Keys - Amber Kell.pdf

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Keys
By Amber Kell
My name is Octavius Septimus Stalk, but my friends call me Oss. I live in the City of
Keys, a town of gears, keys, locks, and wonder. Our forefathers banished magic long ago,
bolted the doors and locked everything up tight to keep people out and the town’s secrets
in. Four Lock Lords control what information is left, and everyone else is left struggling to
survive.
Despite what Thorne, my naïve lover, thinks, I was an orphan, but not a victim. When
I walked the streets at the age of twelve, I learned fast where to steal the best food, how to
use my daggers, and where to hide my would-be attackers’ bodies. No one suspected me
of such violence. No one knew then or now that I have magic inside me.
Now, power hungry men intend to release the magic for their own benefit—at the
expense of the rest of the city. We will stop them, even if Thorne must battle his own kin,
even if I must reveal my hidden talents and the role I seem destined to play.
For all my fans who requested a longer book. I hope you enjoy!
Acknowledgments
A special thank you to my husband for consulting on my manuscript even though you
skipped all the sex scenes.
Chapter One
“For all the locks in the world, there is just one key, and with his will, he can free the
world.”
High Prophet Thomas H. Locksten—Prophecy of Keys
BONG
Bong
Bong
The clamoring bell from the Lock Tower filtered into my dreams, a loud, obnoxious
nudge reminding me to wake up and begin my day. My name is Octavius Septimus Stalk.
My friends call me Oss, and my enemies hide from my blades. Stab one key keeper for
grabbing your ass and you never live down a violent reputation.
The brush of warm lips across my bare shoulder pulled my attention to my bedmate. I
always go from slumber to full alert with little space for sluggish-headedness in between.
Growing up a street rat gave me certain habits I doubt I’ll ever be able to break. My
instant alert ability, the most minor of my infractions, came in handy when Thorne wished
to give me a proper send-off for the day.
“Morning, love.” Hawthorne Smith, Thorne to me, had a deep voice that shivered
down my spine like vibrations from the tolling of the Tower bell. I’d stood next to it once
while it rang, hiding out from guards. They’d stopped their pursuit at the bottom of the
stairs—wiser than me I suspect, and happy to keep their hearing. Two days later my
eardrums were still ringing.
Thorne had a similar effect on me. I could still feel his hands roaming my body days
after we’ve made love. He’s lasted the longest of any of my partners, if rushed gropings in
a dark alley counted as partners. Thorne has assured me it doesn’t. He’s certain I need no
one else and is determined to keep me sated enough I seek no others.
“Morning.” I don’t repeat the endearment. I’ve grown fond of Thorne in the three
months we’ve been warming each other’s beds, but love took longer than that, or it
should. I don’t know anyone in love, so it is only guesswork on my part. Growing up on
the streets didn’t lend itself to being a trusting, loving person. My cold nature has scared
off more than one potential lover before we’d even reached a properly dark bit of street to
relieve some tension.
Thorne traced a finger down my back. My body jerked like a marionette dancing
along a string. Thorne knew how to be a proper puppet master. Groaning, I pushed back
into his touch. I craved my man. Deep down I hoped to keep him, but I buried that

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