDDEN SECRETS BOOK 7:
HEART BOUND
by
Diana Rose Wilson
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
Published by
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC
Copyright © 2018 by Diana Rose Wilson
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-68299-285-2
Credits
Cover Artist: Kelly Martin
Editor: Mary Caelsto
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
Wicked Masquerade: Forbidden Secrets Book 1
Classic, classy eroticism and a believable combination of dialogue and introspection.
~ fanfare - Literotica
I enjoyed this book. It is an introduction to characters expanded upon in future stories. Characters are believable, and plot is fun. A good read.
~ Christine Lisle - Good Reads
It was absolutely wonderful, you can just feel the tenderness and affection they have for each other. I can't wait to read more about them.
~ Anonymous - Literotica
Snow Mistress: Forbidden Secrets Book 2
Exhilarating. I absolutely loved it. I added you to my favorite authors.
~ AzamiCore - Literotica
Loved the story and excitement Diana brings to her books. Both books were read within a week of each other, which is rare for me since I only read at night. I can go on and tell you about the complex characters or how descriptive Diana's writing is...in life, there are things best left to the reader. To sum both books up with one word, hot!
~ Karen – Goodreads
Lies that Blind: SpiritBeasts Book 1
Excellent, spellbinding read. Eagerly awaiting the sequel.
~ Jasjon - Literotica
I chose 5 stars based on the complexity of the characters and chemistry. Diana does a marvelous job at getting the reader involved.
~ Karen – Goodreads
An End to Summer: SpiritLands Book 1
God! What a world you have created! So good. Is there a fifteen star thing? Thank you for the creation of fantastic characters, relatable emotions and so much more.
~ Wingedchaos – Literotica
Absolutely amazing. Loved this story! Found it hard to stop reading! Please, please give us some more!
~ Anonymous - Literotica
Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:
www.torridbooks.com
Forbidden Secrets Series
Book 1: Wicked Masquerade
Book 2: Snow Mistress
Book 3: Taming the Brat
Book 4: Blood Feathers
Book 5: Paying the Dragon’s Price
Book 6: Dangerous Seduction
SpiritBeasts Series
Book 1: Lies That Blind
SpiritLands Series
Book 1: An End to Summer
Gems Series
Book 1: All Thorns Eve
Dedication
To my soulmate and beloved, for taking my name.
Chapter 1
Holiday Party
December 19, 2015
Love was a strange emotion. Not only for its various types and depths, but because emotion was fluid. It could strengthen and multiply, spread and flourish. It could also fade, break, or sour.
Distracted by the fear that she would lose what she’d found, Ursa never suspected how much deeper passion would take her. Or how love would change her. People had tried to warn her, but she was so busy looking for the end, she’d never even seen the beginning until it had already smashed into her.
Soul mate. Life mate. Bound. Bonded. Linked. Joined. Heart match. Whatever name people were comfortable calling it, it was real. A strong-hearted, fortunate few got more than one.
Ursa witnessed the corporate holiday party unravel into chaos from the protective circle of her boyfriend Leo’s arms. It was like watching titans battle and she felt insignificant as the gods played their moves.
And they lost. Ursa saw the checkmate long before it happened. She knew they overplayed their hand, miscalculating their advantage.
The pieces they were fighting over slipped through their greedy fists. Ursa’s best friend Marcie, corporate lawyer of Alder Enterprises, walked out hand in hand with the bare-chested and tattooed heir apparent, ignoring the demands and orders of mother, aunt and uncle.
The heir apparent, Mano, held his huge golden wings open wide as though daring anyone to remark on them. Most of the guests never even noticed. Ursa had. When she looked up at Leo, his dark eyes were wide with shock. He’d seen them, too!
Those wings were similar to Leo’s, though not as handsome or refined as her love’s falcon-like wings.
When the door shut behind them, the whole room erupted in shouting. Beatrix Engel, CEO and owner of Adler Enterprises, looked as if she were going to have a stroke as her husband Maximilian led her and her twin sister, Juliette, from the room. As part of the executive team, Travis and then Leo followed.
Ursa was left to comfort her friend, Vans. It distracted her from the immediate panic, but it didn’t stop the realization that was growing in her. The facts were right there.
She’d been desperately researching why her boyfriend had wings. Surviving on coffee for weeks of sleepless nights, she’d combed through historic and religious texts. The need for answers about his origin drove her. What happened tonight wasn’t how she imagined discovering the truth.
Not a god-seed of Egyptian, Roman or Greek origin. Not an angel, archangel, or seraphim; fallen or otherwise. Not a super-hero, X-man, hawk-man, mutant, science experiment or alien. Not an alkonost, sirin, harpy, pegasus, or wind spirit.
Valkyrie.
She and Vans ended up at the bar and Ursa systematically got her friend drunk while reminding her how much Travis loved her. Whatever happened tonight had nothing to do with their relationship. It had everything to do with his employer.
As time passed and Vans got more intoxicated, the facts lined up before Ursa. The top page of the auction catalog punctuated the truth—proceeds from this event to benefit the Wounded Warrior Project.
Valkyrie!
But they were supposed to be women, not men. Right. That explained why the portraits in the hall followed the maternal line. And all the artwork on display with horses carrying winged women warriors. The winged helmet. They were not even trying to hide it. No one saw it, or no one believed it.
She was in the Valkyrie nest! The perfect place to find more information!
The catalog was folded open to the description of the sword Leo had won for her. Victorious. Her heart ran away from her in a bolt of panic. The sword! In her mind she saw the blade, the green stone in the hilt flashing from its glass prison. She had to liberate the weapon. Then she needed to get her Leo as far away as possible. Vans and Travis, too, for that matter.
“You look like you’re going to puke,” Vans said with a slur.
“I need to get my sword.
”
“Your what?” Vans asked, squinting at her.
“You will be all right here,” Ursa said as she jumped up from her seat.
“Whatever. Don’t know why you need the stupid knife anyway,” Vans mumbled and lifted her glass, which was stuffed with fruit, colorful umbrellas and plastic flamingos.
“I’ll be right back.” She pulled money from her clutch and pushed it to the bartender. “Just juice the next round.” Then she darted through the crowd, back to the hall of pictures and relics.
She went right to the portrait of Guntram.
Golden Boy.
Missing.
Beatrix words remained fresh in her mind. I want to know where my son is. You are going to tell me, or I swear to God, I’m going to make things extremely difficult.
The man in the picture looked about twenty, with features that were a blend of both his mother and father. He had golden hair, which he shared with his cousin Mano and his father. His nose was hawkish like his mother’s, but there was something jolly about him, as though he was plotting something extremely naughty.
In the back of her mind, a twinkle of green warned her. Someone was coming. She ducked into the next room and pressed against the wall, listening. With all the guests currently in an uproar in the main hall, the room was empty. She heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hall and peeked out.
It was Maximilian Engel with a glass of amber liquor in hand. His tie was off, the top button of his shirt unfastened. The man was a muscular giant and the weight of his grief matched his size. Ursa bit into her lower lip and pressed as deeply into the shadow as she could while still watching him.
He saluted the portrait of his son and spoke to it in German. It didn’t sound complimentary. Then again, to Ursa’s ear, German never sounded particularly soothing. The jovial man she’d seen earlier was gone. This man was utterly crushed. Despite the harsh-sounding words, when he reached out to touch the picture, there was tenderness woven into his sadness.
The green twinkle in the back of her mind flashed brighter and Maximilian jerked a look in her direction and their eyes met. He started at being caught in his moment of open grieving. “You there. What are you doing?” His voice was a low rumble of heavily accented English, he didn’t bother wiping away his tears.
As he came closer, his embarrassment faded. For some reason, his approach didn’t send her running. “Ah, the CFO’s lady. Did you get yourself turned around?” He rubbed a hand along his jaw, unapologetic for his display of emotion.
“Ursa Myller, sir,” she said politely. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see the artwork one last time before we go.”
He watched her intensely and the longer he looked at her, the more interested he became, as though he’d discovered something delightfully unexpected. “Ah, yes.” He smiled then and bowed his head toward her. Respectfully. “Not going to stay for the dinner? My wife has quite a meal planned. You shouldn’t miss it.” His lips twisted into a bitter smirk as he saluted her with his drink.
“I…don’t think so.” She glanced back toward the portrait. “What happened to him?” she asked.
His bright blue eyes—summer-sky brilliant—were a mirror of his son’s. “His mother’s doctrine did not suit him.” That was pride. Maximilian was pleased his son had stood up to his mother.
“And yours?” she asked, looking up through her lashes at the enormous man.
She sensed the guilt when he considered her question and when he spoke, she knew his answer was honest. “I was hard on him and contributed to his flight. I’ve gained some wisdom in the years since our last conversation. I wish I could take back much of what I said. What in the world do I know about love and matters of the heart?” He blinked after saying that and squinted at her. He had not meant to reveal so much.
Warmth crept into her cheeks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It is never easy this time of year. I apologize that you had your party spoiled by our family squabbles. The lawyer is your…um…kin?” He used the word as though he was struggling with the translation.
“We are friends,” Ursa said and realized it wasn’t the word he was looking for, either. His head swung side to side.
“No, I mean…hhhmmm, forgive me, oath-sworn. Yes? There is something so interesting about—” Realization dawned, and his brilliant eyes widened. “You are a messenger!” He regarded her as though she were some fantastical creature he’d stumbled upon that might bite him. As if Ursa were dangerous. The concept almost made her laugh aloud.
“N-no, no oaths to swear,” she assured him.
“You will treat our Leo kindly, yes?” The depth of concern in the question shocked her.
“Of course, I will!” She got the distinct impression that kindness was not something Beatrix exhibited to this man. It made her heart ache, and she instantly added him to the list of those she wanted to save. This jovial man and his big, rumbling laugh seemed like a songbird trapped in a rusted little cage.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment to her corrected sense of him. “He is a lucky man to have you at his back, Ursa Myller.”
“I think I’m lucky to have him.”
“Do you know how rare it is for one of our kind to find love? Arranged marriages provide comfort and security, but I understand it is a poor comparison to a heart match.” With a smirk he growled into his glass, “What would I know?”
They regarded each other in silence and she plotted rescuing him. At last he tossed back the rest of his liquor and shouldered his fate and future with grim determination.
“You are Valkyrie, too?” she asked in a whisper.
He laughed aloud. “No, lady messenger. Only female are Valkyrie. I am Kyrie. How is it you see so much but do not know this?”
“I d-don’t know,” she stammered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I can go.”
He set the empty glass down and held his hands up, offering out his palms to show the dark-red mark across the skin in the shape of a horn. “Please don’t. I am sorry you do not have the benefit of proper education.” His lips twisted in sorrow. “I would cut myself before I let any of my blood grow up blind.”
“Do you have to stay with her?” Ursa asked, searching his face.
“I am not required, but there is no reason for me to leave. I pay my penance for my part in driving my son away.”
She wanted to argue that he didn’t need to take full responsibility but knew nothing she could say would convince him. What did she know about his dreams and needs?
Only that he was miserable.
He stared at her in amazement. “You are kind. I—” He shook himself, murmuring, “Please do not waste your compassion on me. I am comfortable. I golf. I drink. I flirt with all the pretty office assistants. I content myself that my sister-in-law has had as little luck producing a female heir as my wife. We wage our petty battles, rather than real sport. We are domesticated.”
She heard his words but knew in her heart it wasn’t in his nature to enjoy the schemes or the vapid flirting. He needed…needed—
In a strange moment of clarity, she saw a timeless woman in autumn colors of russets and golds and skin as dark as onyx, throwing her arms around his broad shoulders. Dark-copper wings with bars of black mantled around her in a beautiful fan just as he kissed her. For a moment Ursa thought they would both turn and stare at her for spying on their private moment. Summer and autumn tangled together.
“Are you well?” he asked, shattering the image.
He had not seen it. The intensity of the image left her breathless and flushed and she coughed into her hand, the catalog slipping from her sweaty grip. “Uh… Y-yeah. Great. I need to go.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t you come to see the artwork?” Bending, he picked up the mangled papers and glanced at them and then at her, his eyes narrowing. “Oh. The sword. You know there was a mistake on this item, yes?”
“What?” Her heart fell.
He hesitated
and then his jaw tightened as he made his decision. “Come.”
Not waiting for her, he turned and strode into the adjoining room. His long legs carried him down the rows of display cases and pictures. Ursa had to run to keep up. He stopped at the far wall where a sword sat in a case.
That was not the right weapon. It was a pretty golden ornament dripping with diamonds. The blade was rapier thin, the hilt an elaborate filigree twinkling with a rainbow of jewels. A queen should hold it across her lap during coronation or perhaps it was the sword used to tap the warriors to the afterlife.
“This is the item that should have gone up for bid. Understand it is far more valuable than the—”
“N-n-no,” Ursa whispered, green light spinning behind her closed eyes, “I d-d-don’t want this sword.”
It didn’t make any sense. Mano had told Leo to show her the sword. They’d gone to view it, and then it had come onto the stage—a brutal-looking, flame-rippled blade with a large green stone set into the pommel.
What was she going to do with a sword? These were not the days of high adventure.
Take the little glam-sword, get Leo out of here and call it good, she told herself.
“No!” she said again and opened her eyes.
Maximilian Engel looked down his nose at her like a huge, blond eagle. “When I was a child, I asked my mother for a war-mount. A creature of fantasy you see. She said, ‘It is not in my power to distribute this honor. You must be selected.’ The same is true for the sword. Like the mythical war-mount, she decides what hands grace her hilt and there is a responsibility the champion must accept.”
Her heart, already in her stomach, oozed down into her toes. Just leave Ursa! Tuck your tail between your legs and get the fuck out of here! What are you trying to get yourself into? This is next-level shit! You will cut your arm off with the stupid thing, she told herself.