The SAVAGE Series, Books 1-3: The Pearl Savage, The Savage Blood and The Savage Principle

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Of course, it might stem from her being a mixed-blood select. Had Beatrice known how little Rowenna thought of her own full-blood status she might have felt better about her own position. As it were, she did not know and whispered whore when Rowenna was near, not loud enough to call attention to her behavior, just loud enough for Rowenna to capture her words like crushed glass which abraded the tender emotions Rowenna kept in check. It caused Rowenna to tear and bleed inside her already shredded emotional psyche. It did not cause a fatal wound but one which bled slowly.

  When Beatrice sauntered by and whispered the insult for the fiftieth time Rowenna had had enough.

  It was at that exact moment of realization that something snapped inside of Rowenna and she drew her hand back and caught the jaw of Beatrice with breakneck speed. She checked her swing at the last moment for Rowenna knew how deadly she could be, though Beatrice apparently did not. With the males of the Band Rowenna could give them everything she could deliver. With another female she could kill with her strikes.

  Oh how she itched to do so now.

  Beatrice stumbled, clasping her wounded jaw, her fair skin lighting with a flame of red where Rowenna had hit her. “You imbecilic whore,” Beatrice whispered as the males of the Band came, their eyes on the pregnant women, one who showed and the other who did not. Rowenna did not move as though she were pregnant. With warrior's grace, her body compensated for her forward girth. She was utterly Band and she watched Beatrice scowl at her with murderous eyes through a quickly bruising face.

  Harland saw Rowenna slap Beatrice and he held his smile with an effort. How many times had he held Rowenna when she had dampened his tunic with tears of frustration? There were always those who did not understand the sacrifice she made for all.

  A frown creased the flesh between his eyes as he thought of the ramifications if they were to know whose child she actually carried. Harland knew it would be his death. For she was a premier select and as such, she could only be mated with one of his pure-blood brothers of the Band.

  Whether they be worthy or no.

  “Do not call me names that do not apply!” Rowenna yelled in her face, slender arm wrapped protectively against her swollen belly as Rolland made haste to stand behind her and another male of the Band took Beatrice against himself.

  “What say you, Rowenna?” Jared asked. His eyes pegged the female who had struck his mate, her eyes like violets ablaze. Rowenna could see that had she been male she would have felt the back of his hand or more.

  Rowenna felt her lip tremble and caught it between her teeth and bit down until she tasted copper. She would not let that bitch bring the salt of her tears.

  Protocol inserted itself where usually it was absent. “Your mate calls me whore at every turn,” Rowenna answered him, crossing her arms underneath her large bosom, feeling utterly ungraceful. Yet, she had not done so badly when she had been fueled by anger at this wretched female.

  There, let her just try to wiggle out of her malicious behavior, Rowenna decided.

  Beatrice gave a great bray of laughter, putting on the expression of hurt female like a false cloak and Rowenna could feel both Rolland and, to much greater extent, Harland at her back.

  “I say no such things,” she lied. “You are wild and untamed.” Beatrice threw her hand out to encompass the entire Band who had gathered. “What other female unsexes herself to fight as Band,” she scoffed and the males remained silent. It had been vaguely acceptable when Rowenna was a girl. Now her belly lay large with child and the proof of her gender was too glaringly obvious for even her to deny.

  “So you take exception to me because I choose the role of traditional female?” Beatrice posed the question as she shrugged off the hands of her mate and began to circle Rowenna. Rowenna turned as Beatrice did, keeping herself aware of Beatrice at all times, her belly only slightly rounded, she was not near so far gone as Rowenna.

  “You are neither truly female or male, a foot in both worlds, a part of none...” Beatrice trilled with venomous spite lacing every syllable she spit out like well-timed barbs.

  “That is enough, Bea,” Jared said.

  “It is not near enough,” Beatrice seethed, her hatred for Rowenna in her eyes, in the tension which sang through her body. “She of the purest select, couples with a male of the sphere, spreading her knees to carry his seed,” she said, her fist punching her open palm in a meaty thwack to punctuate her point and Rowenna felt Rolland flinch and was more embarrassed than she had ever been. For she knew the truth and it be worse than the lie.

  Harland surprised all when he came forward, his fists clenched and every male of the Band tensed when the new half-blood sentry came at the female, a pregnant female at that. She drew back as he came nearer, his forward steps matching her backward, Jared following Harland if he should actually think that which his physicality threatened.

  “You will not speak to Rowenna that way,” he said in a low voice of rage.

  “Harland,” Rowenna said in warning.

  They ignored her, Beatrice and Harland's gazes locked in a torturous staring contest. Finally, with Jared at her elbow, his hands at the ready if Harland struck, her lips twitched. “You pant after the select whore like another dog in the pack.” Her eyes shifted to Rolland and she gave another barking laugh, sounding very much like the dog she had just referenced. “It is no matter Harland, take heart. When she has finished with the weak male of the sphere, she may give you a mercy rut.”

  She flicked a stray hair back and Rowenna used a speed she did not realize she possessed to grab at a wrist the size of her upper forearm.

  She reached Harland before Jared, staying his hand before he did something irrevocable.

  “Do not, my friend,” Rowenna said, her small emphasis on that last word sinking into his skull. Harland had lost possession of rational, all he could think of was that this horrible female was goading Rowenna. Her hurting Rowenna had been untenable for him. Harland had acted before he knew he was moving.

  Harland gave a disgusted sigh and turned to Jared. “My apologies.”

  “Accepted,” Jared said, though caution lingered in his eyes.

  He shook his head, seeing Jared had misunderstood him. “Not for the violence that was halted between myself and your mate. But that she is yours. I would not wish that on mine enemy.”

  There was a gasp from Beatrice and she shrilled, “Will you not do something? To redeem my honor, Jared?”

  Jared thought on it, Rowenna could see the finely greased wheels of his mind turning over the last twenty minutes past. His eyes rested on Rowenna and a slide of memories of their years together floated through the streaming visions in his mind.

  “Nay, you have well and truly been unkind to Rowenna.”

  Beatrice stomped her foot on the seagrass that drove up the bank from the ocean that was just beyond the clan perimeter and it crunched under her instep. “I shall be vindicated!” she shrieked and all were silent.

  “What?” she said, looking to each member of the Band. “Is it because of the way she looks with her hair the color of wheat? Her eyes the color of the faded violets of the summer?” Her eyes narrowed on Rowenna. “I hate you,” she said with a voice of true conviction.

  Rowenna gazed back at Beatrice, watching as her handprint faded on Beatrice's face and answered, “I know.”

  “This is not over,” Beatrice promised.

  “It is over,” Jared said, leading his mate away and beginning to soothe the tirade that was Beatrice.

  Of course, it was not over.

  Harland's shoulders relaxed as they left. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “It is fine,” Rowenna answered but she saw the look that Rolland gave them and knew that what Harland had done had been noted by the man she would mate with after the birth.

  Rolland's eyes fell to the protective hand that Harland laid on the tender small of her back as they walked away and fell into uneasy steps with one another.

  *

  Ad
a gulped the rest of her wine from the deeply etched brass goblet and set it sharply upon the table and Raymond looked up at her. That was generally her signal that she wished for more of the cups.

  He sighed as she shifted the prosthetic that feigned a pregnancy she was not having. Raymond knew exactly when Rowenna would have the wee child and could not wait for that part of their obligation to be over. He had nothing but respect and a sense of kinship with Rowenna as the months of their acquaintance had come to pass. She had been the untamed and ultimately, unclaimed Savage beauty who was entrusting him with the care of her beloved child. Raymond had the queerest sense of ownership for the unborn babe. He had already determined that the Wedded Joining of himself and Ada could be a farce if it served the dim purpose of unity of the spheres and the progress of what the Guardians wished for that may or may not come to fruition. Raymond thought on the last days with his uncle, of what they had discussed behind the wooden doors of his chamber before his passing two months prior.

  “Come, my nephew,” King Ferrell said.

  Raymond came willingly to his uncle, lifting the paper thin hand, he laid a gentle kiss upon skin that slid with the slightest pressure.

  It would not be long now, Raymond thought. Raymond was not yet aware that it was but moments more.

  “I will not suffer with pleasantries this day.” The King's eyes bore holes from their sunken position on a face grown gaunt from his tenuous hold on this life.

  Raymond nodded, time was precious.

  “Is the Savage girl with child?”

  “Aye,” Raymond replied, the partial lie lay on the back of his tongue like the powdered medicine the Doctor gave for pain in the head. Bitter.

  King Ferrell gave a deep sigh of relief and closed his eyes, his duty to his Kingdom come to completion. For he saw the Guardians from a perspective that Raymond no longer shared. Their motivations were dubious at best.

  Sinister at worse.

  Peter stepped forward out of the shadows, the ones in his eyes deeper still. “Has he gone the way of the Guardian?” he asked.

  Raymond let the scalding tears run down his face without shame, he had never felt so alone, or so without hope.

  Reaching forward, he answered Peter's question by brushing his uncle's eyelids with gentle fingers. They swept down and King Ferrell looked at the interior of the sphere no more.

  Raymond was jolted back into the present when Ada cut through his thoughts with her sharp blade of a voice. “What do you ponder, oh King?” she asked sarcastically, tapping the table with the base of the brass goblet.

  A servant approached shyly, for she was very well aware of the new Queen's tirades.

  They were legion.

  They were already becoming legend.

  “I want a proper vessel for my grapes,” she hissed and the servant girl snatched the goblet of brass from the table and asked in the softest voice she could and still be heard, “What does her majesty desire?”

  “Crystal, foolish girl. It be of a lighter constitution. I need not break my wrist rising the cup to my lips.”

  “Ada,” King Raymond warned and she gave him a sharp look.

  She huffed, turning back to the servant girl. “Please,” she added with miserable reluctance. Even the simplest of courtesies were lost on Ada.

  “Yes, Queen Ada, right away.” She scuttled away in fear, hoping her escape was not noticed

  “Good Guardian, your servants are even more daft than my own, if possible.”

  Raymond gave a small smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “You are just mad with lust for you can no longer be with your suitors due to your presumed condition, my dear Queen.”

  She gave a smile at him which closely resembled a snarl.

  “Go be with your whore of a Savage, Raymond,” she replied as answer, dismissing him.

  Raymond stood. “Excellent suggestion, Ada. For I desire her. She is more female than you could ever hope to be.”

  Ada stood and strode to him.

  He caught her wrist before her hand could land on his face.

  Raymond looked into her wild black eyes.

  He saw the insanity that lurked there and instantly worried for the helpless babe that would be brought into the Royal Manse.

  I will protect it, he vowed to himself.

  Raymond hoped that the maidservant he had chosen would be able to care for two infants. For she had one of her own that was a month gone into infancy, a suckling still, baby Olive, Raymond remembered even as his gaze locked with the cobra he had married, waiting for her strike.

  It would be a dangerous dance. Raymond hoped he was man enough to keep his pace one step ahead of Ada. Guardian help them all should he pass before the child was of age to rule. Raymond kept the shiver contained with effort. The idea of Harland and Rowenna's child at the mercy of Queen Ada without his careful buffering made him ill.

  “Do not lay hands on me,” Raymond said carefully, his hand closing with brutal force on her small wrist in warning.

  Ada did not cower or wince at the pain but purred into his downturned face, “I do not abhor pain, my Raymond,” she whispered, her gaze held the lust of her words and he dropped her wrist as if burned.

  He turned on his heel without a word and nearly ran out of the room.

  Raymond made his way to the sphere tunnel to claim the child in a faraway place.

  Though first he made a small detour to wash his hands. He did not wish to contaminate the newborn babe with any part of Ada.

  The wee one would be his to protect, to keep.

  To love.

  That future child was a piece of happiness he would not relinquish to anyone.

  Raymond disappeared inside the Pathway as Ada consumed her third cup of the grapes, plotting.

  Always plotting.

  Chapter 8

  “Rowenna! Push... yes... I see the head,” Adair said, her voice breathy with anticipation, standing elbow to elbow with the midwife.

  Rowenna gave a mighty grunt, part anguish, part relief, her legs shaking, the sweat beading and falling like shed tears from her forehead.

  “Slow now, Rowenna. Just breathe through this next part,” Adele instructed softly.

  Rowenna popped her head up off the pillow, and rolled into a graceful squat. “No. I wish for this misery... To. Be. Done!” she cried, her face a flushed red, her mother applying a damp compress but Adele shook her head.

  Stubborn girl. Even in labor she takes no direction.

  Instead, Rowenna reached down between her legs and felt her baby's head.

  It was a tactile sensation she would never forget. It was the first thing Rowenna thought of when she saw her daughter as a young woman for the very first time. That first downy touch of her copper hair before she spilled out from Rowenna's body as a hot wailing mass of flesh and heat, love and vulnerability.

  Adele caught the messy bundle and handed her to Rowenna, who now sat down on her sore posterior and gazed at her newborn daughter in awe, covered in a messy post-birth paste. Rowenna swiped her eyes clean of it, the midwife massaging the baby's chest and with a deep hitching breath she gave a piercing cry, her pink tongue trembling with the force of it.

  Rowenna gave a hard laugh; that a wee one was capable of such noise? She was unprepared that love struck so hard, when a person least expected it, their guard down. As Rowenna gazed at her child, it hit her in the breastbone, painful, immediate and bittersweet. For this small bundle was here for a short time, not even a season. Rowenna held her daughter against her breast, reveling in their brief time together as she suckled there. For mere days later, she would meet with Raymond and this precious treasure would vanish into an uncertain life of the future.

  Very much like Rowenna.

  She pushed away her grief to savor the present.

  *

  Raymond knew something was wrong the moment the Pathway poured him out of its embrace, the vile transport like tiny ants stinging and biting along his skin. Everywhere they touched,
he was paralyzed by the travel illness.

  Something even more important greeted him.

  The Red Men.

  They were everywhere. Their eyes all for him.

  While Raymond was vulnerably prone on the ground, keeping the warm vomit of motion sickness at bay by the slimmest thread of control, he rolled his eyes up into the face that hung over him just as the Indian nocked an arrow.

  Good Guardian, I will die here before I can fulfill my obligation. And on the heels of that: Ada will be left to rule.

  He began to get up but the Red Man spoke and Raymond did not understand his speech. It was as foreign as his painted face and near naked appearance.

  However, Raymond intuited the issue from cadence alone. Turning in the direction where the one with the brown skin gazed, he watched a second group approach the first.

  “Well hello, sphere-dweller,” a man addressed Raymond, dressed in a mix of clothes that Raymond did not recognize. He was neither Savage, with his gill-less throat and inferior size (as Raymond had begun to unconsciously think of it, the males of what they referred to as 'the Band' were gigantic male specimens). However, as Raymond continued to assess this new group he instinctively understood danger when it came calling. It was most troubling that they had the advantage of knowing from whence he hailed.

  Raymond saw this group as the real threat. The Indian had not been readying his arrow for Raymond's heart. But for the hearts that beat opposite him, for there be many. Raymond did a quick tally and thought thirty was a likely total.

  This was shaping up badly. At best there would be a battle, at worst he would die Outside while the babe went who-knew-where and Ada ruled his sphere.

  It was an unacceptable option. He could not condemn his people to the vileness that was his wife.

  Then the Band appeared and everything became terribly simple. For Rowenna held the helpless babe in her arms, her gaze meeting with Raymond's.