Bound For Blood (Feathers & Fire Book 1)

by Loxley Savage

  A reflection of silver flashes in the corner of my eye. I tuck my blonde wig behind my ears and glance at the bar on the far side of the room. An overweight man dressed to the nines walks toward me, blocking my view of the noble, as well as the insignia I so desperately need.

  I lean forward a little, pushing my breasts up as I crane my neck a bit to see around the large man. My target now back in my line of sight, the silver insignia around the Emperian’s neck taunts me, all while thoughts of food and fresh water fill my mind. Judging by the color of his insignia, he’s not quite royalty like I hoped to find, or else the medallion would be gold. But it will give still me more points since it’s more valuable than the copper ones.

  The portly man spares me a quick glance when he stops beside me. He taps his glass eCard against the bar to grab the barman’s attention. The scent of expensive cigars and bourbon invades my nostrils, turning my stomach. That little card usually gets my heart pumping, but tonight, my eye is on a much grander prize, and I suppose he should be grateful. I could probably do with another finger. I never know when they will come in handy.

  “A glass of white for me, and, perhaps”—he turns to me, his small, beady eyes hopeful—”this beautiful young lady here?”

  I hold my martini up to him. “Perhaps not.” I keep my expression neutral, my tone cold, and turn my head away.

  The man chokes on something unintelligible. He moves to the other end of the bar and waits for his drink, his furious eyes burning into the side of my skull. A grin plays on my lips. Rich or not, men always behave the same: throw a sexy dress on and they’ll come running like a pack of wild coyotes. There’s not enough money in the world to get me to sleep with someone from Emperia. I’d rather cut my own fingers off and eat them for supper than sink to that level. No. Not me.

  Shifting my gaze back to the noble I previously set my sights on, I find I can’t take my eyes off his gleaming emblem. I smell the canapé he’s eating, and I bite my lip as I catch his attention.

  Even from across the room, he reeks of nobility.

  A familiar white cloak, worn only by the elite Emperians, is slung over his broad shoulders. Underneath, draped over his ivory tunic, sits a gold sash, one typical of the king’s warriors.

  Noticing my interest, the fucker smirks at me, blatant in his perusal of my cleavage that I’ve strategically pushed up and out to garner attention. He raises his wine glass, his large muscles flexing as he grips his drink, and nods in my direction. His golden eyes flash in the lights and a loose strand of blond hair falls into his eyes, a stark contrast to his bronzed complexion. The Emperian is a handsome fucker, which pisses me off even more.

  I swallow down my revulsion and return his smile. I hold up my empty drink and swirl the final olive around the bottom of the glass, indicating the desire for another refreshment. I take the olive out from my glass and rub it across my cherry-red lips, before sucking the green fruit into my mouth. Much to my pleasure, the noble receives my message loud and clear, and he takes a step toward me.

  My breath hitches as he saunters my way, throwing his white cloak over one muscular shoulder. I try to remain calm and think of why I’m risking this: all the food soon to fill our peoples’ stomachs, and all the bullets that will shoot through the Emperians’ skulls. We might even be able to buy some decent liquor and not this yuppy martini bullshit.

  The large Emperian stands next to me, my eyes level with his abdomen, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. He stares down at me and, taking one finger, gently rubs the digit around the swell of my exposed breasts. Despite my revulsion, the softness of his touch sends chills through my body. My nipples tighten into hardened buds that press through the flimsy material of my dress. I’m surprised by my body’s reaction to him. I remind myself that it’s entirely physical. Internally, I want to smash my glass into the motherfucker’s smug face. But that won’t do. I need to play his game if I want to get my hands on that insignia.

  I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. The movement pulls a growl from the male’s throat, and his eyes gleam in the lights. It takes all my strength not to shudder in disgust, and I dip my eyes, not wanting him to notice the hatred I know he will find there. When I look back up at him through my dark lashes, his eyes are fixed on me. He trails his finger over my breast again, along my pulsating throat, and onto my flushed cheek. I flutter my eyes at him as he traces his long digit over the seam of my lips and then pushes it into my mouth. I force myself not to gag as I gently suck on the long digit.

  With thoughts of fresh food and water in the forefront of my mind, I find my resolve and moan around his finger. I see his cock jump in the soft linen of his pants, and I know I’ve got him.

  He pulls his finger out and sucks off my saliva. I struggle not to gag and keep my eyes sultry and focused on his, as though this is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my pathetic little life.

  “Want to go somewhere more… private?” His voice is deep and throaty as he wraps his large hand around the nape of my neck.

  I spare a quick glance over his shoulder, to the private room I scoped out upon my arrival, and then look up at him. “I thought you’d never ask,” I say, practically purring at him.

  His grip tightens on my nape—just the slightest hint of a claw digging into my soft skin as he urges me to follow him. I ease off the chair, and he wraps a large, powerful hand around the small of my back. He steers me across the room, and anticipation builds in my stomach.

  This was easier than I expected.

  As soon as he closes the door to the private room, I’ll rip the blade from my thigh and rob the bastard like there’s no tomorrow. I hope there’s an object in the room I can use to knock him out. If not, the blade’s handle will have to do. Or my ring. I’ve done more with less on plenty occasions.

  He confidently guides me through the crowd. His strong hand on my back feels so possessive. I pay no attention to the people fucking in the pools, or the man who’s got a waitress bent over the bar, taking her from behind. I keep my eyes fixed on the door.

  The warrior holds his medallion to the security lock. The door shifts to the side and unveils a room bathed in candlelight and opulent fabrics. Velvet sofas, and a four-poster bed draped in silks, take up most of the room. A wave of heat blows over me from the gigantic fireplace in the corner.

  He gestures for me to enter ahead of him. With a grin I step over the threshold, but I stumble when a heavy impact connects with my back, driving the air from my lungs.

  A firm hand seizes my throat and yanks me back, preventing me from crashing onto an exotic rug on the floor.

  Before I can even blink, the warrior pins me against the wall and lifts me off the ground by my throat. I claw at his grip constricting my breathing, but my strength as a human doesn't hold a candle to this massive warrior. He seizes my wig, lifts his lips into a sickening snarl, and throws my only disguise into the fireplace.

  “You think you can hide from me, slut?” His grip on my throat tightens, and I choke, gasping for air. My thoughts turn into mush as my oxygen deprived brain can no longer make rational thought. “I eat girls like you for breakfast,” he taunts me, his fangs gleaming in the candlelight. “In fact, maybe I’ll take a taste now. You did try so hard to grab my attention.”

  With a growl, he rips the shoulder of my dress, exposing my chest. He caresses my breasts hungrily, then slips his hand down my navel and between my thighs. He grabs my pussy and squeezes to the point of pain. I would scream but there's no air left in my lungs to expel. The world dims around me as I teeter on the edge of losing consciousness.

  “This pussy is mine, slum dweller.” He tugs at the finely trimmed hair on my center, prickles of pain shooting through my already tender skin. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

  My eyes start to close but then he wrenches his hand off my throat and throws me to the ground. I roll on to my side, gasping for air, and tears build in my eyes from the pain. The warrior pulls my dress over my
hips and shoves my legs apart. He grinds his fabric-covered cock against me as I try to focus my vision.

  Just like so many others have done, this motherfucker underestimates me.

  I might be just a girl—a slum dweller—but I’m also a fighter.

  I pull my arm back and take the only shot available to me. I punch him clean in the throat, making sure the rebel insignia on my ring catches his jugular. His skin sears as my ring injects poison straight into his veins. He pushes off me and falls onto his ass, clutching at his neck as the poison restricts his airway. I have to act fast while the poison temporarily paralyzes him.

  I scramble off the floor and press my stiletto heel into his chest. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this one short, sweetheart.”

  I push him onto his back, yank the medallion from his neck, and turn toward the door. I try my best to fix my torn dress and smooth my disheveled hair, making sure that the golden streak is hidden from view. I doubt anyone will notice I entered the room as a blonde. They’re too busy fucking each other like dogs in heat.

  I shakily shove the medallion into my purse. I risk a glance back at the warrior.

  “Raincheck?” I taunt with a wink, and then I exit the room.

  My heart thrashes against my ribs as I wade through the crowd of the bustling club. I give the barman a passing nod and make my way to the exit. The security guard presses the button to call the elevator for me. I count sixty-three, heart-racing seconds, before the doors ping open, and I step into the elevator.

  “Thank you,” I tell the guard. He shoots me a nod as the doors close, leaving me alone in the carriage.

  Alone at last, I relax my shoulders, my hands shaking with adrenaline. I want to burst out laughing, but I’m mindful of the security camera attached to the ceiling, watching me with an unblinking eye. Keeping my gaze forward on the long ride topside, the seconds feel like hours during my ascent. When the doors finally open, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and I exit through the club entrance. I thank the second bouncer, raise my head high, and step into the blinding sunlight.

  I did it. I actually did it!

  I smile as I bask in the warm rays, relieved that I don’t need a gas mask for once. It’s such a beautiful day to be alive, and I managed to steal a gold insignia. I turn around and step onto the sidewalk. Time to trade this bad boy and put decent food in our bellies for the first time in weeks.

  But an alarm shrills through my ears, stopping me dead in my tracks.

  A wave of nausea crashes into my body.

  The medallion must have triggered the club’s alarm.

  Shit! Why didn’t I think about that?

  Clenching my purse in my hands, I kick my heels off and run. My bare feet dig into the dirty concrete, and my eyes dart back and forth, frantically searching for a place to hide. This part of town consists of dingy alleyways and buildings sandwiched together in an attempt to house as many people as possible. I run down the street and slip into the nearest alleyway, hoping for a fire exit I can use to climb onto the rooftop.

  Relief floods through me when I see the corroded stairs stacked against the side of the building. I hold the purse between my teeth and grab onto the bars. I nearly slip off as I pull myself to the top, my legs and hands trembling, but I keep going, never once looking back. Sweat trickles down my forehead and spine. The soles of my feet are cracked and bleeding as the tender skin lost its battle against the concrete. I wince at the pain, but I do not stop. I can’t stop or it’s all been for nothing.

  After slipping on my bloody feet several times, I reach the top of the stairs, and I haul myself onto the rooftop. My chest heaves from the exertion, yet I can’t stop to catch my breath. Looking around, trying to find a place to hide, my eyes land on a small pigeon cote a few buildings down. It will have to do until I’m positive I’ve gotten away with robbing the noble.

  Finding my resolve, I run as fast as I can and leap across the rooftop, crashing onto the one opposite. I roll as I land, further tearing my already abused dress and body. My lungs seize together, and for an instant I’m breathless, wheezing on my side. I force myself up and stumble toward the cote, desperate for refuge.

  Jolts of red-hot pain shoot through my body as I scramble towards my hiding place. I think I’ve broken a few ribs, but that’s still better than imprisonment at the hands of the nobles. I would never have escaped them on the ground. They would’ve caught me in two minutes flat.

  With the cote in sight, I feel a moment of triumph and hurry as quickly as I can. A chill breaks out across my skin when a shadow swells over me, eclipsing the afternoon sun.

  What the hell is that?

  I search the sky, shielding my gaze against the blinding light.

  My blood freezes in my veins. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A gigantic, winged creature is soaring toward me, its long claws outstretched as if to capture its prey. It roars when our eyes meet, and my life flashes before my eyes, pulling a surprised scream from my dry throat. I try to run faster, past the cote, and I make one final leap across the last rooftop.

  I brace myself for more pain, more broken ribs, but something catches my fall. A thick, ropey tail wraps around my chest and heaves me backward. I soar through the air, unable to scream or touch the earth. I hiss through clenched teeth as a sharp pain stabs me in the neck, and then there’s nothing except for darkness.

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  Loxley lives in a suburb in northern Ohio with her husband and three daughters. After beta reading for several authors and finding dark romance, she decided to write a book herself. When she’s not writing, she’s a busy mom and devoted wife who lives for coffee and chocolate.