Bloodright

by Karin Tabke

  Falon screamed. Violent pain sunk deep into her. She screamed again, deeper, agonizing as lightning bolts of power struck through her body. Her strength soared. Grabbing a hank of Corbet’s hair, Falon yanked his head back, pulling his vicious teeth from her shoulder. Her eyes met his onyx-colored ones, and in them she saw the horrors of ten lifetimes. He deserved to die more than once.

  “Say hello to your uncle for me,” Falon whispered in his ear before she snapped his neck. Kicking his body away from her, she grabbed Corbet’s sword from its scabbard, and with one vicious thrust, separated his head from his shoulders.

  Her heart pounded as adrenaline and power pumped through her.

  Sword raised, Falon turned, crying out triumphantly to Lucien and Rafael.

  Lucien ran toward her shifting to human just as Rafael shifted behind him.

  “Falon!” he screamed, reaching out to her just as a Slayer’s blade impaled her from behind. Her body jerked in horrendous pain. Stunned, she caught Lucien’s horrified gaze from across the fray. She blinked as blood blurred her vision. In slow motion, she looked down to see the bloody blade of the sword protruding from her belly, then back up into Lucien’s terrified eyes.

  He got me.

  Taking a deep, excruciating breath, she reached around to her back and grasped the hilt, then pulled it free from her body. As her crippled body dropped to its knees, Falon called upon her last bit of strength. She reversed the direction of the blade, and thrust it backward into the gut of the Slayer it belonged to.

  As her power dwindled, she dropped the sword and hung her head.

  Lucien’s furious roar tore through the remaining Slayers, scattering them out of his path.

  “Falon!” he roared, leaping across the decapitated bodies that separated them.

  With her last bit of strength, she reached out to him. Luca.

  He caught her in his arms as she collapsed onto the bloody ground.

  Twelve

  “FALON!” LUCIEN SCREAMED again, catching her as she crumbled to the ground. Rafael snarled viciously behind him even as he and the others fought off the remaining Slayers.

  Terror corded in Lucien’s belly. “Falon, speak to me!” he shouted, shaking her.

  In answer, her heart shuddered violently against her chest, then stumbled to a halt.

  “No!” Lucien howled. “No!” Frantic, he looked up to his brother.

  Covered in Slayer blood, Rafael dropped to his knees and grabbed one of Falon’s hands. “Take the other, Lucien.”

  As they had moments before, the brothers connected through her. Warmth infused their bodies, but Falon’s body did not respond. They squeezed tighter. “Save her!” Rafael shouted at the Eye of Fenrir. It remained cool and quiet. “Traitor!” he hissed. “You will pay for this, mark my words!”

  Lucien bit his free arm, severing a vein. Blood spurted in an arch, running down his arm. “Open her mouth,” he directed Rafael. As Rafe opened her mouth with his free hand, Lucien pressed his open vein to her lips. Her heart shuddered again, then picked up a shallow, erratic rhythm.

  “Falon,” Lucien begged. “Please, wake up.”

  Releasing his hand from hers, he gently rubbed her throat, helping her ingest his blood. But she did not respond. Her heartbeat grew fainter. “Don’t you die on me!” Lucien shouted, emotion choking in his words.

  Rafael bit his wrist and looked to Lucien, who nodded vigorously. Rafael pressed his wrist to Falon’s lips.

  The combined bloods of the brothers mingled and dripped down Falon’s cheek to the Slayer bite on her shoulder. When the bloods met, her skin flared with heat. Sweat erupted along her skin, slickening it. Her lips paled to white before their eyes and her breathing turned forced and shallow.

  “There is something else wrong,” Rafael said. Leaning closer, he lifted her eyelid. Falon’s deep blue eye had turned nearly black.

  “Slayer black magic!” Rafe hissed releasing her. “Corbet’s blood is poisoned!”

  Chilling dread filled Lucien. This was not happening! His hands shook as he gathered her into his arms. “I need to get her to Talia.” He stood and turned toward the Slayer camp. “There were trucks at the Slayer camp. I’m going to take one; it’ll be faster.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  With Falon held tightly to his chest, Lucien ran for her life, eating up the few miles between him and a means to get Falon to safety in minutes. The first truck he tried had keys in the ignition.

  “I’m going with you,” Rafe said opening the passenger door, helping Lucien lay Falon down.

  “Stay with the pack,” Lucien commanded, shutting the door.

  Rafe’s hand stayed it. “I love her, too,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

  Lucien felt his brother’s pain, but—“She is mine now. See to the pack.” He slammed the door shut, then hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. He jammed the gas pedal to the floor. As he fishtailed out of the dirt lot, he looked in the review mirror to see his brother watching them drive away.

  Falon didn’t need Rafe’s help. What she needed was Talia. “How the fuck did this happen?” he shouted, banging his fists on the steering wheel. Why? Why?

  Guilt ate away at him.

  It was his fault Falon was on her deathbed. His fucking fault! He never should have let her walk out to Corbet like that! She would have beaten the living snot out of him, but he should have insisted. Lucien careened around a corner on two tires, then gunned the engine as the truck came down on all four wheels, and drove like a madman toward the only person he knew who could help him save the woman he loved.

  And he did love her. Gods, he loved her! Fiercely. Passionately. Possessively. He loved her in a way he never expected to love a woman. Not just any woman. The most amazing woman he had ever met. That any of his kind had met. She was pure of heart. She was powerful. She was beautiful and brave. And damn it, it was his fault she was dying! His fear that Corbet would reveal his secret had spurned him to shoot before Rafe was ready. Their combined shots would have dropped the bastard! Corbet would not have bitten her, and she would not have been vulnerable to the other Slayer’s blade.

  He looked down at her pale face. He drove with his left hand; with his right, he stroked Falon’s cheek. “I swear to you, Falon, if you survive, I will let you go. I will not stand between you and Rafe if that is what you want.” As he said the words, his heart constricted so severely he could not breathe. Life without Falon would be no life at all.

  Lucien made it back to Mondragon in record time. He crashed through the gates, grinding to a stop just before the warehouse doors. He grabbed Falon and nearly collided with Talia as she came running outside. “She’s been poisoned with Slayer blood! She’s dying, Talia! Save her!” he pleaded.

  Talia’s violet eyes sparked with fear. The pack gathered as Lucien hurried inside with her. “Set her down on the sofa,” Talia said quietly.

  Lucien did as he was told. Talia knelt beside Falon and felt her brow, then placed her ear to her chest. She touched the ragged bite on her shoulder, then lifted Falon’s eyelid. The gathered pack hissed a collective breath. Talia lifted the other lid. The pack stepped back shaking their heads. Just like the right, Falon’s left eye was onyx black.

  “She is not a Slayer!” Lucien shouted at his pack. “She killed Ian Corbet! It’s poison.” He dropped to his knees beside Falon and smoothed her damp hair back from her face. He looked expectantly up to Talia’s frowning face. “I command you to save her.”

  “Lucien, it’s Corbet blood, the most powerful of all Slayer blood. I don’t know—”

  “No!” Lucien roared. “I will not hear what you cannot do. Only what you can do!”

  “She needs a transfusion. From a compatible blood.”

  “She is not resistant to mine! Take it all! Take my heart if it will save her!”

  “Your blood is strong, Lucien, and while it infuses Falon’s with power, only her true blood can clear the Slayer poison from her body.
”

  “What the fuck is true blood?”

  “True blood comes from her parents or a sibling.”

  Lucien threw his head back and howled. This could not be! There must be another way!

  “Sharia knows!” he said desperately. “She knows everything!”

  Talia shook her head. “Sharia has gone north. She cannot help you.”

  Lucien leaned over Falon’s struggling body. Her skin flushed bright red and was hot to the touch. As she continued to struggle for each breath, he moved to the sofa and drew her into his arms. Gently he began to rock her, feeling as helpless as the day his parents were killed. Tears stung his eyes. He buried his face in Falon’s damp tangled hair. “Falon,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t leave me,” he begged. “Tell me what to do. I will do anything.”

  Her heartbeat slowed to barely a blip. Desperate, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for her if it would save her life, Lucien stood with Falon in his arms and carried her outside to the front of the building. Raising her in his arms toward the half-moon, he begged for her life. “Great Spirit Mother, I have never asked anything of you.” Tears blinded him, the words choked in his throat. “I know you can restore life.” Lucien dropped to his knees, still holding Falon’s dying body toward the sky. “I beg you, take my life for hers. I give it freely!”

  Lucien begged repeatedly, promising the Great Spirit Mother anything and everything if she would just grant him this one request. His powerful arms began to shake, but he would not lower Falon. He would not lower her until his prayers were answered.

  A warm hand touched his arm. A soothing familiar scent wrapped around Lucien’s head. Warmth skittered through his body. Lucien’s arms trembled but he kept Falon raised to the Great Spirit Mother. A soft familiar voice spoke from behind him.

  “I am Layla, great-great-great-granddaughter of the Great Spirit Mother Singarti. You hold my child in your arms.”

  Lucien’s heart dropped to his gut. Dear Gods!

  Half turning, he stared in amazement at the familiar face. “How?” he croaked, not believing she was here or the miracle of her words.

  “There is no time to explain, Lucien. We must hurry.”

  Emotion he could not describe filled his heart. He lowered his arms, and through his tears, he turned fully to the small Lycan. Layla was as beautiful and serene as the day Thomas Corbet took her from Vulkasin. He saw so much of Falon in the stubborn set of her jaw and the confidence that radiated from her. But what touched him most was the hope in Layla’s warm brown eyes. Gently he handed Falon to her mother. She cradled Falon to her chest, turned, and limped into the building. Lucien stood and followed close behind.

  Talia ran to Layla, choking back sobs of joy, through her tears. The pack closed around her, making welcoming sounds of happiness. Lucien steadied the medicine woman. She walked on a raw stump of a leg. The price for her freedom that day.

  Helping her carry Falon up the three flights of stairs to his bedroom, they placed Falon down on the bed. Layla spoke to Talia in a language Lucien partly understood, giving Talia a list of herbs and such to gather.

  Layla pointed to Lucien’s sword on the wall. “Take it down.”

  Lucien grabbed it and handed it to her, hilt first. She shook her head and held out her arm. “You make the first cut, Lucien.” He did not hesitate.

  Layla winced but squeezed the gaping slash on her wrist urging the blood to flow freely. She began to chant a low soothing healing prayer. Instead of giving Falon her blood by mouth, as he expected, Layla dripped her blood into the bite on Falon’s shoulder. Falon’s skin sizzled on contact, the fumes creating a putrid death scent. Layla’s chant changed cadence. It became louder, more powerful, demanding the blood poison to leave her daughter’s body. Then Layla dripped a line of blood from the bite wound along Falon’s chest down her belly to the sword wound there. As before, on contact, Falon’s skin sizzled. Layla’s chants heightened in fervor and pitch.

  Talia entered the room with a boiling pot of water effusing aromatic scents. Layla’s chanting rose in volume as she pressed her wrist to Falon’s white lips. Talia sprinkled herbs on Falon’s body as she chanted a different prayer. For hours, the two women chanted, cleansing Falon with herbs and repeating the blood ceremony. Helplessly, Lucien watched Layla’s skin slowly pale with each blood transfer. When her knees gave way, Lucien caught her.

  “Layla, you have lost too much blood.”

  She shook her head. “As you, I would give Falon my last drop.” She pushed off Lucien and continued to chant and transfuse her blood.

  “Luca,” Rafael’s deep voice softly said from the doorway.

  Wearily, Lucien raised his eyes to his bother’s. They mirrored Lucien’s fear and his love for the woman dying on his bed.

  “Get some rest. I’ll stay with Falon while you do.”

  Lucien shook his head and looked back at Falon’s struggling body. He was not going anywhere. Nor did he raise opposition when Rafe pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed and took Falon’s other hand. He would not begrudge his brother his place here if it would help Falon.

  Lucien never once pulled his gaze from Falon’s still body. Waiting, praying to her God and to his for just the slightest sign of improvement. Her breathing was so ragged, and her skin so pale that he thought each breath she took would be her last. Just when he thought he had lost her, she fought for another. He squeezed her hand in his, wishing he could infuse her with his strength.

  Hours passed. Dawn’s gray fingers parted over the eastern foothills announcing a new day. Though exhaustion claimed them all, neither brother left Falon’s side, as Layla vigilantly continued to chant and give Falon her blood.

  When the sun was high in the sky, Lucien’s heart fluttered. Was that—He looked expectantly at Falon’s hand in his. Did her fingers just move? He looked to Rafe’s alerted face. Had he felt it, too?

  “Angel face,” Lucien said softy. “Can you hear me?”

  FALON’S BLOOD RAGED with fire. Thousands of sharp molten blades tore into her. Her bones ached, her innards boiled, the pain so excruciating, she prayed for death.

  Rafael’s warmth and Lucien’s voice echoed far away, hidden behind a soft chanting that took her back to her childhood. She wanted to call out to it, to tell it she was here! Not to let her go.

  But she was locked inside a terrible jail cell, suspended in the black abyss of her nightmares. The same gray souls that followed her in her real world and dream world cried outside of her cell, no longer aimless but loud and demanding, begging for release. Who were they? Why did they follow her into her dreams and even her consciousness? They were there the night she met Rafael, looking sadly at her for help. But the sinister energy she realized was that of the Slayer Viktor Salene chased them away. Forbidding them to contact her. Why? When they wanted her help? Who were they?

  Flames licked at her belly and her neck. Wild, wicked laughter pierced her ears.

  “You are one of us, Falon Corbet!” Ian Corbet’s decapitated head shouted for the entire world to hear.

  His uncle, Edward, whom she had killed when he would have killed Rafael, held his own severed head in his arms, pointing at her. “I lied! You are Slayer! Mondragon and Vulkasin will skin you alive when they learn the truth!”

  Hundreds of severed Slayer heads laughed at her. We will meet again at the rising! And you will fight with us. Not against us!

  “No!” she screamed.

  She was Lycan! Not Slayer. Never Slayer.

  “Buniq,” a soft familiar voice said. “You are safe.”

  Mama?

  “Yes, my love, I am here. Shhh, sleep.”

  Falon fell back into the black hole of unconsciousness only to be shaken awake by the shrill cries of the gray souls. They swarmed around her barred cell, crying for release.

  What do you want? she shouted at them.

  Release us! they begged. Release us from this purgatory. Release us and we will stand beside you and fight.


  Fight?

  Slayers. We are thousands strong. Release us and we will die again for you.

  I don’t know how! she screamed, covering her ears and closing her eyes.

  Fire burned her shoulder. It stung her belly. The stench of burned flesh assaulted her nostrils.

  Lucien!

  Warm hands stroked her cheek.

  I’m here, love.

  Her heart swelled. He had not abandoned her. What of Rafa?

  I am here, too, her first love’s deep voice soothed from the left.

  I love you both. She sobbed.

  More fire flared in her wounds.

  She screamed.

  “Steady, love,” Lucien whispered against her cheek. “The last of the poison is being extracted.”

  Falon fell back to that place that was neither consciousness nor the dream world but somewhere in between.

  “Her blood is clean,” the soft voice said. “She needs your strength now, Mondragon.”

  A drop of warm blood touched her lips. Falon licked it. Lucien.

  Take my blood, Falon. It will give you strength.

  He slipped his big hand behind her head and lifted it slightly to his wrist, pressing it to her lips. She drank eagerly from him.

  Liquid energy, it infused her body with warmth and vitality.

  The ache in her blood began to subside. Her body began to cool and the gray souls evaporated, but the longing in their eyes would haunt her forever. Satiated, Falon released him. Lucien lowered her head and caressed her cheek with his fingers. Falon exhaled deeply. As she did, she reached up to his hand and pressed it against her cheek.

  Now Vulkasin, the soft voice said.

  Lucien’s anger flittered through Falon. No!

  You do her an injustice for refusing.

  What injustice? She is better now, Lucien argued.

  Had she not had the blood of Vulkasin and Mondragon in her veins she would have died where she fell.