Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  We turned down another road, the Hungarian name still visible on the side of the building, Király u., meaning King. The narrow street was lined with worn and ramshackle neo-classic stone buildings, their glory days forgotten. It was suffocated with people, buildings, and makeshift structures erected on roofs or crammed in places they should never have fit, choking out any sense of space. It felt like a jungle—reedy, dense—making my lungs palpitate.

  He slowed down to almost a crawl as hordes of people milled everywhere, closing in the narrow lane. There were a surprising number of horses tied randomly to posts or moving freely around, adding to the intensity of closed space and putrid smell.

  When the curtain fell between worlds, the rulers in the West were quick to adapt and modernize, using the magic in the air to power devices and automobiles. Not here. Only the ultra-rich could afford to buy these innovations, and most of our country reverted to simpler times. Horses did not break down under magic. Even Istvan used a horse when he was in the city.

  Magic-friendly motorcycles were the lone motor vehicle being manufactured in the East. Russia and Ukraine had cornered the market, which added to their power and dominance over other countries.

  Brash laughter, talking, yelling, and music streamed down an alley where Warwick slowed the motorcycle to a stop. Torches lit up the outside of the pedestrian lane, people stumbling in and out, women and men, fae and human. The amount of loud and unruly people caused my lungs to pulse with anxiety. Gunshots echoed through the lane, making me jolt with a cry, clenching the gun I was still holding.

  “As I said. Stay close.” Warwick got off the bike and turned toward me, taking the gun from me and stuffing it into the back of his pants before reaching for me. Blood still leaked down his arm from where he’d been shot, but it looked like the bullet had grazed him—lucky him. I was only in my sports bra, my gray pants so soaked with blood they were sliding off my bony hips, the weight pulling them down.

  Both of us were shot, bruised, wounded, covered in dirt and blood, and not one person gave us notice as we entered the lane.

  Walking through the entryway was like passing into another world—a dark fantasy and a terrifying circus. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. Overwhelmed, I stopped in my tracks, my mouth parting. My senses were inundated with stimuli. The stench of body odor, liquor, smoke, vomit, and food slammed up my nose. The boisterous noises had me darting my head around the pedestrian lane packed with bars and restaurants. The air reverberated with the sound of high-pitched laughter from scantily clad women, coupled with music from pianos or live bands. Tables were filled with people drinking and gambling, people kissing or fighting, passed out, dancing, or doing drugs right in the open. One fae had partially shifted into her fox form, alluring everyone who passed to come watch her dance. Most customers were dressed in simple cotton trousers or skirts with shirts and jackets in muted, dull colors, as if they had been washed and worn for so long they’d lost all pigment. The insipid fabrics emphasized the shirtless men and painted women strolling around, their eyes empty, but salacious smiles curved on their mouths.

  Women in racy fantasy costumes dangled from the ceiling on hoops and swings. A hammock high up was filled with multiple naked forms—groaning, touching, licking—not hiding one bit of their ecstasy as they openly fucked each other.

  “Full house!” A man’s voice bellowed, drawing my attention to a group gambling at a table inside one of the bars. All the doors and windows were open on this balmy night. “My reward. Come.” The old man curled his fingers at one of the young men near him, beckoning him over with a lustful sneer. The boy couldn’t have been older than fourteen. I turned away, feeling sick to my stomach. I wasn’t naïve, but my world had none of this depravity. Not in the open anyway. We kept our sins hidden.

  I hobbled forward, the pain in my leg screaming louder with each step, but I was still caught up in the debauchery around me. Feeling overwhelmed and uncomfortable, the lane seemed to tighten around me, figures knocking into me, pushing and touching my emaciated frame with ease, forcing me to tuck closer to Warwick.

  We reached an intersection in the path. A building on the corner boomed with activity, my skin shivering with the extra energy and shock. Women draped out of the windows above, motioning to the men walking by as music streamed out, enticing the people below. Men paraded in and out, some not even bothering to proceed up to a room, their pants down around their ankles as they fucked against the wall, right under a sign that read Kitty’s House.

  Feeling revolted, but unable to stop watching, my stomach twisted, my innocent world crashing in around me as my gaze caught more lewd acts among the shadows in the alley.

  “Here.” Warwick turned me toward the whorehouse.

  “What?” I yanked back on his arm, almost falling, realizing I had been leaning on him much more than I wanted, my leg barely able to hold my weight. “Here?”

  “You gonna get righteous on me, Kovacs?” His brows furrowed as he tugged me forward, my feet stumbling to catch up.

  “Warwick!” A woman yelled down, her smile growing into elation, her eyes turning hungry.

  “Warwick! Warwick’s back!” More women joined in from the windows waving down, pushing each other out of the way to see and call down to him.

  Why was I not surprised he was well known at a whorehouse?

  “Gods, Warwick. We’ve missed you. It’s been so long. We thought something happened to you.” A stunning dark-haired woman blew him a kiss. “Madam is going to be so happy to see you.” Her voice was like velvet, a song in the air. Alluring. An inkling, a tiny voice, told me to follow her, to be near her, a hook drawing me in.

  “Hey, Nerissa. You know I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He winked up at her, his eyes glinting, only making her lids lower with desire. Suddenly the voice inside my head flipped. I wanted to punch her in the face. “Been held up elsewhere for a bit.”

  “Well, we’ve missed you. Me most of all.” She curled her finger at him. “Come upstairs and let me show you…like old times.”

  I didn’t even know I moved until I felt Warwick’s arm wrap around my torso, tugging me back, a snarl curling my lip.

  Where the fuck did that come from?

  “Whoa there.” His deep voice vibrated against my neck, my attention still on her.

  Nerissa’s smile parted, an enchanting laugh falling over my skin, but I could easily brush it off. “You can certainly join us, human.” She stared at me, curling her finger. “Come, pretty one.”

  “Nerissa…” Warwick warned.

  “I think I’d rather be whipped and locked up in the hole,” I snapped at her.

  Her head jerked back, puzzlement creasing her forehead.

  Before she could say any more, Warwick picked me up, taking me up the stairs and through the door. He placed me back on my feet the moment we crossed the threshold, staring at me.

  “What?” I sighed. My adrenaline was leaking from me; the blood loss and pain from my calf was catching up. I suddenly felt the exhaustion of the entire day weighing down my bones.

  “She’s a siren.” His eyes rolled over me like he was trying to figure out something.

  Siren. I had heard about them but never encountered one. They were supposed to have the magic to lure any man or woman to their death with a song.

  “So?” I shrugged. “We’re not in water.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he snorted. “Sirens are deadly in water but are almost as alluring on earth, especially to humans. No human can turn them down as they tap into human and fae sexual desires. They are extremely powerful.” He lowered his lids, standing fully. “She focused her charms on you. You should not have been able to ignore her call.”

  “Warwick.” Low and precise, his name had us both turning to the figure gliding toward us. The woman was tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Somewhat masculine, but still delicate in the way she held herself. Her skin was a rich chocolate, and her curly hair was left wild around her face,
setting off her hazel eyes. Her tall heels made my feet ache just to look at them, but they made her even more formidable, her black dress tightly fitting her slim frame. She was beautiful, striking, but something felt off. “It’s been far too long.” She outstretched her hand, her voice deeply baritone, though she tried to soften it.

  “Kitty.” Warwick took it, brushing his mouth over her knuckles. The madam herself watched him with a mix of adoration and weariness. After being around him, I completely understood. She pulled back when she spotted me, her nose wrinkling at my half-naked, cut, bruised, bloody form. “I see you brought a friend this time. That’s a first. Bringing your own meal into a restaurant?” She arched a plucked eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry to intrude on you like this. I was hoping—”

  Madam Kitty held her palm up, stopping his words.

  “Warwick, darling.” She sighed, her head shaking subtly. “I don’t recall a time you haven’t come here shot, stabbed, and covered in blood, needing my assistance. I have never turned you away. You know you are always welcome here.” Her painted lips pursed. “I swear, violence and danger follow you like a shadow, my love.”

  Her sentiment caught my attention. Lynx had said the same thing to me. Odd.

  “Follow me.” She swung around and sauntered for the stairs. Every swing of her hips was controlled with sensual movement and purpose. With the grace of a drunk cow, I cursed and hissed at every step, trying to follow. With Warwick’s help, I made it up the four flights of stairs and down a corridor, trying not to puke or pass out.

  Women and men lingered in the hallways and in doorways of bedrooms, all dressed in very little: bodices, silk robes, and sexy underwear. They greeted Warwick as an old friend, both sexes shimmering with desire as he passed, not at all shocked to see his condition, some even peering at me with interest.

  Kitty stopped at a door, grabbing on to the doorknob, and opened it. “I had your room prepared for you.”

  “Even if it’s been years, you seem to know when I’m coming.” He wagged his head, looking at her with adoration.

  She shrugged, a hint of a smile on her lips. “You’re a powerful force, Warwick. Hard to ignore. Even more so tonight.” Her gaze dipped to me before motioning for us to enter.

  Stepping in, my gaze drifted around. The space was simple—a bed with a nightstand, a fire lamp casting the room in a rosy color. A threadbare chair stood in the corner next to a dresser with a scuffed mirror over it and a bowl of water and towels stacked on it. The curtains were pulled back from the two open windows overlooking the lane below, music and voices roaring up into the room. “I will have someone bring you healing supplies, food, and clothes.”

  “Kitty, thank you. Once again, your kindness is unparalleled.” He bowed his head to her. It was unsettling to see him be pleasant to someone. Kind. It was a side I never thought he had.

  She exhaled, and a thin layer of fake annoyance swished her hand, revealing how much she and everyone else adored him here.

  “I’m glad to see you, Warwick. There have been a lot of rumors.” She grabbed the handle, pulling the door closed. “Good night.”

  The door clicked shut, leaving us alone in the tiny bedroom. A bedroom with only one bed.

  In normal circumstances, this might cause some awkwardness, but upon the closing of the door, I felt I was permitting exhaustion and pain to command me. I bent forward, bracing myself against the wall.

  “Sit down.” Warwick pointed at the bed, his tone cold and angry again. He tugged the gun free, setting it on the nightstand, moving to the dresser.

  There’s the guy I know.

  Plopping on the bed, the frame squeaked under me, my bones aching with exhaustion, my calf on fire. I knew adrenaline had kept the pain at bay, but now I was keenly aware of the excruciating ache of my muscles and the fire of my bullet wound. From the fight, the explosion, being shot, and escaping—there wasn’t a cell in my body not screaming in pain.

  Breathing heavily and trying not to throw up, I heard someone knock. Warwick answered the door, mumbled to someone, and closed it. I zoned out, biting back the agony.

  He stepped in front of me, setting down the bowl of water, rags, pliers, gauze, and other instruments I didn’t want to think about. He opened one of the bags, pulling out a jug.

  “Drink.” He thrust the bottle in my face. The brutal smell of really cheap palinka burned my nostrils, and I turned my head away. “Sorry, princess, I don’t have the premium stuff you’re used to. This is going to have to do.”

  Scowling, I swiped the bottle from him, my tender stomach rolling at the harsh smell.

  As his hands moved down my leg, pain lit up my nerves. I poured a swig down my throat, hacking and coughing as the liquid scorched my gullet. I took another huge shot right after, flinching at the severe liquor.

  Far cry from the palinka Caden and I shared our last night together.

  Caden.

  My head shook at the memory. That was another lifetime—another girl.

  “Sounds like you are a regular here.” I shivered at another swig.

  “I was.”

  I waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

  “How do you know her?”

  “Kitty and I go back a long time,” he answered coolly.

  “I’ll bet,” I snorted, feeling fire course down my throat. He ignored my comment. “Did you know Kitty means chaste and pure?” I sniggered, staring at the light brown shitty liquor. “Ironic, huh?”

  “Take off your pants,” Warwick ordered, sitting back on his heels.

  I peered up, staring at him.

  “Seriously?” He rolled his eyes, annoyance heaving from his nose. “You think escaping from that hellhole and getting you shot was all simply my grand plan to see you in your knickers?” He tilted into me, his mouth so close. I inhaled sharply, the alcohol already buzzing my mind. “Plus, I’ve already seen you naked, princess. Nothing special. Far too bony for me.”

  I frowned, huffing with embarrassment and irritation. “Screw you.”

  “Now look who is trying to get into whose pants.”

  I turned my head, afraid of the fury boiling up in me. The whiskey had numbed my pain enough to hate him.

  “Take them off, or I will.” He stood up, looming over me, his hands on his hips.

  Exhausted and incensed, I sat glaring up at him acting like a stubborn child.

  “Fine.” He shrugged, reaching for me, his hands curling around the waistband, his fingers grazing my hips, igniting the skin where he touched me. He slowly dragged the pants down my legs, gently at the spot where my pants stuck to my wound, and tossed them on the weathered floorboards with a slap.

  Wearing only a bralette and prison-issued underwear, I peered down at myself, blinking the tears from my eyes. How fast Halalhaz changed me. A few months were nothing to most, but inside there, it was years.

  I had always been thin from training, but fit and muscular. Healthy skin, hair, and nails. A glow in my cheeks. My skin before had been smooth and creamy, Rebeka insisting on facials and spa days along with a healthy diet. Prison robbed me of those qualities. Now, I was unhealthy and gaunt. Every inch of my pallid, dry skin was covered with purple, yellow, and green bruises, my ribs poking through. Veins tinted my translucent skin a greenish-blue color. Deep scars from lashings, beatings, and being knifed hacked my skin like rough terrain.

  I hadn’t looked in a real mirror since the night of the party so long ago, and this girl staring back at me over the dresser was no one I recognized. I had seen my face beat up many times. This one held the burden of what I went through internally as well as externally. I was covered in dirt, dried blood, cuts, and bruises. Dark circles underlined my eyes. My usually shiny, long hair was tangled in greasy knots; strands had been falling out more than usual.

  Vain or not, I couldn’t stop the sob collecting in my chest at the loss of myself, my youth, and beauty. I turned away from the mirror and took another sip of liquor, my shoulders curling forward
in defeat.

  “Hey.” Warwick lowered himself in front of me again, his hand tipping up my chin to him. “We’re out. Alive. We made it, Kovacs. That’s better than most.”

  “What happened? How did we get out…and Zander—”

  “Not right now.” He shushed me. “Let’s worry about one thing at a time. We’re out. Besides your leg, everything else can wait. Okay?”

  I nodded, knowing being free was by far the most important thing. I should have been elated, but I couldn’t seem to feel anything. My gaze latched on to his aqua irises like he was the one thing anchoring me to the earth, the feel of his fingers holding my face.

  He held my stare, neither of us breaking away. A sensation scratched at my consciousness, something crying out to be recognized, but I couldn’t decipher it. The noise from the outside world dimmed. The only thing I saw was him; the only thing I felt was his touch. There was that awareness again—he was everywhere, inside and outside of me.

  His lashes lowered, eyes falling on my lips before they snapped back up, his hand falling away.

  Suddenly the noises from the outside world flooded back in with a harsh stab. I inhaled, peering off to the side.

  “Drink more.” He cleared his throat, picking up a towel and pouring alcohol on it. “There’s no posh hospitals in the Savage Lands.”

  “You know what you’re doing?”

  He snorted. “Yeah.”

  I didn’t argue, pouring more liquor down my throat. I knew we had so much to discuss, but it could wait for tomorrow. Right now, I just didn’t want to lose my leg to infection.

  “If you can’t get it out, leave it.” I downed another swig, no longer coughing over the burn.

  “Not my first rodeo.”

  “Not shocking.” I heard my words slur and trip over themselves, and my body swayed to the side. Weary, I was giving over to the alcohol, to the utter exhaustion and trauma, my lids drooping.

  “Lie down.” Warwick helped me roll onto my stomach on the bed, putting a towel under my leg, propping up my calf. “This is going to really fuckin’ hurt.” The alcohol-soaked rag grazed over my wound.