Vicious Bonds Sneak Peak

I’m so excited to share the first snippet of my upcoming dark romantic fantasy, Vicious Bonds.

When I think of this book, I think dark mafia-vibes with a twist of fantasy and a slow burn that is oh-so-delicious when they give into each other!

I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the comments!

***

I enter my apartment, kicking out of my shoes right away as Faye follows me in. She slips out of her damp jacket and hangs it on the coatrack by the door along with her purse, and then looks around my place.

“Ugh! What the hell, Willow? This place is a mess.” She walks to my dining table and picks up the empty box my cinnamon roll was in.

“What? I haven’t been home long enough to clean it yet,” I counter.

“I can see that.” She scrunches her nose. “And what is that smell?” 

I look around, as if I’ll spot where the smell is coming from. “Hmm. So, it isn’t just me smelling that then?”

Faye ignores my comment and marches to the kitchen, and when she notices the dirty dishes in the sink, she groans. Immediately, she rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, turns on the faucet, and begins rinsing the dishes.

“Faye, you don’t have to do that!” I yell at her from the couch.

“If I don’t, who will?”

“I will…when I’m in the mood.”

She cuts her eyes at me briefly before putting her attention back on the dishes. “So are you going to tell me what that was about at the bookstore, or am I going to have to get you drunk and force the truth out of you?”

I knew this was coming, yet even with the question lingering in the air and having nearly two hours to think about it afterward, I still can’t bring myself to present a solid answer.

“Okay…” I sit up on the couch. “It’s going to sound crazy, but I’ve been having these really weird dreams. Or maybe they’re hallucinations? I don’t know.”

“How long have you been having them?” she asks nonchalantly, as if I just told her I love chocolate. That’s the thing about Faye. She’s not easily shocked. She’s normally calm and even-tempered.

“They started a couple weeks ago. Right after I returned from Atlanta.” I chew on my bottom lip. “But the first dream was kind of tame compared to the one I had last night and today. The first dream I was in some house, lost. The house was huge and I heard people talking, but no one came to find me. I also hear, like, this voice—some man’s voice. He has an accent. British, maybe?”

“Go on…”

“I don’t know who he is or anything, but he feels familiar somehow. Anyway, when I was in the basement, I was in a forest. It was cold and the trees were really tall and scary looking. And I think something was hunting me or chasing me…I can’t be sure. But that guys voice, I heard it again this time too. Like he’s calling out for me or looking for me before whatever that thing is can catch me.”

“Hmm.” She scratches the side of her head. “Maybe it’s stress.”

“Why would it be that?”

Her eyes find mine. “Because you bottle a lot of shit up. Maybe it’s finally starting to eat at your brain.”

I roll my eyes then stand, going to the dining table to clear it. I might as well keep myself busy too.

“Maybe you should talk to a therapist,” she offers.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I’m telling you, Willow. When I saw Dr. Wan, she was incredible. She really put my mind at ease with the grief I had about my mom’s death. She helped me heal…and I’m going to be honest, I think that’s what you need to do. You need to heal.” She turns the faucet off after filling the sink with water and suds and says, “I’m worried about you. I really am.”

“Why?” I ask, laughing. “I’m fine. Please don’t overreact. And why didn’t you use the dishwasher?”

“You’re drinking more, and the antidepressants don’t seem to be helping,” she goes on, ignoring my last remark. “You’re seeing and hearing things, and I’m worried that you’re secluding yourself. You’re forcing yourself to be lonely.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really? If I hadn’t called you tonight, would you have called me to see what I was doing?”

I debate an answer. “I would have texted you…eventually.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and going back to the dishes. “All I’m saying is I think it would be good for you. If you’re seeing things and having bad dreams, maybe it means something, you know? Maybe it means it’s finally time to talk about Warren’s disappearance.”

I avoid looking at Faye as I carry some of the trash to the trash bin. “If I take the therapists’ number, will you stop bringing up Warren?”

She grins so big it nearly splits her face in half. “I promise.”

Faye tidies up a bit more (what can I say, she’s an incredible friend, with a nurturing side to her that I’m grateful for) and after she shares a chicken salad sandwich from Lit & Latte’s with me, she gives me a tight squeeze and leaves before the storm gets any worse.

When she’s gone, I walk to the liquor bottles lined up on the counter, grab the tequila, and pour some into a cup. I take a big chug, then drag myself through the living room, shut off all the lights, finish my drink, and flop on the bed to bury my face into my pillow and scream.

After my breakdown, the storm strengthens. Lightning strikes and thunder causes the thin walls of my apartment to rattle. I pop an antidepressant into my mouth, chug it down with water instead of tequila this time, and then shuffle through my nightstand until I find my joint papers and a little baggy of green. 

I pause when I notice the polaroid picture of me and Warren. I pull it out slowly, staring at it. It’s us, the year before he went missing. We were at a New Year’s Eve party and I can’t remember who took the picture, but they captured Warren with his arm draped around my shoulder and a “yeah, right,” look on his face. I’m looking up at him, pointing and laughing. I was most likely teasing him about something, like I often did. 

I stare at the picture so long my vision blurs and I bite into my bottom lip, not wanting the tears to fall. I breathe in, exhale, and then grab my weed before shoving the image back into the drawer and slamming it closed.

I roll a joint, spark it, take a deep pull, and then lie flat on my bed, peering up at the ceiling fan. It’s not spinning tonight, but the more I smoke and the higher I become, the more it seems the fan is spinning, or perhaps it’s the lightning outside. The blades start slowly, then begin to spin faster. 

I huff a laugh, realizing I’m probably hallucinating again, but that’s okay. At least I’m home. At least I’m safe.

Safe? I hear a deep voice ask. It’s that same voice—the one I thought I heard in my apartment. The same one from my nightmares that calls out to me. No one is ever really safe, are they?

I roll my eyes. “Nice try. You can’t scare me tonight. I’m too stoned.”

Stoned? What a strange word choice.

Okay. This is humorous, albeit freaky. I can hear this voice intwining with my thoughts. The voice isn’t scary. If anything, it seems the voice is familiar with me, yet I have no clue who it belongs to. “Who the hell are you?” I ask. “Seriously—why can I hear you but not see you? Wait, are you my conscience?”

It’s quiet for a long time, so long I think maybe I am making this voice all up in my head.

I’ve wondered the same thing. Who the hell are you? And why the hell has your voice been tormenting me?

“Holy shit,” I breathe. No. Not real. Not real. 

Trust me, this is very real, the voice says. 

“What the hell?” I sit up to put out my joint. That’s clearly enough of that. I go to my drawer, taking out pink pajama pants and an oversized Clemson T-shirt and changing. Then I lie back down and watch the ceiling fan, allowing it to distract my thoughts. But then it stops spinning, replaced by an oblong purple circle.

It’s that purple light again. It shakes and moves, wiggles like neon purple waves. I blink slowly and, unlike last time, I don’t get up to check if it’s coming from outside. Truthfully, I don’t care what this light is or where it’s coming from, but I’m intrigued by it, and it’s better than thinking I’m crazy by talking to some random voice in my head.

The light spreads across the ceiling and moves closer to me, and I raise a hand, reaching for it. I’m surprised when I touch some of it and the purple waves spill like liquid onto my fingers, slowly running down the inside of my arm and dribbling onto my cheek. I use my other hand to wipe my cheek while studying the purple glowing liquid on my fingers, then look back up—the light has spread more. It’s rippling faster.

My body becomes weightless, and before the realization hits me, I’m floating toward the light. It ripples faster, faster, and I’m getting closer. I draw in a deep breath as if I’m about to go under water, and I think to myself that this is all comical. I’m so high that I’m imagining myself swimming in this purple pool of water, dancing in it. I feel the water on my flesh, illuminating my brown skin. My body floats higher, higher, and then I’m in the purple vortex pool, floating effortlessly. I turn over and look down, right at my bed. I can see my whole apartment from here, a bird’s eye view.

And that’s when I panic. I shouldn’t be floating. I shouldn’t be in the vortex. How fucking high am I?

I try to swim back toward my room, force my body down, but it’s useless. This vortex is strong, and it sucks me in further and further. I kick my legs, spread my arms, and even try clawing onto something, but there’s nothing to hold on to. 

I continue floating, my room appearing smaller and smaller the more I’m sucked in. Eventually, my room is gone, and I’m swallowed whole. The purple light fades to a blinding black, and for the second time tonight, I belt out a helpless scream.

***

Breathe. 

Breathe. 

Breathe.

I repeat the words internally and finally open my eyes. To my surprise, the blackness has faded, but the entire front side of my body throbs in pain. 

Groaning, I push up on my battered hands, then gasp when I realize I’m on top of damp dirt. I scramble upward, hands shaking as I stare down at the clumps of soil on them, then look up. I can’t believe it. I’m here again—in the forest from my nightmares.

My breathing becomes shallow as I spin to look all around me. I’m surrounded by the same skyscraper trees that give no light or leeway, and there’s nothing in view for miles. I have the urge to walk, but where the hell am I supposed to go? Which way? What do I do? 

My eyes drop to the dirt path below me that runs from left to right. If I follow it, maybe I’ll find out where I am.

I start walking to the right, telling myself this isn’t real. I’m dreaming again, that’s all. I got really fucking high and now I’m dreaming.

“Wake the fuck up, Willow,” I whisper. “Wake up. Wake up.” But the words are useless. And perhaps this isn’t a dream because my shin is burning. It’s a pain I’ve never felt before, and it causes me to stop walking. I lower into a squat, yanking up my pajama pants to check my shin, and there’s a large gash. It’s not deep, but there’s blood dripping down to my bare foot.

I work hard to swallow, then look around for something to stop the bleeding, but nothing here will stop it. I need to find help. Fast.

“Damn it,” I mutter. I must be dreaming, and if this is a dream, I can control it, right? I can find a way out—a wacky way that will take me back to reality.

I almost laugh at the thought until I hear a low growl ahead. My stomach drops as I freeze, eyes widening as the growling becomes louder.

Slowly, I look up to where the noise is coming from, and fear paralyzes every fiber inside me. Ahead is a wolf with all black fur. All its sharp teeth and even its magenta gums are revealed because it’s snarling so hard. The wolf’s hazel eyes bore into mine and it takes a step closer, lowering to its haunches, ready to pounce.

Every part of me wants to scream, but if I scream, it will attack me. But this is a dream. It’s not real. I can get out of this. I stagger to a stand, and the wolf growls louder, then barks.

“Easy,” I whisper, my voice shaking as I hold my hands in front of me. “Please just…go away.”

The wolf moves closer, barking again, gnashing its teeth, and the warmth drains from my body. “Please,” I whisper. It’s not real. This isn’t real…is it? Please, God, tell me this isn’t real.

My heart is beating twice its rhythm, I’m so scared.

I take a step back as the wolf moves closer. If I run, he’ll run after me. If I keep standing here, he’ll attack me. I look down at my leg again. The blood is dripping between my toes, mixing with the black dirt.

My best bet is to run. Fuck my leg. Fuck this dream. I can’t just stand here and get mauled. I have to do something, so I pivot and run, allowing the adrenaline to course through me. My run is weak, and I feel myself limping, but I don’t care. 

The wolf barks again. It’s coming after me.

I dash through the trees, glancing over my shoulder at the wolf. Branches scratch my cheeks and leaves slap me in the eyes, but I run, run, run, my heart beating madly, my mouth going dry.

My shin sears with pain as I glance back, and the wolf continues snarling at me. Looking back was my mistake because as soon as I face forward again, my ankle catches onto something, and I fall.

I land flat on my stomach, roll over, and scoot backwards. The wolf’s paws pound into the earth and then it leaps forward, landing right above me. 

“No!” I whimper as it cages me between its legs.

It growls in my face, its damp snout touching my nose, and I close my eyes, pleading silently.

Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t…

“Cerberus!”

My breath hitches when I hear the voice, and immediately the wolf’s snout is off mine. I open my eyes, keeping my body perfectly still as the wolf runs away.

My heart gallops in my chest as I listen to sticks breaking, footsteps approaching. I hear the panting of the wolf again, and before I know it, it’s standing right beside me, wagging its tail. And then a man appears only a couple steps away, dressed in all black.

***

A flat black cap is on the man’s head, creating a shadow over his eyes. Worn black leather gloves are on his hands, which are at his sides, and he stands only a few feet away, wearing a creaseless black trench coat. I have a feeling he’s staring at me, but I can’t tell due to the brim of his hat being so low.

“Who are you?” the man asks, voice gruff.

His voice. I know that voice. I just heard it moments ago, in my apartment. It’s deep, an English accent—a dialect I’m not familiar with. I’ve heard many people with all kinds of accents, thanks to my line of work, but not his. His is different and hard to forget—a voice that has haunted my dreams and played tricks with my mind. 

I try to find the words to speak, but my tongue feels like a dead fish in my mouth. 

The man moves forward, only now his hands aren’t empty. There’s a silver handgun in one of them, and he’s pointing it right down at me. The gun is twice the size of a regular handgun, the barrel so wide I can see into it without squinting an eye.

I throw my hands in the air. “No—wait!”

“I asked who you were.”

“I—I’m Willow. Willow Austin.”

“And where did you come from, Willow Austin?” he asks, the gun hovering inches from my face.

“I—I don’t know. I landed here, and that—that wolf started chasing me! If I’m not supposed to be here, I’m sorry! I’ll leave, I swear, j-just please don’t kill me!”

The man remains steady with the gun, and he tilts his head upward. When he does, I see his eyes. Icy blue, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. His eyes are both intimidating and alluring as he glares down at me.

“Are you from Ripple Hills?” he demands.

“I—no, I don’t know what that is.”

He squints his eyes, only slightly. “Vanora? Did Alora send you?”

“Please,” I plead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know where I am!”

The wolf growls at my outburst.

“Oi!” he shouts at the wolf. His eyes don’t leave mine. “Home. Now, Cerberus.”

The wolf doesn’t hesitate to dash away. As it does, the man lowers the gun and steps back. “Get up.”

I do as I’m told, wincing as I bring myself to stand. I face him and angle my chin upward a bit because he’s tall. Really tall. His jaw ticks as he looks me all over.

“You’re not dressed like you’re from Ripple or Vanora. Where are you from and why the hell are you on my property?”

“I told you,” I breathe raggedly. “I—I ended up here somehow. I really don’t know.”

He narrows his eyes at me, angling his head. “Have we met before?”

“I…I don’t think so…unless you work with Townsend a lot too, then maybe. Probably through Lou Ann.”

“Lou Ann?” He raises a brow.

“My boss.”

He stares at me blankly.

“Um…I’m sorry…do you happen to have, like um…a cellphone or something I can use?”

“A cellphone?” he asks, frowning now.

“Yes—like an iPhone or something? Even an Android? iPad?”

He grimaces, and by the way his jaw ticks repeatedly, I can tell he’s becoming aggravated. Okay, I get that we’re kind of in the middle of nowhere, but how the hell does he not know what a cellphone is?

“What territory are you from?” he demands.

“Territory? I, uh… What? I don’t understand the question. I’m so confused right now.” I swallow hard. “Look, I just want to go home,” I tell him, holding my hands up. “That’s it. I don’t want any trouble.”

“So you do have a home. Where?”

“Um…an apartment…in North Carolina.”

“What the hell is a North Carolina?”

“Oh, God.” I scoff, then I laugh because this man can’t be serious. I’m standing in front of a person who doesn’t even know what state we’re in, who owns a wolf, and has a gun. All red flags.

“I’m sorry, were you born under a rock? How do you not know what North Carolina is?”

He frowns but doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts his gun again and aims it directly at my face, and I throw my trembling hands in the air.

“Turn around and walk.”

“I—where am I supposed to go?”

“Follow the path north.”

“North…north. Um…okay.” I turn around with a limp and hobble through the forest until I spot the path. I can either go left or right. Right feels like going north, so I turn that direction, but he clears his throat. I glance back, and he points the other way with the gun.

“Yep. Got it,” I whisper.

I limp my way along the path, and within two or three minutes, an iron gate appears. It reminds me of the gate that was in my dreams. Only there’s no heavy fog, and I can see what lies ahead very clearly: land—lots of land. The grass is cut neatly, and a rocky path leads to a gothic black castle. It stands tall, the tips of the dark roof flirting with the gray clouds in the sky. I stop walking to take in the view, my jaw nearly dropping. Where the hell am I?

“There’s an exit that way. Go to your North Carolina and don’t come back,” the man says behind me. I turn a fraction to look at him. He still has the gun pointed at me.

“You’re going to let me go?”

“I don’t care where you go, just don’t ever come back here.”

I swallow hard, but the saliva is rough going down. I wobble to the right where he’s pointing, and though I don’t see an exit, I don’t care. It’s better getting lost than being faced with a gun that size again.

I need to find help from someone nicer than this asshole.

“What was that?”

I spin around and face the man again. He’s lowered his gun a bit, just enough to see me clearly past his hand.

“What was what?” I ask.

“You just said something.”

I frown. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I heard you speak,” he retorts.

“I—I didn’t say a word.”

Frustrated, he lowers the gun. “Do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Think about something.”

“Um…okay.” I swallow hard and try to think of something random. Or clever. Faye would know what to think of. Knowing her, she’d think of a penguin or a baby chick…or books. She loves books.

Who the hell is Faye?

I shift my gaze up. “She’s my best friend.”

“What?” he asks, shock written all over his face.

“You asked who Faye is…”

“I didn’t ask that out loud.” He looks at me sideways. Then as if a realization dawns on him, his blue eyes expand. “Shit.” His throat bobs. “You’re that voice,” he says. “You’re her.”

“Who?” 

The man looks me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time.

You can hear me.

My eyes stretch when I hear his voice, loud and clear, despite his lips not moving.

“H-how are you doing that?”

“Shit,” he curses again. The man clears his throat and tucks his gun away, then digs into his trench coat. He opens a silver case and plucks out what looks like a cigarette, except it’s all black. Pressing it between his lips, he lights it with a silver lighter, inhales, and then puffs out a large cloud of smoke. It doesn’t smell like an ordinary cigarette. It's scent is sweeter, like maple syrup and spices. 

“You’re her,” he says, nodding. “You’re that other voice in my head.” He gives his head a shake. “All this time I thought I was insane.”

This conversation is starting to feel real, and it’s weird, so I say, “Maybe we’re just dreaming?”

“Trust me,” he rasps, pulling from his cigarette thing again. “This is no dream.”

“What do you mean?”

He drops his eyes to my foot, and I look with him at the caked dirt and blood. “You’re bleeding. Follow me.” He walks past me toward the castle-like home.

I hesitate a moment as he marches away without looking back. I peer over my shoulder at the forest that was behind us, then toward whichever exit he pointed at that I still can’t make out, and figure it’s probably best to follow him than to wander around, lost. I don’t know this man, and I don’t know where I am, but he has shelter…and possibly a phone.

He also has a gun, I think to myself.

“Don’t worry about the gun,” he calls out, still walking toward the castle. “I won’t use it on you unless you make me.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!

Vicious Bonds releases February 9th, 2023 and can be preordered now!