Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  “Clothe yourself. Now!” Yur hissed. He snatched a garment from the floor—her shirt—and flung it in their direction. Arek caught it and handed it to her. “Your night here is over.”

  “Over? It’s only just started, Second.” She pressed up against Arek’s back, slid her arm around his waist, and rested her chin on his shoulder. His scent filled her nose and she savored the wild spice and musky odor. “You interrupted what was turning out to be a very pleasant night.”

  Fury glittered in Yur’s eyes. “Actions you shall be held accountable for.”

  Just how far could she push him before he broke?

  “Now, for the last time, get dressed.” The order spat from his mouth. “Don’t think I won’t command my warriors to drag you out of here naked.”

  Arek tensed and she pressed her fingers into his abdomen in warning.

  “You’re going to hold me accountable for my actions?” Imhara released him and gestured for him to collect their clothes.

  He did so, then placed himself between her and Yur, not to protect but to block the Second’s gaze and give her a modicum of privacy. A gesture she appreciated. He waited until she’d dressed before donning his clothes.

  Imhara collected her weapon from the bed. “If you’re referring to the betrothal meeting I missed tonight, I’ll reschedule it for another time.”

  A lie but Yur would never know.

  “That would be difficult considering Na’Reishi Greev has withdrawn his petition.”

  “He did?”

  “As has Commander Jirri. Each expressed their dissatisfaction with your less than appropriate behavior. Something the last petitioner will seek to rectify when he becomes your mate.”

  “Really?” She snorted. “And who is this warrior who thinks he can control me?”

  Yur bared his pointed teeth, his smile sinister. “Me.”

  A wave of feverish cold washed through her.

  Merciful Mother, no!

  The thought of him touching her, demanding her compliance, of being given the right to lead her Clan in any way he wished made her physically sick to her stomach. No murdering side-winder would share her bed or claim the title of Na.

  Arek made a soft sound behind her, a short inhalation, and his spicy scent altered, gained some heat. She caught his forearm and squeezed.

  As she turned her head to reprimand him, one of the Na’Hord warriors along the wall near the foot of the bed shifted, caught her eye. He’d balanced on the balls of his feet, a stance she recognized.

  A dig of her nails brought Arek’s gaze to her, then he glanced down and to the side. He stilled and she knew he’d spotted the Na’Hord warriors. Beneath her palm his arm tensed.

  Twice.

  “You’re the third petitioner?” Imhara returned her attention to Yur. “You want to be my mate? I don’t think so.”

  “You no longer have that choice.” Dark satisfaction saturated his tone. “Your own carelessness ensured that. The Na’Rei has no reason to delay our mating.”

  The twisted logic behind Yur and Savyr’s machination caused another shiver to ripple through Imhara. Both warriors had to have known she’d dismiss Jirri as a contender. His Clan’s need for resources, his age, and his dismissive treatment of her all reasons to reject him.

  As for Na’Reishi Greev, she’d probably have declined his application along similar grounds. With Yur, there was no consideration involved at all. Rejecting all three meant Savyr could then choose her mate. There was no doubt who she’d have been given to: the black-hearted Vorc-scat standing in front of her.

  “There’s always a choice, Urkan.” She bared her teeth in a feral smile. “You’re not assuming my title or getting Kaal territory.”

  Yur continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “I suggest you think carefully about your actions from now on, Imhara. Once we’re mated I’ll take great pleasure in disciplining you for every infraction or defiant action you or your kin commit.

  “And maybe, if you behave and act like a proper Na’Reishi female, I might be persuaded to leniency. But knowing you, those lessons could take a long time to learn. I’m looking forward to instructing you on how to . . . behave.”

  Her temper ignited but she reined it in. “You dare to threaten my Clan?” She shook her head. “That won’t earn you their respect.”

  “I don’t expect it.” His smile turned wicked. “But obedience and fear . . . well, they’ll show me both if they care for your good health and wish to see you unharmed.”

  Light, he was deluded if he thought that would intimidate her.

  “I won’t let you use me as leverage over them. I’d die first!”

  Yur’s vicious smile grew. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Chapter 35

  “IMHARA, behind you!”

  Arek spun on his heel at Rassan’s warning shout as around him the whole room erupted. Their anticipated fear was coming to pass. With Savyr’s plan of mating Imhara unsuccessful, only her death would give him what he craved. And he’d given Yur free rein to accomplish it by any means possible.

  The faint hiss of a blade being drawn from its sheath came from his right. He heard Rassan’s battle cry, felt more than saw Imhara move to engage Yur, but then had to focus.

  The two Na’Hord warriors moved on him, swords drawn. They outweighed and outmuscled him, their height and reach superior to his. A slave didn’t stand a chance against them.

  Good thing he wasn’t a slave.

  But both possessed swords and belt daggers. And even though he’d faced such odds in border skirmishes, he’d done it armed. His heart beat a little harder and faster.

  They took their time closing in; a mistake as it gave him time to strip his belt from around his waist. Leather and metal, small defense against four weapons but better than bare hands. He’d need every year of training and battle experience to match them.

  “Come, human, I offer you a swift death.” The warrior on the left lowered his sword and gestured with his hand. “A knife blade to your heart before I feed on you.”

  A promise of mercy? From a Na’Reish demon?

  “You think I’d willingly walk to my death?” he asked, and shook his head.

  The first demon lunged at him. He sidestepped the attack, making sure to keep the warrior between him and the second. Bringing the belt up in an underhanded strike, the buckle clipped the demon’s chin and scored across his cheek. The warrior bellowed and clutched at his face.

  Arek dropped the belt and tackled him about the waist, driving the demon to the wall. They hit with a thump. He grabbed the wrist of the arm that held the sword, fingers searching until he found the flesh between the demon’s sleeve and glove. His Gift surged, fast and hot. The rush of power seared every nerve in his hand, but he held on and pushed it into the demon.

  The warrior convulsed. His mouth stretched wide in a soundless scream. Arek snatched the sword from his lifeless hand. Not waiting to see the body hit the ground, he turned.

  The second Na’Hord warrior stared at his comrade, utter surprise on his face. “There’s no wound.”

  His gaze lifted and locked on to him. Arek saw his confusion clear and realization cross his narrow face.

  “No!” The deep rasp held a note of disbelief. He shook his head. “But I felt . . . You can’t be!”

  The element of surprise, so important in any battle, would be lost in less than a minute once the demon accepted what instinct already told him—that he faced an experienced Light Blade, not just some slave.

  Arek didn’t wait. With a cry, he engaged the Na’Hord warrior with a flurry of blows. No finesse, no fancy blade work, no break in his attack, just pure speed and force. The blade was heavier than he was used to but it didn’t matter. He made the weight work for him with every blow.

  Their clash of sword on sword resonated through the room, muscle and bone vibrating with every blow. There was little room to move between a bed and a wall, even less for a seven-foot demon
wielding a five-foot sword.

  Arek ducked to avoid an overhead sweep. The blade screeched against the wall. Sparks spat close to his head. Burnt metal filled his nostrils. The edge of the sword bit into the wooden frame of the window nearest the bed. It caught and held.

  Grunting, Arek brought his down for an overhead strike. The blow caught the flat of his opponent’s blade with enough force to tear the hilt from his grasp. The demon’s sword clattered to the ground.

  With a snarl Arek surged forward, wrist twisting his weapon at an upward angle. The tip of his blade speared into his abdomen, just where the edge of the armor and hips met. He drove it deep into the demon’s innards and twisted it. The shock on the warrior’s face was gratifying.

  Black lips stretched wide but no sound came forth.

  Lungs pierced.

  Arek grinned. “Now I offer you a swift death!”

  He sent a second bolt of power surging through his blade, as strong as the previous one, but nowhere near as painful with the metal as the conduit used to deliver the killing surge.

  The Na’Hord warrior dropped to his knees, his shocked expression slackening. Arek yanked his sword free. The demon toppled over, his dead weight thumping hard as he hit the ground. Ominous dark stains seeped and spread into the rug around the body.

  “Arek!”

  Rassan’s bellow whipped him around. The Na’Chi had his hands full holding off an opponent even though three bodies lay sprawled on the floor in front of him. The two came together in a frenzy of blows, every strike blocked or countered.

  An even match, yet the Na’Hord warrior’s shirt sleeve flapped wetly. Blood soaked it, and every strike splattered droplets through the air. At the rate he seemed to be losing blood, weakness would eventually set in, if it hadn’t already. Rassan would prevail.

  The Na’Chi delivered a nasty slice to his opponent’s thigh. As the Na’Reish staggered and fell to one knee, Rassan stepped back.

  Why had he given up the advantage?

  The Na’Chi’s gaze lifted and Arek saw the brilliant flare of yellow in the flecks in his eyes. He pointed with his bloody sword across the room.

  “Help, Imhara!”

  Arek’s heart pounded then choked in his chest as he saw Yur backhand Imhara hard against her cheekbone. She staggered yet recovered quickly enough to deflect a vicious upward thrust from Yur’s blade with her sword, but she’d lost ground.

  Yur gave her no quarter, delivering several overhead blows in quick succession. Imhara blocked each, the jarring vibrations travelling the length of her blade and arm. If her muscles weren’t numb yet, they soon would be. She was being driven into the corner of the room, overpowered by sheer strength.

  Arek hissed a curse and started forward, already knowing the outcome. If her weapon arm lost strength, and unless she was skilled enough to wield a sword in her other hand, Yur would have her. The thought made his stomach twist and knot.

  He headed around the bed then changed his mind. Rounding the end would bring him up behind Yur, an advantage he could use, but Imhara didn’t have that sort of time. She needed him now.

  Seizing the end poster, Arek leapt onto the bed. Imhara took another overhead blow. She grunted with the impact. The force drove her blade to the ground. Yur slammed his boot down on the flat of it, ripping the hilt out of her hand. With a sharp crack it smacked against the floor.

  Yur’s lips peeled back from his teeth. The warrior lunged, his dagger glinting in the lamplight.

  Adrenaline surged through Arek. His breath seized in his lungs. “No!”

  Time slowed.

  The scene before him altered.

  Imhara’s face blurred, became Kalan’s. The room, a shadowed clearing.

  Light, not again!

  He’d failed a friend before. He couldn’t fail another now.

  The curved dagger punched into Imhara’s side, just below the ribs. She cried out. Her features contorted into a teeth-baring grimace. She grabbed Yur’s wrist to stop him from driving the blade deeper.

  Yur’s sword rose high. He reversed his grip on the hilt, holding it like an oversized dagger. Imhara’s pain-filled gaze lifted to it. It began to descend.

  Arek launched himself across the distance separating them. He landed beside the demon. With an upward block he caught the strike, metal screeched on metal. Their hilts met. The angle was all wrong; he’d had no time to position himself correctly. Arek twisted anyway. With a hard pull, he deflected Yur’s blade away from Imhara, unable to fling it from his grasp.

  Yur’s head snapped toward him, fury lashing his face. “I’ll take pleasure in killing you once I finish with her!”

  Arek bared his teeth. “You can try, demon!”

  “I’ll take my pleasure now!” Imhara ground out through her teeth with barely contained ferocity.

  Light flashed on a metal blade near her waist, one bloody hand wrapped around the ornate hilt. Her own dagger. With a grunt she brought it up in a diagonal sweep, aiming high. The blade sliced deep into Yur’s windpipe, from one side to the other. Blood sprayed from the heart vessel.

  “That’s for my family!” she rasped.

  Yur staggered back, releasing both weapons to clutch his throat. The demon’s gasp became a wet, gurgling sound, then a cough. His mouth opened and closed as more blood seeped between his fingers.

  Arek followed through with a kick into the demon’s torso. The sole of his boot hit with a dull thud. The impact sent him careening into the wall. His head struck with a sickening crack and he sank into a tangled heap against the wall.

  Arek crouched and placed the point of his sword beneath Yur’s chin. The iron-rich odor of blood filled his nostrils. “Nothing to say now, Na’Reish?”

  Dazed purple eyes, bright with fear, locked with his. Every desperate breath gurgled and choked in Yur’s throat. One bloodstained hand reached out and clawed Arek’s leg.

  Too weak to gain purchase, his fingers slipped. A silent snarl shaped his black lips.

  Arek knew his smile lacked warmth. “This is for Imhara.”

  He drove the blade up into Yur’s head.

  Chapter 36

  Acombination of furious elation and relief flooded Imhara as Yur slid lifelessly to the floor, his eyes glazing over. The warrior responsible for the massacre of her family was dead.

  Finally.

  Justice was served.

  Her vendetta with Savyr was in serious danger though. The moment Yur’s dagger had slid into her, she’d known it.

  Imhara grimaced and pressed a hand to her side, the throbbing pain excruciating and debilitating enough to steal her breath and make her head spin. Reaching out blindly, she staggered to the bed, almost not making it before her legs gave out.

  “Imhara!” Rassan’s voice sounded like it came from a great distance. She blinked, forcing her eyes open, never even realizing she’d closed them. Her head felt light, while all her limbs were heavy.

  Across the room Rassan stepped over and around four bodies to get to her. Arek swiveled where he crouched near the still body of Yur, his fierce expression softening to concern.

  “Should have seen that coming, eh?” She grimaced at the sticky warmth oozing beneath her hand and tried to press harder. “In training you always warned me—” Another wave of pain washed through her, cutting off the rest of her sentence. She groaned, unable to hold back the sound.

  Rassan knelt in front of her, placing his sword down on the floor beside him. “Let me look.” The flecks in his eyes were bright yellow.

  Fresh blood pulsed from the wound as soon as she lifted pressure from it. Dark, not bright, which was some relief. Rassan peeled up the edge of her shirt. Strong hands caught her shoulders, and the bed dipped as someone slid onto it to support her from behind. A familiar spicy scent surrounded her.

  Arek.

  “How bad is it?” His terse tone sounded in her ear.

  “Lady’s Breath!” Rassan’s soft curse confirmed Imhara’s fear.

  “That ba
d, huh?” She offered him a weak smile.

  Her Second nodded once. “It’s deep. The blood’s clean. No foul odor and the blood wells rather than spurts, so the blade missed your innards. It’s still flowing. That’s all I can tell.”

  Arek’s arms tightened around her. “We need to get back to camp. Get you a healer.”

  Rassan shook his head. “No time. She risks bleeding out before we even make it to the fortress gate.”

  “Then what about Ilahn? Surely he’d have access to a healer.”

  A laugh rasped from her throat. “Arek, we’re in a room with seven bodies. Ilahn might not have liked Yur, but if Savyr finds out his Second died in his House, it’d be enough to warrant the trader’s death. He’d turn us over to Savyr in a heartbeat if he knew it would save his skin.”

  “It’s true, Arek. Yur used intimidation to find out what room you were in. For anyone else Ilahn would have had his staff forcibly escort them from the House, but he knew to resist would mean reprisal.” The yellow in Rassan’s eyes changed to green as he looked past her to the Light Blade. “Let her feed from you.”

  “What?” Every part of Arek pressed against her back went tight and the faintest odor of soured citrus tickled her nose.

  “Imhara needs your blood to heal. Full healing might take a few hours, but you saw how quickly she recovered after you let her feed from you up in the mountains.”

  Imhara shook her head. “No, Rassan.”

  Arek’s loathing from that time holed up in the makeshift shelter remained a vivid memory. His reaction to Rassan’s suggestion now only proved how unfair it would be to put him in that position again.

  Her stomach cramped and eased in the space of a heartbeat. The hollow emptiness remaining left her nauseous. The first stirrings of blood-need. She took a slow, easy breath.

  “Just pack and bandage the wound. I’ll take the risk.” She held a hand up before he could protest. “We need to get moving. These walls are thick but not so thick Ilahn couldn’t have heard the commotion. He’ll be wondering what’s happened. Once he gathers the nerve, he’ll check.”