Golden's Rule

By Billi Jean

He named her Beauty and swore to keep her safe, but who will save her from his passionate embrace?

Torque is a warrior mage hardened by centuries of battle and death. When he finds the one woman who makes him want to live, he must not only battle the Death Stalkers for her safety, but her own loss of memory in order to stake his claim. But will Beauty be his salvation, or will the sensuous witch teach him a lesson or two on what it truly means to be strong?

Beauty has no memory of who she is, nor what she can do with her powers. Yet she won't back down, nor allow her brave warrior to go off to fight their battles alone. Strong, determined, and confident, she takes on not only the Immortal World, but also one very handsome, dominate warrior mage to win her place by his side.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Apr 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781781842812

Billi Jean

Billi Jean was born in California but didn't stay put for long. She's lived in New York, Indiana, Missouri, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Massachusetts and Vermont. She's lived in and worked from ranches to beach-side coffee shops to the woods in western Massachusetts. Now living and working in China, she continues to write for Totally Bound Publishing. Billi Jean has been writing since high school when she couldn't wait for Robert Jordon to write his Wheel of Time series faster. As an adult, she still finds herself drawn to fantasy-adventure stories, but with an erotic romance flair. Her books are extremely hot, with a focus on strong characters that are shoved into fast-paced adventures. Her unique style of incredible journeys infused with hot passion leave her fans hoping for more.

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A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Golden’s Rule

ISBN # 978-1-78184-281-2

©Copyright Billi Jean 2013

Cover Art by Oliver Bennett ©Copyright March 2013

Edited by Sue Meadows

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.

This story contains 236 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 7 pages.

Sisterhood of Jade

GOLDEN’S RULE

Billi Jean

Book two in the Sisterhood of Jade series

He named her Beauty and swore to keep her safe, but who will save her from his passionate embrace?

Torque is a warrior mage hardened by centuries of battle and death. When he finds the one woman who makes him want to live, he must not only battle the Death Stalkers for her safety, but also her own loss of memory in order to stake his claim. But will Beauty be his salvation, or will the sensuous witch teach him a lesson or two on what it truly means to be strong?

Beauty has no memory of who she is, nor what she can do with her powers. Yet she won’t back down, nor allow her brave warrior to go off to fight their battles alone. Strong, determined, and confident, she takes on not only the Immortal World, but also one very handsome, dominant warrior mage to win her place by his side.

Dedication

To my lovely, encouraging critique partner Elizabeth. Your encouragement means the world to me! So does your ‘repetition’ in bright yellow.

To my children, hoping they reach for their dreams and realise them.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Harley-Davidson: Harley-Davidson Inc.

Aquafina: PepsiCo, Inc.

Hoover: Techtronic Industries

Popsicle: Unilever PLC

Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson

Prologue

Susanna walked through a torch lit hallway filled with screams. The echoes of distress flowed through the ancient stone corridors like nightmares. This was a nightmare.

No, no it wasn’t, she reminded herself. The ragged sounds were real. The cries were only broken off by muffled thuds, and in some cases, the sharp, evil crack of a whip striking flesh. Then the screams would rise again. Their anguish flooded her brain with remembered pain. Helplessness followed quickly with vivid, grotesque images of split, bloody flesh. Images she’d rather not see. Sensations she remembered all too well spread gooseflesh up her arms.

Closing her eyes did no good. The grisly pictures were burnt into her brain. Harsh, dreadful glimpses of ripped, torn flesh and dark, burgundy blood dripping from wounds where she could see the jagged white bone peeking out crowded her consciousness like holiday shoppers shoving their way through the department store doors at five a.m. to hit all the sales.

Shitshitshitshitshit. Stop it! Stop thinking about it.

She huddled closer to the unforgiving wall, and nervously traced her fingers along the chilly stone in a bid to distract herself. The wisp of transparent smoke ahead of her hung in the air, unmoving while she mentally struggled. She was supposed to follow that wisp of hope. Her door had been opened by that nearly transparent smoke.

Come.

The faintly accented male whisper rolled around in her mind just as it had ever since she’d woken to see her thick, wooden door standing ajar.

She fought to obey. Spells encased the mosaics embedded in the walls. Spells that were meant to intimidate, no doubt, but also to snag the inexperienced into their seductive pattern. A person could get caught following those lines and never comprehend they hadn’t moved until it was too late.

Susanna squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to escape her reality.

Not much longer, not much longer. Come.

The whispered voice sounded louder, more real than before, a safety net in a nightmare where no such thing existed.

Would the voice leave her here, surrounded by her enemies, with no chance of escape? Who did the voice belong to? No one cared if she lived or died. Or screamed until her throat bled. No one. She knew that. She had learned that in the endless days of being here. No one came, no one cared, no one…

No! Someone did care. Right?

The doubts had her clenching her eyes closed. Gradually the tremors racing up the fresh whip marks on her back eased enough to help her deal with the panic. The pain remained. Had she known a time without pain?

She opened her eyes and took another cautious step, then another and another until it became a test of will to inch along the deserted, brightly lit corridor.

The terrified cries grew louder as she edged around a corner. The smoky trail she followed hovered in the air five feet from her like a living thing, waiting patiently for her to gather her courage around the idea of turning down the new and potentially dangerous hallway. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder, and back to the new danger.

No one walked these halls. No one but me, she reassured herself. She took another step, her back pressed tight to the rough stones. Some of the jagged rocks dug into her back, but she held herself close to it anyway. Twelve steps down the corridor and the screams grew closer, louder. She broke the horrifying cries down into sensations. Scream—the crack of a whip tearing flesh. Crack—bones breaking. Thud—a body slammed by invisible force into a wall. Shriek—slow torture of heated whips of metal slicing and burning into flesh. Cursing—the last, pain-drenched, hollow sound of endurance spluttering out.

Her legs trembled with each painful memory. She paused after a few more sideways steps. She had to block the sounds if she hoped to survive.

Behind her, in the distance, she heard the echo of pounding boots on flagstones. Susanna’s heart strangled the breath in her throat. She clutched at the rough wall, slicing her fingertips open on the sharp granite. A surge of adrenaline shocked through tender muscles, but brought her dangerous position back into focus.

Escape. I can leave this place.

Such a simple thought, but so full of something she’d not dared dwell on for far too long—hope.

A small, tear-streaked and panicked face rushed through her vision. Bethany. I do have people who care.

There was life without pain. There was. I have family. Samantha, Bethany, her beloved Star. People care about me, love me.

Tears rushed her eyes, smarting worse than the fresh cuts on her fingers and back. The boots grew louder behind her. She pushed up from her half-slump against the wall and focused on the hallway. She could do this. She could do this. She repeated it as she began walking forward. She’d been down here before. Not far from here there was a forbidden area of the stronghold. Not even the guards were allowed on this level.

If they found her, if they took her back… She froze.

Hurry.

She couldn’t move. The voice couldn’t imagine, hadn’t felt the bite of sharpened metal dig into flesh, and couldn’t comprehend how each strike ripped out pieces of a person’s soul.

Hurry, you must hurry.

Her legs gave out with a surge of relief when she heard the boots move farther away from her position. She fell down on her knees like someone had cut the strings holding her up. Cool stone soothed her heated panic. She pressed her face to the tiles and prayed. Three Goddesses aid me. Hecate help me. Bridget bring me strength. Danu guide me.

No time. No time. Get up. Move, move.

The voice sounded more urgent but somehow farther away. The warm strength of his tone eased her, when nothing had for far too long. She could barely remember comforts. The voice rose up in her mind, ordering her, but with such care, she knew deep inside that without his aid she would surely die here. Struggling with her trembling limbs, she eased to her feet and inched along the wall, placing each bare foot carefully, cautiously so no sound echoed and revealed her presence.

Who are you?

No time. No time. Move. Good, good, keep moving.

Ahead of her, the hallway ended with a grotesque statute of a mighty boar. The tusks of the monsters impaled two females through their chests. Bile rose in her throat. The sickest thing was the statute looked real. Hideously real. The looks of anguish on the women’s faces appeared so full of suffering Susanna felt certain if she were to move closer, they would open their eyes and beseech her for aid.

She looked away with difficulty. The smoke had floated along a wall and hovered waiting for her. Ahead, a tapestry covered half the wall like a big, ugly stain. It was evil. Everything around her was, but this ancient, hideous cloth was saturated in the pain of its victims. Wicked, bottomless malevolence pounded at her senses, making the blood rush like the beat of a drum to her head. She locked her knees to keep herself upright as darkness reached out to run a ghostly finger down her spine. She jerked back from this new danger, shaking her head in denial. The blood-red cloth, bright with misery, taunted her, torment radiated from every loathsome fibre in the weave, reminding her how hopeless her bid for escape truly was.

Hurry, move it aside. Move the tapestry aside. There is no time.

She had to strain to hear the voice now. The whisper was so soft, she feared it might disappear, yet her body turned to ice at the thought of touching such evil with her bare hand. She couldn’t. Couldn’t touch it. Her body tensed to backup.

You must! Hurry, move it aside.

Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

Forgive me, little one, you must.

Compulsion hit her. Her skin crawled in answer to the powerful push. She silently screamed as her arm reached up, the whip marks revealing themselves fresh and red against the pale skin of her forearm. She watched, a passenger in her own body, as her fingers wrapped around the vile cloth and pulled it aside.

Pain lanced up her arm, hit her shoulder, and continued burning along every blistering mark she’d ever received. Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed hard several times and simply concentrated on breathing in and out.

Fresh air hit her face like a soft caress of some forgotten dream. Clean, untainted air in a place where there was none. Had she ever felt such a thing? Ever experienced such warmth, such beauty?

"Go."

Now.

Hurry.

Don’t look back.

She dived forward, finding herself in a dark so complete her eyes, eyes that once could see in the deepest night, couldn’t penetrate it. Her body felt as if it spun like a leaf on a gusty breeze. A spell? A travelling charm. The silent black welcomed her, curling around her in all its wonderful, silky coolness. Wherever she ended up when the spell dumped her, it had to be better than where she’d been.

Did I do it? Have I escaped? Will this take me to my family?

The male whisper didn’t return, but deep inside, where she’d once believed in more than pain, where she’d once believed in her own power, she felt hope again brush along her gently.

Chapter One

Torque examined the bustling immortal marketplace with distaste. The Midpass was deep underground, situated in an enormous cavern far beneath where humans would think to look. Glowing spells filled the place with the semblance of a summer day’s bright light. Trees grew, and some of the immortals who called this place home had gardens bursting with fresh vegetables and fruits rare above ground. All in all, the entrance to Midpass looked like a gypsy caravan and a circus all rolled into one. Litter filled the corners and nooks of the packed dirt roadway. Vendors of all shapes and sizes—and races—hawked wares that were illegal in most realms, including this one.

Why did the Immortal Council allow such latitude? He’d spotted at least a dozen banned substances, mostly poisons any decent witch fresh out of the top ten Mage Schools could conjure, true, but still prohibited from the safe territories carved out by the Council.

Two feet away, across a low table covered in a purple and silver cloth, a young red-haired witch gave him an even look from where she was obviously dealing in tricky spells and illegal tonics. Her rickety three-legged round table was set up next to a more traditional and more solid wand maker’s tent. She cocked her head to the side, as if to dare him to say a word, and grinned slyly when he didn’t.

What could he say? He was here for a meeting, not to enforce Council laws. The battle with the Death Stalkers, the lowlifes of the Immortal World and his biggest pain in the ass, continued. Tonight his meeting was so secret, the highest members of the Council had refused to meet anywhere but in a completely neutral location. As if the Council’s chambers weren’t safe enough.

The thought was disturbing.

Torque shrugged away his misgivings, and kept walking, scanning the crowded market streets as he went in search of Jaxon, a vampire he’d told to rendezvous with him prior to the scheduled meeting. He needed to pin down the rugged fighter concerning his investigating into the buzz of Death Stalker activity in human clubs. The night-time events weren’t all he needed to talk to Jaxon about, though. He’d heard other rumours as well. Insinuations concerning Jaxon’s extracurricular activities that Torque hoped simply weren’t true.

The playboy vamp never set his sights on any particular woman over another, yet tales whispered he’d begun stalking a human coffee shop girl for much more than a sip and run. Some even said the ill-tempered bastard was drinking coffee and mooning over the girl.

Of that, he wasn’t so sure. He’d never witnessed Jaxon take anything seriously, especially not women. Torque couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy do more than entertain humans as potential donors and some fun in the sack. If he didn’t know better, Torque would almost think Jaxon needed sex as much as he did. Sex powered Torque’s magic. Jaxon was a vampire, not a member of the magic folk.

An elder, bent at the waist and walking with a noticeable limp, abruptly stumbled into him, drawing Torque’s attention back where it needed to be. He hauled the old man up by the back of his cloak. One shake and Torque’s wallet and keys fell out and into his outstretched hand.

Blurry blue eyes peered up at him anxiously. The old craggy face was, grooved already with lines of his age, deepening with a nervous smile. Aye there, sonny, no offence meant, eh?

Torque scowled at the guy’s garlic breath and shook his hair out of his eyes as an excuse to move away from him. None taken, but next time I take a hand.

The old guy paled but must have had trusted Torque meant it. He suddenly straightened his rounded posture and walked off in a much faster and more even pace in the opposite direction.

Scowl hardening, Torque simply put his wallet back in his leather trench coat and pocketed his keys. Everyone needed a place, he supposed. The Midpass Market teemed with immortals, many of them enemies outside of the ‘fight free zone’. The Midpass was an in-between safety zone for immortals—all except the Death Stalkers could enter. Spells held the death dealers at bay, spells even Torque would have trouble unravelling. They didn’t stop sympathisers from entrance though, and many took precautions walking into some of the more poorly lit districts. The alleyway he turned down looked worse than ever, Torque mused, stepping around a group of laughing younglings all smoking fragrant weed and kicking at the garbage littering the packed earthen street.

The small hubs or neighbourhoods of immortals who called this place home had lived here for decades. The Immortal Council had sanctified the area centuries before. The Council was still responsible for guarding the communities. Some said with an iron fist. He didn’t believe such reports. After all, the Council didn’t patrol the streets as often as they should. No Death Stalker could step foot within the space they’d carved out, but any other immortal could and did without fear of harassment merely being who they were.

Watch it, bloodsucker.

Well, almost everyone. Torque turned his head in time to spot Jaxon over the milling crowd. The male stood at least six-four, nearly as tall as Torque. And the guy loved it. He used his size, and his vampire skills, to intimidate anyone he could. Right now, he looked to be using them on some of the wolf pack. Vampires still caused issues going anywhere other immortals gathered.

Dark-haired with startlingly blue eyes, the bloodsucker in question lifted his lip arrogantly to reveal the length of his fangs to the young wolf pup who’d just insulted him. An elder Lykae, one Torque knew well, stepped over to stand by the younger man, another Lykae in tow, if the sandy brown hair, brown eyes and lean, rangy muscled physique meant anything. Most members of the pack shared those signature looks, but not all. Torque in fact had some of the wolf blood running through his veins, not much but some. Yet he was black-haired and grey-eyed.

Two seconds and you’re causing shit? Torque murmured, coming up next to Jaxon.

Jaxon whipped his head around and gave him the ‘what the fuck’ look he was famous for. Torque resisted the urge to grin at him. Jaxon must have sensed it though because he crossed his arms over his chest and levelled him with a black look.

Hey, I was talking to you, bloodsucker.

Most vampires would go ape shit on stuff like that. Torque gave Jaxon credit, he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned back to face the Lykae, popped a grin, and tipped his head at the young wolf, then ignored him again to say to Torque, I dunno, it must be my glowing personality, or something.

Or something, Torque muttered, nodding to the wolves. We’re here on council business, Alex. He turned to look over at the angry younger man, trying to place a name. Many of the Lykae served the council when they were of age to leave their pack. Warren, isn’t it?

The kid nodded after only a second of hesitation. Alex didn’t. The wolf was known for two things—protecting his clan, and his coldblooded methods for doing so. He was the most intense, most controlled wolf Torque had ever met.

I’m aware of the council business. I was sent to sit in, druid.

Druid? No one called anyone a druid any longer. Leave it to Alex to, though. His disdain of anything not Lykae was legendary. Torque ignored Jaxon’s smirk and scanned the crowds milling around them. The place was far more dangerous than it should be. Women didn’t tread the streets alone. No one really did. People gathered in clusters, or groups, or they hired guards. Even the little witchling back at the entrance had two guards at her stall. If he’d tried to stop her sales, he would have had a fight on his hands. The old pickpocket was an anomaly. No one really felt free from harm. Not here, not anywhere, if he were honest. 

He felt the blame even if he wasn’t directly responsible for the outcome. This place should be safe. The constant and ever-increasing struggle with the Death Stalkers had forced more and more of the Council’s attention on the battles, rather than protecting the outlying territories of free zones, but some of their efforts could have come here, to protect what they already had. He’d read the reports of the fights breaking out in the Midpass. Some of the eldest of the clans had packed up and left before choosing sides. Something the Council hadn’t followed up on.

He’d never realised it was this bad. He had his own battles. Midway wasn’t one of them, he reminded himself.

Where do we meet? Alex asked.

He focused back on Alex and jerked his chin towards the people already watching them with interest. Not exactly the place to talk. The old coliseum, below level. There should be a guard.

Alex didn’t bother to look around. He simply nodded sharply, eyed Jaxon with distaste, and headed off with the two younger pack members by his side.

Yeah, it’s my personality. Jaxon exhaled. It’s a burden, man, really.

Cut the shit. Have you taken a look around this place?

Jaxon shook his head with a sneer. He’d planted his fists on his lean hips, making his heavy leather trench coat open on the sides like bat wings. Same shit, different day. Where’s the goods, and why call me in on this? You know I hate the Midpass. And if you think I’m sitting in, you’re wasting your time.

I need you at the council meeting, but we need to catch up on the club.

Jaxon groaned. And you want me to do what? Fill in the overstuffed council all about the news?

Torque shrugged. I thought we’d get this done, then hit the club afterwards. The council needs to know, and possibly come with us to investigate. Why did Jaxon always push his buttons? The guy acted like he had no interest in the growing numbers of Death Stalkers. Nothing seemed to matter to him—living, dying or whatever vampires called their half-lives simply rolled off Jaxon’s back like he didn’t have a care which way the world turned. Maybe he wasn’t acting, maybe he really didn’t care. Torque couldn’t imagine being so blasé. Don’t you give a shit about anything?

Jaxon twisted his neck around to watch a slim nymph walk by in barely anything more than fairy dust and some leaves.

Jax! Torque barely kept the growl out of his voice.

Snapping his attention back to Torque, he winked. Sure. Me, myself, and I. I care a hundred per cent about that. Otherwise, nah, not worth it.

Really? Interesting. I heard a different story about your sudden taste for coffee. Seems you’ve found something—

A glimpse of something caught Torque’s attention and he turned, breaking off in mid-lecture to stare off into the crowd. He spotted a slaver’s mark hanging from the doorway of an archaic-looking cathedral. When had the council last visited the Midway? No wonder the Death Stalkers flourished. Ahead of him, through the crowd, he spotted a blonde head then, when a burly shoulder blocking his view shifted out of his way, golden skin and a face came into view then vanished.

Did you see that?

He turned his head to glance over at Jaxon, but the vampire scanned the crowd, suddenly alert.

Yeah, I saw her. Pretty, blonde, witch.

Pretty? She was damn near too beautiful to look at straight on. Like staring at the sun.

* * * *

The free fall lasted long enough for Susanna to panic. In the darkness of a travel spell, there was no time, no sound, no comfort at all but the sound of blood pumping through veins. She counted, remembering to silence her fears and concentrate. Before she reached twenty, bright light burst along her senses and the sound, smells, and feel of cobblestones beneath her bare feet brought a rush of tears to her eyes. Emotions, hundreds upon hundreds of emotions hit her empathy and nearly brought her to her knees. Quickly, she built up her mental walls, reinforcing them with a softly spoken spell she’d learned as a child.

All around her she spotted people. All shapes, sizes, gender and races. Immortal warriors strode alongside tiny pixies while old hags complained in loud, shrill voices to vendors selling goods.

A glance around, and she swallowed past her fear. Midway. She was in Midway. It had to be. She’d heard of the place, but had never ventured here for anything. Her herbs and spells could be created with what she grew, or if not that, what she found in the hidden markets along the witches’ corridors of most mortal cities. This though, this was crazy. She’d never seen so many races all side by side and while they weren’t exactly talking, they weren’t drawing swords either.

Aye, there, what are ya doin’ out of line?

Susanna turned and found herself face to face with a disgusting leather vest covered in what looked like a year’s worth of food spills and stains. She backed up. And up. Giant. Holy moly.

Aye, did ya no’ ‘ear me?

Tilting her head, she tried to figure out what he meant. A sign behind him caught her eye and she planted her hands on her hips. She’d just escaped, barely, from Death Stalkers and now this huge, stupid giant thought to sell her as a slave.

Listen to me, you idiot. I’m not a slave.

He blinked ginormous brown eyes and scrunched up his face like she’d spoken too fast. Aye, ya are wearin’ my slave clothes, ya are mine.

She glanced down at her tattered gown and felt bile rise up in her throat. Her dress had been another torture. The Death Stalkers couldn’t touch her, when they tried, somehow or another they went crashing into walls. But they could whip her. And they could make her play their slave. She’d put the dress on her in exchange for food. She’d worn it to serve at the head table, to show the strength of the vile Dark Lord.

It had once been a parody of beautiful against the fresh whip marks marring her skin.

Anger hit her system hard enough to make her pause in the process of lashing into the stupid giant.