by H. D. Gordon
My friend had not come to play.
As much as I wanted to, I did not allow myself to look away. Though Goldie was the one doing the slicing and maiming, I knew that it was important for me to be present, so that when the waves were finally done crashing over us and we could breathe again, this burden could be shared.
Mekhi sang like a bird, admitting every infraction in a long life of them before the sun had even fully risen. This did not surprise me, and from the look on her face, it did not surprise Goldie, either. After all, bullies are so often cowards.
I almost felt bad for the poor bastard.
But every so often, Goldie’s fingers would brush her neck as if she were not even aware they were doing so, and whatever sympathy I felt was wiped away.
This was what we learned:
Ryker had indeed sent Mekhi to kill me. I made sure to keep my face blank as he shared this detail, and when he added a personal insult, Goldie exacted payment in blood. The Hound was careful not to insult either of us again.
Additionally, we learned the size and location of the West Coast Pack’s army, and if Mekhi was telling the truth, they would reach Dogshead by tomorrow evening. This was even harder to swallow, and the look Goldie and I shared revealed that she felt it, too.
There wasn’t enough time to prepare our defenses properly.
We also learned that the sick son of a bitch had raped more than thirty females in his sad, sick life.
And, finally, we learned what it sounded like to hear him scream, what it felt like to watch the light leave his eyes.
22
The Erl Queen
“I will bleed that traitorous, worthless bastard of every drop of blood,” the Erl Queen snarled. “Then I will heal him so that I can do it again.”
A vase shattered against the dark rock walls of her castle, the fourth she’d broken in the past ten minutes.
“How dare he break his oath to me?” she snapped, talking to no one. The three Valac guards nearby did not cringe away from their Queen’s outbursts. They were used to it.
Just last night she had beheaded one of them for not laughing at one of her jokes. His head was currently sitting on a pike near the Pyre Peaks just outside her palace, right where Vega’s head would go as soon as she got a hold of him.
If one of her own Indebted felt bold enough to betray her, she must be losing respect, and she only knew one way to gain it back.
Fear.
She’d sent the bulk of her army to the aide of the Pack Masters, but she had kept behind a suitable amount should she need them. And she’d kept behind one in particular. Her very favorite.
She called Arnoul to the throne room, where the remnants of those ancient and priceless vases lie like broken bones, black roses scattered among them. Arnoul entered the room and brought with him darkness, an aura of inky black that trailed the Valac Warrior wherever he went. He’d been born in shadows, and he was as ruthless and cunning as any creature she’d ever met.
These qualities also made him her favorite toy in the bedroom. He came strolling into the throne room now, his tall, muscular, and imposing form moving with the agile grace of a predator. His Valac armor was polished to perfection, the onyx metal clean but marred with the evidence of prior battles. His sword was strapped across his massive back, the blade having spilled enough blood over the years to quench a garden.
Arnoul kneeled before his queen, bowing his head after removing his helmet, as was protocol. His hair was dark as pitch, his face handsome even with the perpetual scowl he wore like a second mask.
“My Queen,” he said. His voice was like low, rumbling thunder.
The Erl Queen found herself clenching her thighs a little, but reminded herself that she had a different sort of task for Arnoul on this night. After he tracked and captured the traitor, she would summon him to her bedroom, and let him murder something else.
“Do you know of a Valac named Vega?” she asked.
“I make it my priority to know all the Valac, my Queen, so as to serve you most loyally.”
The Erl Queen pursed her lips, crossing her long legs and letting the slit of her gown ride up her thigh. She tapped a red-tipped finger on the arm of her throne, which was made out of the bones of her enemies—a chair of stark white that sat upon a dais at the head of the dark room. The only light was provided by the various torches adorning the black stone walls, casting the majority of the space into shadows.
“If that is so,” the Queen said, “then perhaps you were aware that Vega was planning to desert and break his oath.” Tap, tap, tap. “Perhaps I should take his debt from you instead.”
Arnoul looked up, black eyes as depthless as the seventh ring of Hell. “I assure you I had no knowledge of this, my Queen,” he said, “and I accept any punishment you deem necessary.”
Her tongue ran out over her lips as she thought about what kind of punishment she would give him once she had him alone. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Bring back the traitor and I suppose I’ll overlook this infraction,” she said.
Arnoul bowed low, taking to his feet and securing over his beautiful head the monster’s mask and helmet that was a trademark of the Valac.
“Thy will be done,” he said.
She watched him go with a mind for all the things she had in store for him, so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not know the King was in the room until he spoke beside her.
“My dear Isolte,” he crooned, using her real name and making her hackles rise, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got it bad for that soldier.”
“I thought you weren’t arriving until later this evening,” the Queen replied, studying her nails in feigned disinterest. “Careful, or I’ll think you’re trying to catch me off guard.”
The truth was, the current King of Vampires was one of the few creatures in all the realms that she actually feared, and there was good reason for it. He was as heartless and ambitious as was she, and the combination of these traits along with intelligence was deadly.
He moved around to the front of her throne, his fine suit tailored to perfection, blood red rubies and diamonds adorning his fingers, his wrist, and pale neck. He made no sound at all when he walked, did not even stir the air. And when he spoke, his tone was a crooning murmur, like the sound a water Siren might make when luring a sailor to his watery death.
Pausing in front of her, a smirk tugged up his lips, revealing just the tips of his sharp fangs. “Not at all,” he told her. “I simply like to watch you.”
This had the desired effect; making her want to squirm under his observation. But she was the Erl Queen, the Mother of Shadows, the Mistress of Sorrow. She would not let him see her unease.
“Is everything going as planned?” she asked, making sure the words came out smooth and unclipped with considerable effort.
“Of course,” he said. He stopped right before her, only two feet from the dais on which her chair sat. He was tall and thin, but even the Valac in the room tensed as he inched closer. “I’m just ensuring my interests are protected… I heard there was a traitor in your midst.”
The Queen’s hands clenched into fists, but a calm smile appeared on her red lips. “There was indeed,” she said. “But it’s being taken care of.”
In the next heartbeat, he was standing on the dais, so close that he towered over her, the scent of iron on his breath, as if he had come straight here from draining a victim dry.
“See to it that it is, Isolte,” the King of Vampires warned, his croon somehow worse than if he were yelling, the threat more menacing. “I don’t think I have to remind you what you have riding on it… Or do I?”
Now there was nothing she could do to keep the snap out of her voice, the rage from flooding over her features. She may be afraid of him to a certain degree, but she was no coward, and if he did not fear her at least a little as well, then he was as big of a fool as he was a leech.
“No,” the Erl Queen replied shortly. “You do not need to remind me
.”
That smirk reappeared on his pale face, and it took the effort of all the souls she’d stolen over the years to keep from knocking it off his lips.
“Wonderful,” the King replied. “War is good for business, after all, but only if you’re left standing at the end.”
“You sound apprehensive, William,” she said. “Losing faith in your own plan?”
His hand was around her throat in an instant, the fingers thin but impossibly strong. The Valac in the room had their swords at the ready in a heartbeat, but the Queen waved them off. Instead, she flicked her forked tongue out and licked the Vampire’s face, moaning as she ground herself against him.
King William threw her back onto her throne of bones with a disgusted look on his face. Though he thought it was a secret, she knew well that the King of Vampires preferred males over females.
“Don’t taunt me, Isolte,” he warned.
“And don’t underestimate me, William,” she replied, refusing to rub at her throat despite the lingering ache.
He disappeared without bothering to respond, leaving the same way he’d come, like a Reaper in the night.
23
Ryker
As the sun broke over the eastern horizon, the West Coast Pack crossed over the border into the Midlands Territory.
Ryker brought his horse to a stop as they crested a small hill. Endless fields of lavender wheat spread out before him. The rest of his massive party—some eight thousand Hounds strong—continued on in their slow but deliberate trundle, crawling over the countryside in a horde of fur and armor.
Many Hounds had taken their Wolf forms, which made it easier to travel long distances, while others rode horses, and others still marched forth on two legs. They’d come across several runaway slaves on their journey already, and Ryker had made himself watch without emotion as the Hounds raped, murdered, and enslaved the ones they could get their hands on.
At some point, he’d tuned out their screams, the smell of their fear and blood. They had brought this upon themselves.
No, she had brought it upon them.
And there she was, invading his thoughts again. Rukiya Moonborn, the Dog who had broken her chains, the female who had ridden him hard and then left him high and dry, the Wolf who had upset the balance of their entire world.
He wondered if Mekhi had found her yet, if she was still alive, if he would ever stop seeing her face in his dreams.
Even now, the memory of her climbing atop him, taking him into her, and having her way with him was as vibrant as if it had just happened the night before.
At some point, he’d been sure he loved her, but now that it was clear that she had never loved him, he wondered if he didn’t hate her instead.
Derik, his most trusted friend and Head Hound, pulled his horse to a stop alongside his Alpha. Ryker cocked his head. “If we continue at a swift pace,” Ryker said, “we should reach Dogshead by sundown. Any word on the movements of the other Packs?”
Derik nodded. “They’re closing in as well. All are in coordination, save for the East Coast Pack, who had a little run-in with some rebels and will be a few hours late.”
Ryker considered this, then asked, “Any word from Mekhi?”
Derik shook his head.
Whatever look was on Ryker’s face made his second mumble something about handling the Hounds arguing near the rear of the party and kicked his horse into a trot, leaving his Alpha to his thoughts.
Ryker almost called out to him to ask him to stay and chat, but realized that this would make him seem weak, and snapped his mouth shut. They already thought him a fool for having been stood up during the Mating Ceremony. The stronger males were already sniffing around his throne, and he had sacrificed too much to be here. He would not let it slip through his fingers now.
It was insanity that he was surrounded by thousands of Wolves—his Hounds, and yet, he felt all alone.
A commotion ahead snapped him out of his thoughts, and he galloped forward to see that the Hounds had found another group of runaways. All young females.
His stomach twisted at the knowledge of what his Wolves would do to them, but he only turned his head and kicked his horse harder, eager to get to this damn battle already.
They were only a handful of hours outside of Dogshead when something heavy dropped from the sky and thudded to the ground in front of Ryker’s horse. It happened so abruptly that the animal reared, nearly tossing him from its back. Ryker let out a curse but managed not to go toppling.
The thing that had dropped was round, and it rolled across the dirt road down which they’d been traveling, kicking up small clouds of dust before coming to rest against the long stalks of wheat abutting the road.
Ryker had taken the lead of the group hours before, wanting to get away from the chatter of the males, and they were still thirty yards behind him now. He hopped off his horse’s back to get a better look at what had fallen from the sky.
He was glad his men were far enough behind him that they did not hear his sharp intake of breath as he turned over the round object and saw that it was a severed head.
But not just any severed head.
Mekhi’s.
His eyes were glazed over, wide and sightless, his face stuck in a silent cry of agony, his hair a bloody, matted mess. But it was him, all right.
Ryker searched the skies for what could have dropped it, and caught the briefest glimpse of red and blue feathers before the creature disappeared into the clouds.
He didn’t need to see the culprit to know who was behind this, however, because he knew.
After all, there was only one Wolf whom he’d sent Mekhi to kill, and clearly, the idiot had gotten himself killed instead.
Ryker was not at all sure how he felt about this.
But the sound of the others approaching had him slapping the thoughts away.
Derik caught his gaze across the short distance, and Ryker quickly kicked the severed head deeper into the lavender stalks, cringing at the solid impact it made with his boot. It rolled into the shadows of the wheat as the sightless eyes stared at nothing.
He’d never liked Mekhi, anyway.
He was mounting his horse once again by the time Derik and the rest of the party caught up to him. “Everything okay?” the Head Hound asked.
Ryker tried to give him a look like this was a stupid question, and wasn’t quite sure if he succeeded. “Of course it is,” he snapped, and kicked his horse into a trot.
In truth, nothing was okay. Nothing had been okay for quite a while, not since that stupid bitch had made a fool of him in front of his entire Pack. And now she was taunting him, sending back his assassin’s head as a silent and bitter challenge.
Nothing was all right, but he would make it so. The full force of the Pack Masters would fall upon the rebels in Dogshead, and he would be there to see it.
To see her.
One last time, before she got what was coming to her.
24
Ozias & Nahari
He was in love.
He didn’t care that he had only known her a handful of days.
He loved her. He was sure of it.
Ozias could not read or write and could only count to about twenty, but he understood intense emotion well, had felt the very worst of it for so many years. As such, he was grateful for the joy her presence brought him, the stolen moments of peace she could deliver with just a smile.
And being with her physically… He’d never experienced anything like it. He’d been with many females over the course of his life, but none had ever made him feel the way Nahari had. In fact, the intensity of it scared him a little if he were being completely honest. He’d joined this fight because he’d had nothing to lose, quite literally.
And now… Well, it seemed to him that all of a sudden he had a great deal to lose.
He did not want to see her hurt.
They were drawing closer to Dogshead, only an hour or so outside of it, and had passed an army of thou
sands on the way. Luckily, the host had been ambushed by a group of rebels, and Ozias and Nahari were able to slip around the commotion unseen. They’d split from the rest of the group of runaways in the name of discretion, but Ozias had also been eager to spend some time alone with Nahari. After what had happened between them, and how he was feeling about her, he’d been glad when one of the other Wolves suggested splitting into smaller groups.
But now that they were almost to their destination, he was growing more anxious about her safety.
They were walking along a riverbank, through a small stand of trees that broke up the golden yellow of the lavender wheat fields that rolled on in an endless sea since they’d crossed over into the Midlands.
“Maybe you should consider finding someplace safe,” Ozias told her. “Once the fighting is over, I will come look for you, if you want me to.”
He did not expect her reaction.
Nahari paused in her tracks, amber eyes snapping over to him and narrowing. She placed a hand on the curve of her hip, and Ozias pushed away a flashback of how soft her hips were, of his strong fingers clinging to them for purchase as she’d moved on top of him.
The fire in her eyes burned as hot as that which seemed to be slowly consuming his soul the longer he spent around her.
Her full lips pursed, her light brown skin and ebony hair as strikingly beautiful as the first time he’d seen her. “Why?” she snapped. “Because I’m female? Let me tell you something, I’m done taking orders from males, done being told what to do and where my place is, done with the abuse that comes along with all this toxic testosterone that is on the brink of choking our world.” Her lovely voice was hard and firm. “So don’t tell me again that you want me to stay behind, to sit this fight out, because I will do no such thing. I intend to play a role in securing my own freedom, like I should have done so very long ago.” Her eyes narrowed a bit more. “And that’s that.”