BloodLust (Rise of the Iliri Book 1)

by Auryn Hadley

  "You have scores and will be graded for each step of preparation and execution," LT said. "A tie is unlikely, but in the event that it happens, we will assign an additional task. Keep in mind, the opinion of all Black Blades is considered in the scoring. Being the best is not enough; you must be approved and respected by the unit as a whole."

  The recruits fell silent. With only three of them left, she had no idea where she stood in the rankings. She hoped she led the class, but her insecurities made her doubt it. They all probably harbored the same fears.

  "Now, if you have no further questions, you have tonight to contemplate your course of action, celebrate your passing into the last phase, or do whatever it is you want. Your clocks start tomorrow, at dawn." The Lieutenant stood.

  The recruits did the same. With a nod they were dismissed, and the three made their way to the street outside. Tension between them was already rising, each casting glances at the others out of the corners of their eyes.

  "Ok," Sal said. "I'm heading to my rooms, and I suspect I won't see any of you until our results are announced."

  With a sigh, Passel nodded. "You're right. Good recommendation, Luxx. May it serve you well. And here's hoping for a good recommendation for you, too, Mr. Wheton."

  "Same to you, Passel," she replied. "And to you, Wheton, I hope that you earn a good recommendation because I don't dare wish you good luck."

  The veteran chuckled. "A good recommendation to both of you, as well, then."

  With that, they turned their separate ways, none of them looking back to watch their competition.

  Chapter 9

  The sun still trickled in through her window, but Sal lay on her bed trying to chase the thoughts racing through her mind. She had two days to prepare her plan. The Lieutenant said they could use any means necessary, but trying to devise a way to gain intelligence about the upcoming mission had her stumped. When the answer eluded her, she paced her room like a caged animal.

  If she looked like anything but an iliri bitch, maybe she could get information from the staff, but so few people opened up to her kind. Iliri were despised, only tolerated in their roles for the military. She turned and looked into her mirror, wondering if makeup might be enough, but her vertically slit, white eyes stared back.

  She wished, with all her might, that her eyes were a common deep brown, with round pupils and normal white sclera. If she'd been born human, she could just talk the staff out of the information she needed. A smile over a drink, a soft word of appreciation for the favor, a lie about a brother she didn't have... if she just could be one of them, she could get what she needed. She could hide her fair skin with makeup. Dye could change her hair. Her hair could cover her ears. She'd been pretending to act like a human for years. All she needed were eyes that looked like everyone else's.

  Bemoaning her breeding, Sal glanced again at her cursed eyes and found herself meeting a reflection she didn't recognize. Brown eyes looked back from her face, the pupils round and dilated.

  She gasped and took a step away from the mirror. The brown eyes faded back to white and the pupils stretched back to her own. She'd seen it, though. Her own eyes, in her own face, had changed to those of someone else. Not just anyone else, but common human eyes! What had she done? How was this possible?

  She looked around her room, her mind struggling to grasp what had happened. Had she seen someone else? Was it an effect of the medication from that morning? Hallucinations were common side effects weren't they? Were the Blades playing a joke on her? She glanced again and saw her own face glance back.

  Flinging herself back on her bed, Sal tried to explain it. She thought of all she knew about her species, which sadly wasn't much. She'd witnessed things that made no sense in the first days of her trial, so she dared to hope. Arctic allowed people to talk in each other's heads and blamed it on his iliran ancestry. Shift could heal with a wish. Maybe she could do something like that?

  Sal tried to envision a beautiful woman, the type of person she wished she was. Long, coffee-colored hair, tawny skin, and eyes as brown as fresh turned soil; she'd be curvaceous and desirable. Her nose would be dished and delicate. Her eyes would fit her face, not overtake it. She would be dark – not too dark, she didn't want to appear well bred – and normal ears. She'd have ears that stayed against the side of her head like they should.

  She built the image in her mind, seductively beautiful but not out of reach. Men's tongues wagged more to a pretty face, hence that was the type of face she wanted. She focused on the details of her imagined facade then pulled herself from the bed and glanced at the mirror. Looking back at her, she found her own reflection with darkened eyes. Frustrated, she tried harder. She wished her pale hair would curl and change, thinking about it morphing from her skull to the ends. Staring intently at her reflection, she strained her mind for just a bit more color, just a bit more curl – and then saw it happening, something deep in her brain struggling to comply. From her scalp, a tint of color washed down. Where it passed, the hair twisted, becoming shorter with each bend.

  Hoping, but not really believing it possible, Sal's mouth fell open. She took in the transformation, looking out from her new brown eyes. She'd done it! Miraculously, she could alter her own appearance.

  Then it stopped.

  Once she lost the image in her mind, her body began to revert. Her hair lost color, the locks falling limp and straight once more. The eyes faded and her own alien ones returned. Frustrated, she snarled and flung her fist out, catching the nearby wall. Pain shot up her arm, chiding her for the insolence.

  Sal threw her head back and growled at the ceiling. If she could do this, if she could master it, she would have all she needed to achieve her dream. To be valued as a soldier, respected as a fighter, and have the power of authority behind her to protect her from the hate of humans. It was all she'd ever wanted, and in order to get it, she needed to be able to blend in. If the partially-human Blades could find amazing powers within themselves, then Sal could do this. Being iliri had to have some advantage! She just needed to focus harder, build a better image, and have patience. Tilting her head back to the mirror, she concentrated.

  In her mind, she pictured the woman she wanted to be. She thought about the way her face and body would change: pigment was needed here, curls there. When she focused, it happened. Slowly at first, the color creeping in so subtly that it would've been easy to miss, but she refused to give up. When the bones of her face shifted, her skin swelled and softened. It was awkward, but oddly it didn't hurt. Her cheeks rounded, her lips plumped, and her overly large eyes slimmed to fit her new features. Her skin darkened, until standing there was the woman she wanted. She'd become a human.

  Before Sal shifted her position, she thought about how this new body would move. She'd be slower, less precise, and more languid in her actions. She'd move like a dancer, not a fighter. Holding that vision, she asked her body to do it, watching as her new reflection obeyed. The strange woman leaned away from the mirror and stepped back, turning while holding Sal's eyes. She walked across her small room, around the bed, and out of sight of the reflection. She sat, then lay on the bed, before climbing back to her feet and looking in the mirror again.

  A beautiful, soft woman looked back, wearing Sal's standard issue military fatigues. All her life, she'd wished to be darker skinned, taller, and less exotic. Like anyone, she longed to be beautiful, to have the power to draw eyes at her whim. Her mind wandered, thinking about the men from her past, like the clerk from Fort Landing or that one officer. What would those men think now, seeing this new body? She envisioned the revenge she could have but realized her new form was fading. She quickly turned her mind back to her ideal and focused on staying in this amazing body. The fading stopped and color returned when her mind held the image.

  It seemed she must keep a portion of her attention on how she should look. When her mind wandered, her body changed back to the form it knew. Pondering that, she allowed the visage to slip, resuming her bl
anched features, and threw herself on her bed. She stared at the ceiling, trying to wrap her mind around her new-found ability.

  She could change her form. Were there limits? Would it wear off suddenly? Could she become a man? She tried to find ways this could set her ahead of her competition. The easiest would be to impersonate a Black Blade and ask for clarification from another, but their mental link made that problematic. Deciding it was worth knowing, Sal again made her way to the mirror.

  She stripped out of her clothes and thought of the First Sergeant. Arctic's pale beauty, his strong features, and his piercing, icy gaze were easy to bring to mind. She focused on the way he moved, his mannerisms, and his amazing good looks. Slowly, the change began. Her entire body felt as though it turned to liquid, drifting under her skin before solidifying into something larger. To her own eyes, the appearance was disconcerting. Her petite features slid and distorted into that of someone else. She changed into a man, but it was not the man she wanted. He could be Arctic's brother, but his shoulders were too broad, his nose too thin, and his eyes too large. She tried to adjust the features, concentrating on making Arctic stand before her, but her body didn't have a blueprint for him. It only achieved what she told it to.

  Sal's mind just could not capture the nuances of a particular person. She could tell she wasn't Arctic, but couldn't figure out how to make the right changes. She couldn't just take over the life of another to achieve her goals.

  Curious, she looked down at the reflection of her masculine body. Her breasts were flat and between her legs hung flesh she was not accustomed to. Giggling, the sound of her masculine voice strange in her ears, she decided to continue the experiment. Sal moved into the washing room and wrapped her hand around the new appendage, then tried to release her bladder. A few drops preceded the stream, which arced out in a way she didn't expect. Urinating on the floor, she adjusted and managed to hit the basin. Empty, but laughing at herself, she grabbed a cloth and cleaned the mess – both on herself and in the room – while allowing her form to revert to the body she'd known all her life. Maybe being a man was harder than she expected.

  But Sal had an advantage over her competitors now. Next, she needed to get a better understanding of how the Blades worked to assess their abilities. Knowing the planned trial would do her little good if she didn't understand how to utilize what they could do. With that decided, she changed into clean clothing and headed to where she would find them: the pub.

  Chapter 10

  Noise assaulted her ears as soon as she walked through the door. She wandered through the rooms, ordered a drink, then headed to the second floor. From here, she could see everything. She reached out mentally, hoping to find Shift, Arctic, or Zep, the Blades she felt closest to, when the touch of a thought warned her to look around. Standing in the shadows behind her, Cyno leaned casually against the wall, his deep blue eyes watching her. She smiled warmly at him.

  I needed to pick the brain of a Blade, she thought. Wanna help me out, or would I be ruining your fun?

  Fun? Nah. But yeh, I can help ya.

  Come sit? I'll buy you a drink, she cajoled.

  Kitten, I think I should buy yer drink, na the other way around. Lemme do that, and it's a date... or should I say deal? His mental laugh at the halfhearted flirtation made her smile as he moved to the seat across from her and gestured for a waitress.

  Ok, Sal started, here's my problem. The last trial has us supposedly leading the Black Blades in a training mission. Her mental tone conveyed her anxiety. I want to do it right, but my combat experience is limited –

  I can na give ya advice on leading the mission, Sal. Ya know that, he broke in.

  I do, and that's not what I want. She thought about how to phrase her question, shards of images crossing the link to Cyno's mind. What I want is just to know what each of you can do, and where you excel. Within the rules, of course. She paused before adding, It'd also be nice if I knew where the line was... like with this, and she gestured at her head.

  Hmm. Well, honestly, I dunno. We can ask the guys. Rather than say somethan I should na, and get ya disqualified, I'd rather ask. Cyno met her eyes with as close to a friendly gaze as she'd ever seen from him. Just outside her reach she heard the murmur of a conversation.

  And, he continued after a pause, we're supposed ta requisition a private room... for eight. Follow me. He offered her a hand, an odd look on his face when he wrapped her arm through his and led her down the stairs.

  Escorting her through the noisy pub, Cyno made his way to the back. The music faded behind them, the halls grew narrower, and the decor more subdued. A large man dressed in navy stood up as they neared, his posture changing to respectful rather than intimidating once he saw Cyno.

  "I need a room, 'nough to fit eight, if ya could?" Cyno asked.

  "Yes, sir. Any additional accommodations?"

  "Yeh, we'll need some food, I dunno, a bit of somethan for each a us. And a bottle of mead. Have Minki prepare Zep's usual, and if ya see LT, could ya let him know where we are?" Cyno's demeanor suggested that this was not uncommon for the Blades.

  The guard nodded, "Yes, sir, I can do that. Since you're off, I assume you want the small room?"

  "Yeh, perfect. Thanks, Jenner." He led Sal down the hall, her arm still linked with his, while his mind resumed their discussion. We tend ta have a couple of rooms back here fer private meetings. It's a lot more comf'terble than what the military offers, and the service is better.

  They made their way into a room with chairs around an oval table. Cyno closed the door, and the sounds of the pub faded to little more than a whisper.

  "We fig're ya wanna talk, na dance t'nite," he said, his voice rough yet lyrical, "so's Arctic said ta grab a room. In here we can talk jus' fine, with no ears trying ta listen in, and ya will na hafta worry about who's standing behind ya."

  She nodded. "Thanks. You know I'm not trying to break the rules on this. I just wanted to ask you all in person rather than digging through records without your permission." She paused, thinking, before continuing. "It just seems wrong somehow. I mean, all of you have become what I would like to call friends, and to read your files without asking, it just seems like a breach of trust."

  Cyno almost smiled at that. His perpetually hard face softened, offering a hint of the man he could have been with a different life. "Thanks, Sal. Yeh, our personnel files have a bit more information in 'em than than we'd like. I'd rather tell ya all my stories myself than have ya read somethan and get the wrong idea. I'm thinking the others'd feel the same, ya know?"

  Before she could answer, the door creaked open and Arctic slipped in. "Party in here?" he joked as he pulled himself into a chair. Within seconds four other black-clad men wandered in as a group. They made themselves comfortable, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Sal. When she opened her mouth to start speaking, Shift held up a hand.

  "3, 2, 1..." he counted down before a rap sounded at the door. "Come!" he called.

  The guard from the hall, Jenner, entered carrying a large tray of food with a bottle tucked under each arm. "Your meal, my good sirs... and um... lady?" he said glancing at Arctic.

  "It's alright, Jenner, she's supposed to be here," Arctic assured the man. "And she's a sir, too."

  The guard nodded and put down the tray. The Blades reached for food, mumbling their thanks as he left the room. The men pulled out glasses and filled them with the golden liquor.

  "Sal had questions, and neither of us knew if I coulda answered 'em," Cyno started.

  "What questions?" Arctic asked.

  "Well," Sal said. "I'm supposed to lead the training mission. I assume that means the decisions will be mine, and that you'll look to me for orders?"

  Arctic nodded.

  "So," she said, "that means I need to have a better understanding of each of your skills. On the surface, the Black Blades are known to be skirmish fighters, overcoming amazing odds and enjoying outnumbered fights. Well, that's nice and all, but it also do
esn't match what I have seen."

  Around the table, eyebrows raised into hairlines. A few men cracked smiles while she struggled to explain, "I mean, I've already seen that you have skills you don't casually share with others. I also saw that each of you fights with a unique style. What I'm thinking is that you all have strengths and weaknesses..."

  She paused when the door behind her opened one more time. The Lieutenant stepped in and made his way to the foot of the table.

  "Go on, Sal," he said.

  "Ok, so strengths and weaknesses. Since I haven't really trained with any of you, I have to ask what areas of combat you excel in. Cyno wasn't sure it was allowed," she explained to the Lieutenant.

  "It's ok, guys." He looked at each before turning back to Sal. "I'm impressed you came directly to us instead of just trying to find it in their files."

  "It doesn't seem right, sir," she repeated. "I know how much I would hate the idea, and snooping in the files without asking just seems backhanded. Besides, I'll get better information if I ask."

  LT smiled. "It's true, you will."

  "So," she persisted, "what can each of you tell me about your skills. Fighting first, if you would?"

  The Lieutenant chuckled at that. "Go on, guys. Tell her what she needs. She's the first one to figure out that we do more than just swing swords. If she can figure out how to use what we can do, then great. If not... who would believe her?"

  "Well, I guess we'll go in order, highest ranking first?" Arctic suggested. "I prefer to shoot rather than hit things. I excel with the jakentron, all bows, as well as thrown weapons. I do well enough in hand to hand combat and can beat most with a sword. Give me a shield and my sword work is even better. Is that the type of thing you want?"

  "Yes! Exactly what I need to know. Arctic, I never would have guessed you for an archer," Sal said. "But I've only ever heard rumors of the jakentron."