Kyn Series

by Mina Carter

  “Ok, which one of you wants to bleed out on the floor first?” he snarled, adding, “more than enough for everyone, so if you’d like to form an orderly queue, Doctor Pain will begin morning surgery.” He lifted his hand and beckoned to the nearest Pixie. A “bring it on” gesture.

  The Pixie spluttered with rage, his face flushing as he raised his arm and charged. Feral didn’t move, waiting until he could practically smell the guy’s breath. When he did move, it was in an explosion of speed. He dropped to the floor and swept a hard leg around, at his opponents. The Pixie hit the ground hard, and Feral heard the wind get knocked out of him. Staying down, Feral rolled and used his body as a ramp to launch himself to his feet. His bladed knuckles buried themselves nonchalantly in the Pixie’s throat, shredding his windpipe beyond repair.

  Then the fight was on in earnest, and Feral spun and whirled like a prima ballerina on crack as he fought off several opponents at once. There was nothing like several someones seriously trying to put an end to one’s life to sharpen one’s senses and heighten one’s reaction time; and Feral had trained on the best circuit there was. Fighting the Rogue, a slow Kyn warrior was a dead one. One as old as Feral had to be fast, there was no other way around it. He dodged and weaved with all that speed, using his sheer size and the amount of damage he could suck up, to his advantage.

  He fought with everything, not just the blades on his hands but with his whole body. A rolling, moving, whirling dervish, leaving violence in his wake. Elbows rammed into throats hard enough to crush larynxes, feet slammed into kneecaps hard enough to shatter them, or used to stomp on feet, fingers, or any other body part unfortunate enough to end up on the floor, or within range.

  But quite possibly the worse weapon he had were his fangs. Fully extended in his rage, they were a fearsome sight. Razor sharp and dripping with blood as he took chunks out of anything that came close enough.

  *

  Tessa fought like a madwoman not to get separated from either Feral or the baby, lashing out with her free hand and feet as two knights made to grab her. She became a wildcat, slippery as an eel, heart pounding, as she used all the self-defence moves she could remember, from the short course she’d taken a couple of years ago.

  Shifting her weight, she drove an elbow into the ribs of the one behind her, stomping heavily on his foot at the same time. A satisfying “oomph” sounded behind her. Chainmail might look pretty and be effective against sharp pointy things, but when it came to determination and an expertly wielded elbow, it didn’t stop the wearer from getting winded.

  Without thinking, she reached for the hand at her throat, slender fingers dancing over the thick ones digging painfully into her flesh. Wincing, she grasped the little finger firmly and ripped it upward, back and away from the four other fingers, in a quick movement.

  It cracked, a sharp sound like a twig breaking underfoot, echoing in her ears. A sound swiftly drowned out by the pain-filled bellow from behind, as he snatched his hands away from her. Wasting no time, Tess spun around, snapping her knee up sharply to connect heavily with his groin. She might not be a martial arts expert, but there were some moves a woman instinctively knew. She smiled in satisfaction as he crumpled to the floor in his own world of pain.

  Her triumph didn’t last long. Something sharp and cold kissed the side of her neck. She froze. Despite never having felt the sensation before, she knew the business edge of a sword rested against her delicate skin.

  Things went from bad to worse from that point on. Spud was ripped from her arms, crying as he reached out for her. Terrified, she presumed, by the rough treatment he was being subjected to. Tessa was hauled over the floor, kicking and screaming toward the woman who should have been their saviour, their journey’s end.

  “Why?” Tessa asked, as Ilia sauntered around her, an oasis of calm next to the bloody fight being waged, mere feet away.

  Ilia cocked an eyebrow, eyes glittering with malice. “Why? Because I can. Because I’m fed up with all this fucking harm none, ‘goody two-shoes crap.’ Why should I miss out because someone else says I shouldn’t do this, or that, or the other? What gives them the right to dictate what I can and can’t do?” she demanded, as she came up behind Tessa, winding a small hand around her throat.

  “Ok, I’m really getting bored now.” She jerked Tessa’s chin up with a strength her frail body just shouldn’t have had. Her voice rose, carrying over the fight. “Enough, or she dies.”

  *

  He wasn’t going to win this, couldn’t win it. Despite the adrenalin of the fight surging through his veins, Feral could feel the exhaustion beating at him, leeching his strength. He needed to feed—and more than the random splashes of blood here and there when one of his opponents got too close to his fangs. Tiny tantalizing splashes of blood practically humming with power. Fae blood always did have that effect; of course, it gave him a blinding headache in the morning to boot.

  The scene froze as Ilia’s voice cut through the mayhem. One moment, a writhing mass of violence, the next, a scene worthy of a medieval tapestry. Standing off to one side was Ilia, Tessa held captive in her arms, her small hands around the Pixie woman’s throat and her lips hovering close to the pulse Feral could see beating frantically.

  He went still, as still as the death he could feel stalking the room, his eyes locked on the Fae princess, on the small smile that played over her lips. He recognised the subtle warning. A silent message from one predator to another, something intended for him alone. Behave, or she would tear Tessa’s throat out. Bile rose along with his anger as he registered the excitement on her face at the impending kill.

  No Fae should have that kind of knowledge or dark need. It just wasn’t natural. It was a curse his people lived with, put up with. Learned to control. It wasn’t something any of them would have chosen, but something thrust on them at birth. And be it man, woman or child, every one of them would do anything to be free of it. That someone would seek it, revel in it just sickened Feral on levels he hadn’t realise existed.

  There was no way out of this. No way at all. He was on his own—in a place his fellow warriors would not come riding to the rescue, as they had when Vixen had been taken by the Pixies. His lips quirked in amusement. The fact he didn’t look half as good in leathers as Vixen, might have something to do with it.

  His amusement faded as he spoke, his voice low and full of menace. “Harm her and you’d better make sure you put me down for good. Because I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll be coming for you.”

  Her laugh, light and musical, flowed around the hall. A beautiful sound totally out of place with the ugly words that followed. “Did you really think I was going to let any of you live?” she sneered. “Come on, even a vampire thug like you had to have figured it out. At least I should hope you did, because honestly sweetheart, your brains are about all you’ve got going for you.” She laughed, seemingly amused by her own joke.

  “Look at Talven for example. He’s lucky he’s got his looks, because, well, let’s just say his IQ isn’t the highest. I pity his children…the Fae, as a race, get dumber and more like the humans every generation,” she spat. “Why do you think I’ve done what I have? Someone has to step up and stop this descent into…averageness! And if it takes the flesh and blood of a half-breed brat, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. The rest of you…collateral damage.” She flicked her hand dismissively.

  Behind Feral, Talven jerked slightly, the small movement registering in the Kyn’s mind. So loyal lapdog Talven didn’t know about that little snippet, eh? That was interesting. How Feral was going to use that to his advantage, he had no idea. Not yet.

  He watched her with dead eyes. He had a stare that could give a rattlesnake a headache, and he was employing it at full strength now, the promise of her death in his eyes as he made a silent promise: Somehow, this bitch was going down.

  “Get him out of here,” she snapped, breaking eye contact first. “Take him to the pit of eternal despair.” />
  Feral couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing as the guards seized his arms, clamping heaving manacles around his wrists.

  “Sheesh, the ‘pit of eternal despair?’” he mocked, as they dragged him toward the doors, “can’t you guys come up with something a little more original? No wonder you’re dying out, a human toddler has more imagination.”

  His mocking laughter echoed around the room as the doors closed with a resounding clang, leaving the woman he loved at the mercy of a monster.

  Chapter Nine

  “Tessa!”

  It took two knights all their strength to get the struggling Kyn halfway down the corridor. Even then, it was obvious he was only waiting for a gap in their concentration to allow him to get the drop on them.

  “You can’t do this! You can’t let her do this!”

  He dug his heels in harder, stopping his guard’s forward momentum in its tracks. Feral was a big man, even for a vampire, and he was packed with hard-earned, rather than gym sculpted, muscle. The sort of muscle a guy built up working for a living. In Feral’s case, that was fighting violently. But he wasn’t fighting physically now. No, he was astute enough to realise that his advantage lay in the verbal. After all, they couldn’t put a manacle on his tongue.

  “You do realize what she is, don’t you?” he carried on, his voice low in the corridor, punctuated by the grunt of effort from the guards, and the shuffling of feet as he made them work for every inch.

  “She’s some sort of Fae Rogue, Talven, worse than a blood drinker… she eats flesh!”

  He watched his target for the tiniest flicker of emotion or reaction. He knew Talven wasn’t immune to the situation, he’d felt the guy start in surprise when Bitch Queen in there said she intended to sacrifice the baby. Desperation filled him—could already have sacrificed him. He could already be too late, Tessa and the baby might already be dead.

  He went for broke. “You ever seen a Rogue victim, Talven? Ever seen how the Rogue feed?” he asked, his voice strangely hypnotic in the silence of the corridor. “They prefer their victims alive, you know. Apparently, the pain and terror of what’s happening to them adds flavor to the meat,” he explained nonchalantly, as though this were merely an academic discussion.

  “Of course…they have to tourniquet their victims in some way, so they don’t bleed to death during the meal and lose all that lovely flavor. I’ll bet your ladylove in there is into bondage, isn’t she, Talven? Bit of titillation before she has a snack…does that do it for you as well? The idea of that baby wrapped up in bondage gear? Something she’s used for something so corrupt and kinky?” Feral hammered away at what instinct told him was a chink in Talven’s mental armour. “Think about it Talven. That little baby. Abused and tortured because some stupid bitch can’t handle the way her life turned out. Can you live with that?”

  *

  Talven sighed, his pace faltering as he lowered his head in shame. Nausea filled him. The vampire was right. He’d had no idea that Ilia had planned this, that she’d sunk quite this low.

  No, he corrected himself, he’d known. He’d just been ignoring the warning signs because he didn’t want to believe it. Hadn’t wanted to believe these horrors, from the beautiful, gentle woman he remembered, from when he’d first come to court.

  Deep down, he loved her. Or did he? Did he love a memory, a “what if” or a “what might have been?” Either way, that wasn’t a good enough reason to let her carry on. If he didn’t do something now, if he continued to look the other way, then more people would die…an innocent baby would die. And the resulting battle for power could destroy the court as they knew it.

  He couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t, even if it meant destroying himself.

  “Let him go,” he ordered, his voice a bare whisper in the corridor. He turned with a grim look on his face, to find both guards looking at him warily.

  “Oh for god’s sake, you can’t tell me we can cover this up anymore!” he snapped, moving forward to undo the spelled manacles himself. “Go find the Queen’s guard, hell the Queen herself if you can, and bring them back here.”

  *

  Feral eased the bruised skin over his wrists as the two guards disappeared down the corridor like ferrets down a rabbit hole. The small marks, like the other cuts and bruises he’d collected during the fight in the hall, would soon fade. A perk of his Kyn physiology.

  He eyed Talven, accepting his blades from the Fae’s outstretched hand. “So, what made you decide to grow a pair?” Feral leaned against the wall for support as he slid them over his knuckles. His Kyn body might have been able to heal itself faster than other species, but it came at a price. Energy. He and the other warriors burned through enough of the stuff to power a small city block, and needed to feed daily. Trouble was, Feral was going on two days now without any, and it was beginning to show.

  Talven shrugged, busying himself with his own sword hilt.

  “I can’t bury my head in the sand anymore. You’re right, someone has to stop her. We have to stop her.” He looked up, the misery in his blue eyes making Feral really feel for the poor bastard.

  “You love her don’t you?”

  Talven nodded, then laughed bitterly. “Yes and no. I used to, when she was someone different back then,” he shrugged and admitted. “I guess I never got out of the habit.”

  The Kyn nodded but kept his head down as he rolled his shoulder. Anything to disguise how shitty he felt. He knew all about unrequited love from his semi-obsession with Vixen.

  “Hey, you ok? You look sort of pale there,” Talven asked suddenly.

  Feral shook his head. He didn’t like to show weakness to anyone, but the Fae knight carried on. “You need blood don’t you?” Talven guessed.

  Cat out of the bag, Feral sighed and nodded. There was no point in denying it anymore. Talven had released him, so in Feral’s mind, that meant he could trust the Fae. At least a little.

  “Been too busy running from our little Pixie friends and I wasn’t going to feed from Tessa. She was already exhausted,” he said. “Let’s just say other donors have been in short supply recently.”

  “Can you metabolise Fae blood?” The knight demanded, as he started to strip off his neck guard.

  “I can…but I can’t feed from you man, you’re going to need all your strength when we go back in there. We can’t wait for backup. I’ll be fine,” Feral insisted, pushing himself upright with the aid of the wall, “we need to move, and move now.”

  Talven stopped him as he turned, intent on heading back up the corridor and storming the hall alone if he had to.

  “We need you at full strength,” the Fae argued, his blue eyes direct. “Think about it. Ilia knows every trick I’ve got. She’s watched me train for years. Nothing I do is going to surprise her. But you, you’re the unknown quantity. She’s going to have no idea what moves you’re going to pull next…” he trailed off for a moment, emotions of regret, resignation and despair flitting across his face, “if we win, I won’t be able to kill her. We need you at full strength, you have to kill her.”

  Feral looked at him with admiration. There wasn’t much he could say to that. He nodded and placed his hand on the knight’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. A gesture of understanding and solidarity. “Cover your neck man, I can’t take blood from you there.”

  Talven paused, confusion on his face.

  “Taking from the neck is…” the Kyn paused, looking for the right words, “…it’s too personal. Part of our courtship rituals,” he explained. “And sorry mate, I just don’t swing that way. Give me your wrist instead.”

  “Oh thank god! No, I don’t either.” Talven’s pale skin flushed scarlet as he extended his arm, visibly grateful he didn’t have to offer the vampire his neck.

  Feral grasped the offered wrist in a “no nonsense” grip, his fangs aching to descend, as he readied himself for feeding. He ignored the need for a moment. He needed to warn Talven first, and a mouthful of fang tended to make speaking a
little difficult.

  “This is going to hurt,” he said, knowing there really wasn’t any other way. Well, there was, but he wasn’t going to embarrass either of them by going down that route.

  “I thought vampires could null the pain?” the Fae asked, quickly adding, “not that a little pain bothers me…just curious.”

  Feral’s lips quirked, recognising the typical male cover-up as he pushed the fabric back from Talven’s wrist, bending the hand back to reveal the tender flesh on the inside. Veins beat strongly, just visible under the skin. Feral’s mouth watered, an instinctive reaction to the source of sustenance being so close.

  “We can, but back to the neck point, it’s all about sex. I’d explain further but I don’t think either of us needs those visuals,” he commented, his thumb sweeping over the skin as he picked his spot. “I’ll make this as quick as possible.” Feral struck.

  He moaned as his fangs pierced the skin, sinking through the barrier with the ease of a hot knife slicing through butter. Blood—hot, sweet tasting blood—filled his mouth in a rush. He swallowed, the powerful muscles of his throat working strongly. Relief filled him, the blood hitting his system like a bullet.

  Strength surged through him, easing the weariness in his limbs, making him feel as though he’d had about a week’s sleep and several good meals all rolled into one. The power in it, the magic that all Fae carried within themselves, headed straight for his head like a shot of good vodka.

  Feeling Talven’s arm start to tremble, Feral carefully withdrew his fangs, mindful that the Fae’s mind wasn’t clouded, and he could feel all of this. He paused, a quick pass of his tongue stopped the bleeding and sealed the broken flesh.

  Talven sighed in relief, pulling his arm back against his body and rubbing the abused skin. “Ok,” he laughed shakily, “you were right. That really hurt!”

  * * *

  Oh god, this can’t be happening. Tessa had watched helplessly as Feral was dragged away, held motionless by the cruel grip around her jaw.