Free Spirit: Book Two of The Bound Spirit Series Read online

  Free Spirit

  The world is a very weird place, and for seventeen year old, Callie, it’s gotten a whole lot weirder. The paranormal is real, and not only are her five new guy friends each some type of supernatural creature, she is too-- actually, she’s the most powerful one of all. As a spirit witch, she’s part of an ancient sect of witches that were believed to have been wiped out millennia ago and have the power to control life itself. Unfortunately, her magic is bound by a spell.

  Good news: The spell is weakening.

  Bad news: If it breaks before she can get it removed, half the town might go up in smoke atomic-bomb style.

  Mix in a jealous witch that has it out for her. The growing awareness that her new found friends are… very attractive. And the murderers that killed her friend Felix are now after her. Callie has her hands more than full. Forget making it through her junior year. She just wants to make it to the end of October.

  In this captivating and vivid paranormal reverse harem, join Callie on the next chapter of her journey of healing from the horrors of her past and finding where she fits in the world of things that go bump in the night.

  Warning:

  This book contains graphic violence, adult language, mild sexual content, and deals in sensitive issues such as abuse, suicide, and PTSD. Reader discretion is advised.

  Copyright © 2018 by H.A.Wills

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the author

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Free Spirit

  Book Two of The Bound Spirit Series

  By: H.A. Wills

  Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger of falling in love, and were it not for his considerable skill in the deadly arts, that he should be in danger of being bested by hers-- for never had he seen a lady more gifted in the ways of vanquishing the undead.

  -- Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith

  Chapter 1

  Callie

  I drift between sleep and awake, feeling warm and safe. I can’t remember the last time I slept so many consecutive hours, and I’m reluctant to leave my snuggly cocoon between Nolan and Donovan.

  Nolan, still dressed in the black button up and jeans he wore to the party last night, is curled around my back, and we fit together like two nesting spoons. He breathes in slow and deep, his exhales warm against my neck. His arms are wrapped loosely around my waist, and his left arm is pinned beneath me. Donovan sleeps bare chested facing me, his right arm outstretched underneath my pillow, while his left hand rests on my hip below Nolan’s arms. My head is less on the pillow and more on Donovan’s shoulder, tucked underneath his chin. His muscles are firm beneath my cheek, and his body radiates obscene amounts of heat. We didn’t start out this way, but sometime during the night we must have gravitated toward each other. It’s sweet, as long as I don’t think too hard about how attractive my friends are. I will not blush!

  The soft murmur of the television behind me is interrupted by the swoosh and click of the front door opening and closing, but it’s the heavenly aroma of coffee that gets me to crack my eyes. Awkwardly tilting my head, I see Connor walking into the kitchen dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, his sculpted chest and abs on display. Blood burns its way up my cheeks thinking how he caught me looking at him last night. Damn it! Now, I’m blushing.

  With the siren call of caffeine and possibly the need to dunk my head in ice water, I try to squirm my way out from between Nolan and Donovan. My plans are quickly foiled when both guys tighten their grips and snuggle in closer. Nolan bucks his hips, his morning wood now pressing against my ass. So not helping. It’s a good thing I don’t get claustrophobic, because I’m now pretty much enveloped between their bodies.

  With a lot of squeaking and huffing, I manage to twist my arms free and hear coughed snickers emanating from the kitchen. Lifting my head, I see Connor and Kaleb with coffee cups in their hands and amused smirks across their faces.

  “Little help here,” I stage whisper at them.

  Connor’s smirk turns to a grin, his white teeth glowing against his warm copper skin. He puts his coffee down on the counter, then walks over to our sleeping bundle of humanity. Reaching from behind Nolan, he tucks his arms under my back and legs, gently extracting me. Donovan and Nolan semi wake and grumble nonsensically as they release me, before rolling over and going back to sleep.

  Instead of putting me down immediately, Connor carries me bridal style toward the kitchen. My head rests against the aforementioned sculpted chest, and heat also pours off him like he’s a walking, occasionally talking, furnace. At least I’ll never be cold with these guys around. Thankfully, once we reach the kitchen, he deposits me onto the counter.

  After caffeinating, I’m definitely dunking at least my head in cold water.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, my blush reaching nuclear levels.

  He nods and picks his coffee back up.

  Kaleb, looking attractively rumpled in a wrinkled white T-shirt that molds to his muscular frame—the color appealing against his dark sepia skin-- dark wash jeans and bare feet, hands me a cup of coffee exactly the way I like it with just the right amounts of cream and sugar.

  For a moment I blink into space, slowly sipping my coffee, and internally groaning over all of the warm fuzzies I feel waking up surrounded by my friends. It’s like my armor isn’t in place yet, so all my random feelings are fluttering everywhere.

  I’m about to ask where Felix is when I notice the CSI episode on TV. It’s at the point of the episode where they’re trying to recreate the crime, and I can’t help commenting, “That arterial spray is way off. Yeah, there’s some spurting, but not like it’s shooting out of an air compressor.”

  Kaleb frowns, then following my line of sight, he sets his coffee down and jumps into frenzied action. “I’m so sorry, Callie,” he apologizes, his voice a deep rumble. “I can’t believe we were so careless. I’ll turn it off.”

  “Huh?” I look over at him, confused. “It’s fine. You can leave it on if you want.”

  He freezes mid step and turns back to face me. “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Why would it bother--” I trail off when it clicks into place, then sigh. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be considerate about what I’ve been through, but please don’t start treating me like fragile glass.” I snort. “If anything, I’m the exact opposite, literally.”

  Neither Connor nor Kaleb look amused. My heart aches, worried that my fears are being realized, and they’ll treat me differently now that they know.

  Softly, I continue, “I can only imagine how scary last night was for you guys. My flashbacks have never been that severe before, or I would’ve been more vigilant about it.”

  Kaleb looks at me with tender eyes, a promise of safety and understanding, and walks over to lean against the counter next to me. He rests his hand on my knee, and little tingles chase up my leg. Knock it off, hormones!

  “Callie, yes, last night was upsetting,” he confirms with his sweet, gentle smile, “but that’s not why I was worried about the show. I want to avoid triggering you, because I don’t want you to have to go through that horror again-- not so I don’t have to witness it. Please, don’t ever feel like you have to protect us from yourself and what’s going on with you. We want to help.”

  Connor nods in agreement, and my chest feels tight. Too early i
n the morning for heart to hearts.

  I take a sip of my coffee before responding, “Okay, I’ll do my best to tell you what’s going on with me, but I need you to trust that I will tell you when something is or will bother me. Don’t handle me with kid gloves. Agreed?”

  Connor squints like he’s not sure he wants to agree with the second half, but Kaleb squeezes my knee and replies, “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise I won’t worry about you or try to help. It’s kind of my thing, but I’ll try not to suffocate you with it.”

  I snicker, then release a mock sigh of the put upon. “Fine, but I reserve the right to tell you you’re worrying too much.”

  “Deal,” Kaleb’s gentle smile turns back into a smirk, while he reaches for my free hand to shake.

  Now, I’m wondering if I agreed to what I thought I did.

  Kaleb picks up his mug and takes a swig of his coffee. “May I ask why the show doesn’t bother you?”

  I chew on my bottom lip and ponder the reasons behind how I feel. “I think it’s because I know it isn’t real and can’t hurt me,” I answer after a moment. “I actually kind of like crime procedurals. The perpetrator is always caught in the end.”

  “So you were triggered last night because it was a real fire,” Kaleb clarifies.

  “Exactly,” I confirm, sipping more of my coffee. The sweet caffeine is slowly making its way to my brain, and I feel more like myself. “It’s the full sensory input that I think affects me the most. For example, seeing a baseball game on TV might make me uncomfortable, but is unlikely to trigger me. Now, seeing a baseball bat in person, or--” I shudder, “actually seeing and hearing the baseball bat hit something, has a far greater chance of triggering me in some way.”

  Carefully, he asks, “Do you think you’ll feel differently if what you see on television more closely resembles something you’ve experienced in real life?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I might feel really uncomfortable, or I might critique the inaccuracies of their special effects. They get a lot of stuff wrong.” I fidget, realizing I’m getting close to sharing the severity of my abuse, even if indirectly. “There might be some trial and error with this. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry... and thank you,” he replies with a soft smile.

  “For what?” I question, scrunching up my nose.

  “For talking to us about this, and for trusting us with all that’s going on with you,” he answers.

  I feel guilty about not elaborating on the scope of what’s happened to me. Right now, all I want to do is forget, and delving into it all is too hard. It’s not like I don’t have enough on my plate.

  Recalling what I was going to ask before all this started, I inquire, “Do you know where Felix is?”

  A shadow of melancholy skirts across Kaleb’s dark brown eyes. “He’s outside. He goes to where-- to the burn spot when he needs to think.”

  I inwardly cringe, worried that what the others went through doesn’t come close to the trauma Felix is experiencing from witnessing my abuse up close and in real time. Added to his own traumatic history with fire-- Crap. I have to make sure Felix is okay and not scarred for life-- or afterlife.

  I finish my coffee and hop down from the counter. “I’m going to go check on him.”

  “Would you like company?” Kaleb asks.

  I shake my head while making my way over to the front door. “No, I think he might need a one-on-one at the moment.”

  “Because of what he saw?” he questions with a searching gaze.

  I sigh and nod. “It’s a lot and difficult to talk about. I promise to tell you more when I feel able, but it’s going to take time. It’s not that I don’t trust you--”

  “It’s alright, Callie,” he reassures. “I want to know, because I want to be able to help you and because it’s a part of you, but I can wait-- we can wait.”

  Kaleb eyeballs Connor who’s looking at me speculatively. I wonder how much he’s figured out on his own. Can he tell how bad it was?

  Kaleb continues, “I want you to tell us because you’re ready, not because you feel pressured.”

  Tears burn my eyes, and I have to blink them away. Without thought, I quickly stride over and hug Kaleb-- the first one I’ve ever initiated in as long as I can remember.

  He’s rightly surprised, stunned into inaction for a fraction of a second, before setting his mug down and carefully wrapping his arms around me. His shirt is soft against my cheek. I breathe in his scent of sandalwood and old books while listening to the steady thump of his heart.

  “Thank you,” I whisper against his chest, the top of my head reaching below his chin.

  He gives me a tight squeeze before releasing me. “You’re welcome, not that thanks are necessary.”

  I shrug. “A lot of people would push, so thank you for waiting until I’m ready.”

  I hesitate for a few heartbeats, then turn and hug Connor. This hug is a little different than hugging Kaleb, mostly because Connor’s so tall. It’s more head against upper abs than head against chest -- and his shirt is still unbuttoned. He returns the hug, his large hands resting on the middle of my back.

  I tilt my head up to look at him, and he looks down at me. After last night and the past week, I feel Connor can read a lot in my eyes, so I don’t have to say how much he’s grown to mean to me and how grateful I am that he’s become part of my life.

  Instead, I say, “You’re unbelievably tall. Remind me to grab a step ladder next time I hug you.”

  He grins and pats the top of my head, which I take as he got my other message. I sniff then pull away, heading back toward the front door.

  While slipping on my aunt’s Uggs, which are a little big for my feet, I announce, “New rule. All potentially emotional conversations must be reserved until I’ve had at least two cups of coffee. It’s unfair to try to get my brain to function before that.” I tuck the legs of my flannel pajama bottoms into the boots, then grab and put on my red hoodie from the coat closet near the front door. “Now for the second half of this emotional rollercoaster.”

  Connor fills my mug on the counter with more coffee, and Kaleb adds the cream and sugar before handing it to me.

  “Drink quickly?” Kaleb teases.

  “Thanks,” I laugh, then salute them both with my mug before heading outside.

  My breath is visible in the crisp air and the grass is damp under my boots, as I make my way around the house to the spot just below my balcony. I hold my mug with both hands as much for warmth as I do to keep it from spilling.

  I find Felix sitting at the edge of the half grown-over, scorched grass circle, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the clear blue sky. He looks just the same as the night before-- jeans, Vans, and a T-shirt with illustrations of different sided dice that says “This is how I roll” -- just minus the sport coat.

  “Kind of a morbid thinking spot,” I comment, walking over to him.

  When he sees me, he stands up, going through the motions of wiping grass or dirt from his clothes and hands, even though it’s unnecessary. With Felix, it’s a strange study of all the things we do without thought. Habits that even though they’re no longer useful, we still carry with us after death.

  He screws up his face, looking down at the spot. “It’s the only place I can go to without an anchor.”

  A sliver of ice pierces my chest. “So it’s not the house?”

  He shakes his head. “No, the house is within my range, but this is the spot I always appear at first.”

  Oh no. Please, no. “Is that how you died-- in a fire?” I whisper. I can’t say burned alive. The memories are too fresh in my own mind.

  “The guys say no,” he answers, glancing over at me. My heart aches with the weighted shadows in his hazel eyes. “Like I told you, I don’t remember how I died, or how my family died. Kaleb tells me it’s like that for ghosts sometimes-- not to remember. Ironic since my unfinished business is to find and bring to justice whoever did this.”
>
  I blow on my coffee before taking a large sip, then inquire, “How do you know what your unfinished business is?”

  “It was my first thought when I... woke up, I guess. The first thing I remember after becoming a ghost was the need to avenge something. I didn’t know what until they told me my parents died with me.” Felix rubs the back of his neck and gives me a peek of a smirk. “How very Batman of me.”

  I offer a small smile in return. “No capes. I hear they aren’t wise superhero costume accessories.”

  That earns me a hint of a laugh.

  “Want to tell me what you do know about that night?” I ask, watching his face carefully.

  He shrugs then sighs. “I guess it’s only fair since I know your stuff.”

  “No, I’m not asking-- I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I reply.

  “No, it’s okay. The others know, so it isn’t really a secret.” He looks at me, turning away from the blackened grass. “We don’t know much. The police believe it was multiple people that broke into the house in the middle of the night. We don’t-- didn’t have an alarm system or anything, so there was no warning.”

  He speaks without inflection, an empty statement of facts. “The front door was forced open, and we were rounded up. There was minimal blood inside the house, so police know that we weren’t killed there then moved. It’s likely we were murdered here at the burn site. They don’t know how we were killed, because the fire destroyed pretty much all the evidence.”

  “And there’re no suspects?” I ask just above a whisper.

  He shakes his head. “No fingerprints, loose hairs, or anything like that, and my parents were normal. My mother was an interior designer, and my father owned a company that specialized in remodeling.” A short hum of remembered fondness vibrates in his throat. “They used to love when clients would hire them both. It meant they got to work and plan out the remodels together.”

  Felix folds his arms, his gaze flitting from my face to the house behind me and back. “My parents didn’t have any enemies, and I don’t remember pissing anyone off. Police think it’s an ‘unfortunate’,” he presses his lips tightly together, “random act of violence. There aren’t even any similar cases to connect it to. Just a group of assholes that decided to murder me and my family for the fuck of it.”