Page 1 of Bound to Death

Chapter One

Asha

If someone told me that one day I’d be the reason the world ended, I’d tell them they were full of shit and needed to lay off the sauce. But I couldn’t deny it anymore as I struggled onthe floor in a familiar dark room, my face and clothes covered in my own blood. Tomorrow, the world would end because I wasn’t strong enough to keep my soul.

I woke from a dream I didn’t remember, my heart an erratic thump against my chest. A shuddering breath left my lips as I sat up, relieved to be alive. I might not remember what happened, but my body sure did. Sweat pooled underneath me and my pulse raced in my ears. All the signs of a panic attack with no memory as to why. I wanted to run, but from what? What had been chasing me? Why did it feel like I still needed to get away?

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I checked the time on my phone. It was only minutes after three in the morning. Clicking the screen off, I wiped my wet forehead before stealing a look over my shoulder at the other side of the room. I could barely make out the door. For some reason, it felt darker. Like something waited in the blanket of night. I sunk fingers into my hair and breathed out the residual fear clawing at my throat.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a stupid fucking dream.

For months, every night was the same. I woke up in a state of panic at the Devil’s hour. Every time I fought the urge to run for my life—like I’d die if I didn’t—but I couldn’t understand why. I didn’t know why it felt like something was chasing me. And every night I was covered in sweat, heart thundering, throat bone-dry as if I’d been screaming; all with the oddest sensation that someone was watching and waiting, ready to end the game we played. I’d always find myself peeking over at the same corner of the room, but no one was ever there.

No one was waiting.

On my feet, I headed for the kitchen. The only thing that made me feel better was a cold drink. I intentionally chose not to keep one next to my bed so I had to walk off the sensation of a nightmare I couldn’t remember. I tied up my recently-dyed cherry-red hair into a messy bun, fixed my baggy night shirt and shorts, and made my way down the hall after tripping over the rug I insisted on buying.

The moonlight coming through the window in the kitchen was just bright enough to guide me over, and I went straight for the fridge when I finally turned the corner. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a loud rap shook the window over the sink. I gasped and jerked my eyes over to it, catching sight of a raven outside the glass. Or was it a crow? I couldn’t tell the difference, but I’d decided it was a raven because it scared the crap out of me enough times for it to be a messenger of death.

The little jerk cawed at me before flying away.

“Don’t you ever sleep, you damn bird?” I muttered angrily, chastising it with a glare even though it was already off to do whatever it was birds did at three in the morning. Birdy booty calls? At least one of us was getting some right now.

I’d somehow made friends with a raven over the last few months. Weirdly enough, Emily never mentioned it and thought I was certifiable for thinking a bird was stalking me. Every time I talked about it, she told me I needed to get dicked down—because that was Emily’s solve-all suggestion for anything—and I’d pretty much stopped pointing it out to her.

But the damn bird was always somewhere nearby, in a tree or perched on a windowsill. It’d greet me on my arrival home or on my way out the door by either cawing at me in its “Look at me!” sort of way or tapping its beak on glass until I looked over. But this was the first time it came to me in the middle of the night.

Maybe Emily was right. Maybe I did need a good hot-and-heavy interlude with a stranger to take the edge off.

Calming my racing pulse with a few deep breaths, I turned to get a drink and then get the hell back to bed. I had to work in the morning, and my boss was unforgiving about yawning around clients.

Just as I leaned over to get the usual bottle of water, the door to our shared bathroom behind me creaked open before stopping. I shot a look over to it, catching the last bit of movement. Even the shadows around it seemed to shift and move on their own. Straightening my spine, I stared into the ominous darkness, the urge to run rushing over me again.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts…” I mumbled under my breath, humming the theme song ofGhostbustersto pretend I wasn’t scared. “Do your worst, phantoms!” I called out to the dark like I wasn’t crazy. Totally normal to yell at nothing. “Go haunt someone who cares,” I added when nothing responded, and it was just me—the crazy lady—standing next to a dimly lit fridge like it was a lifeline, convinced my ridiculous speech would scare off whatever poltergeist had wandered through our apartment.

A figure appeared in the kitchen archway, and I held my bottle out like it was a sword, stumbling backwards and screaming, “Get back, fiend!”

“Asha, who are you yelling at? It’s three in the damn morning,” my roommate complained, coming into the kitchen with her eyeliner smeared under her eyes and her lipstick smudged to one side of her face. Her blonde hair was defying several rules of gravity, and it was evident in her sleepy stare she’d only just gotten to bed.

I pressed the bottle to my mouth, hiding my grin. “Ems, what the hell happened to your face? Did my girl get lucky?Oh. My. God.Is he here? Did he just hear all that? Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Calm your tits, woman. I don’t think a nuclear bomb could wake this one up. He was practically dead after I was done with him, anyway,” my cute roommate gloated, cutting hermischievous eyes over to where her room was. “Wait, you screaming banshee, this isn’t about me. Why are you in here exorcising ghosts when you should be in bed? Bad dream again?”

Giving me the usual look, Emily came over in nothing but a big t-shirt and pair of socks before stealing the bottle right from my hand. Or weapon, depending on who you asked. She helped herself to a few gulps then handed it back to me. I’d complain, but it wouldn’t matter if I did. The girl did what she wanted, and honestly, I admired her for it.

“So, spill the tea? Do you remember it this time?”

Shaking my head, I downed the rest of my drink before tossing it into the recycling bin. “Not one bit. I’m starting to think I need therapy.”

Throwing her arm around my shoulder, Emily walked me back to my room. “Oh, Ash, that’s what alcohol and meaningless sex are for. I keep telling you, you need a night out with me. There’s no greater therapy than rubbing up against a stranger and getting white-girl drunk.”

“That’s what alcoholics say, Ems.”

She pinched my cheek before kissing it. “We’re not thirty yet. We can still pretend it’s perfectly okay. Come on, just do yourself a favor. Let loose. Leave the scary ghosts at home and come out with me tomorrow night.”

My eyes narrowed on my best friend, the much-too-old-for-it party girl. “Haven’t you been out the last three nights? Aren’t you tired? Don’t your bones ache from overuse? Are you hearing colors and tasting words yet?”

“I swear, I don’t know how we’re friends with you acting your age and all. We can sleep when we’re dead, Ash.” And with that final unhelpful nugget, Emily left me standing at my door so she could be late for her job another day.

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