Fallen Warrior (The Fallen Cross Legion Book 3)

by Aliya DalRae

  His research into the Sorcerer race was extensive, considering the trouble they’d caused. For that reason alone, he continued to look for anything about the race that might come in handy down the road. He entered searches on several monitors, then sat back and watched things work.

  A deep yawn took him by surprise, reminding him just how exhausted he was. With the computer doing its thing, there was little more he could accomplish in the lab. He tucked his hair behind his ears and decided to call it night.

  In his suite, Merlin dropped his laptop bag and a few folders on his desk, then went to his room to change. As he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, he realized he still wore the stone cuffs Viper had given him. He’d donned them prior to going to the training facility, figuring it couldn’t hurt. On the off chance he’d been able to spar with someone, the cuffs would have given him that little but of cushion needed should the Shade sneak up on him. They would have given him the time he needed to adjust his levels before the lights went out. Unnecessary precaution, as it turned out.

  He dropped the sweatshirt into the hamper near the bathroom door, then sat on the edge of the bed to study the cuffs. The hematite was smooth, metallic to the eye, and as he rubbed his fingers along the seam, or rather where the seam should have been, he shivered. Someone just walked on my grave, he thought. It was an old human wives’ tale, but for some reason it rang true to him in that moment.

  He slid his finger along the rim of the left cuff and touched the spot Viper had shown him just inside the edge. The cuff clicked open, leaving a space of about an inch and exposing a hinge that shouldn’t exist. He contemplated removing the thing, thought better of it, and closed it up again. Then he stripped his pants off and climbed into bed. He closed his eyes and sleep took him almost at once.

  ~~~~~

  N early a year had passed since Katsuro’s father abandoned him with the Kurai Senshi. After the initial shock wore off, he realized being here with others of his kind was for the best. His mother had been terrified of him, and his father hadn’t hesitated to hand him over to strangers. At least here, surrounded by others just like him, he would not be judged because he was different.

  His training began on the very first day. Master Masaru was the leader of the Clan, and Katsuro stood in awe of him the moment they met. He was an older Vampire, much older than anyone Katsuro had ever known, and the power that came with that age radiated from him, a palpable thing. He had a kind face and a few white hairs at his temples, but his dark eyes held wisdom that Katsuro could only hope to achieve, assuming he lived to a comparable age.

  On that first day, Master Masaru spoke with Katsuro privately for a very long time, filling him in on the Clan itself, and what they expected of him personally. He told Katsuro that he was there because he was special, and that while others shunned the Kurai Senshi it was actually an honor bestowed upon them by the Shade, a sentient energy that ruled them all. He was told not to be afraid, but to work hard and trust in his newfound powers.

  That was all well and good, but Katsuro had questions, so many questions, and with everything Master Masaru told him, the number of questions multiplied by ten.

  “All in good time,” Master Masaru said. “The first thing you must master is patience. Once you have harnessed that, the rest will fall into place.”

  Katsuro tried to pry more from the master, but Masaru merely smiled and poured tea for them into small clay cups. He called for someone to bring food and they ate together in silence. While Katsuro still harbored anxieties about the many unknowns before him, he followed Master Masaru’s lead and allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

  He was glad he’d taken that time to relax. Once Master Masaru turned him over to Takeshi, his life would never be the same. The male was much older than Katsuro, though he hadn’t seen nearly as many summers as their master. Still, he held a place of honor among the Kurai Senshi, and most of the Warriors deferred to him, even the ones who had clearly been with the Clan for ages.

  Katsuro was instructed to call him Takeshi Sensei, but learned early on it was best not to draw attention to himself at all. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, Takeshi Sensei took an instant disliking to him, and whenever he had to repeat himself, or give Katsuro extra instructions on fighting technique or basic information on Clan life, he became angry and abusive.

  Each time he was rebuked, Katsuro intensified his efforts, worked even harder to become the best Kurai Senshi the Clan had to offer.

  He managed to get along with nearly everyone in their camp, did the chores assigned to him without question, learned to read and write—his kanji was impeccable—and never challenged his superiors.

  He excelled in everything, except fighting. Despite the arguments he’d instigated with his mother, Katsuro was a gentle soul. His desire to hurt others was on a scale close to zero, but he understood that part of being Kurai Senshi, the biggest part really, was the Warrior part. Being able to fight quite literally defined them. And while he was proficient, more than capable really, Takeshi must have been able to sense that Katsuro’s heart simply wasn’t in it.

  Realizing this as a weakness, Katsuro trained even harder. He enlisted the aid of a fellow Warrior, one who was more than capable in hand to hand and weapons, to work with him after hours, to help him improve. And he did. The extra instruction raised him in just a year to one of the most capable Warriors of his age, and even some who were older.

  Still, Takeshi loathed him. He’d call him out time and again to demonstrate with others, older Warriors who showed no mercy just because he was younger and smaller than them. He went to bed at night covered in bruises, but more determined than ever to beat every last one of them, even if he were outmatched or out-weaponed.

  Takeshi caught wind of the extra training sessions, and predictably Katsuro’s tutor was taken away. Katsuro didn’t let that stop him. He practiced on his own, working his forms and katas from dusk to dawn, every spare moment he had. Soon he not only matched the boys his age in skill but could best any of them. And when Takeshi matched him with Warriors much older, he gave them a run for their money as well. In a single year, Katsuro became one of Masaru’s rising star Warriors.

  Unfortunately, that did nothing to gain Takeshi’s respect. His inexplicable disdain for Katsuro only grew with his accomplishments.

  Because of that, Katsuro found it difficult to make true friends. While most were congenial enough, few if any were willing to tempt fate and Takeshi’s wrath by showing him more than the required respect. He spent most of his free time training, took his meals alone, and though he occasionally missed his family, wished for a companion at the very least, he knew that if he continued to work hard, none of that would matter. He would soon be joining the Kurai Senshi on their excursions for supplies and on raids against warring factions across the sea.

  Until then, he had no problem working for what he wanted. And if he became melancholy at times, or the loneliness became too much? Then he would work harder. He didn’t need friends, he didn’t need people. All he needed was to prove to Takeshi, to Master Masaru, to the entire Clan, that the Shade had chosen him for a reason. And that was because he was worthy.

  Everything changed the day Kioshi arrived.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A nother morning of training was finally over, and Martin couldn’t wait to crash. The added hours of Viper’s special drills followed by the regularly scheduled program had more than done him in. Once Tas called an end to things, Martin made tracks through the courtyard to the other side of the Compound where he swore he could hear his bunk calling his name.

  The Soldiers’ barracks were more college dorm than boot camp military, minus the irritating roommate, giving each Soldier their own space. He made it through the common room without incident, no one calling out for a game of cards or a beer before turning in, thank gods. He slipped into his room and closed the door, turned the lock and exhaled. Only then did he allow himself to think.

  Why in the hell had Mer
lin been at the training center?

  He crossed the room to grab the remote and flipped on his twenty-eight-inch Sony, more for noise than any interest in morning news. He kicked off his shoes, and his hands shook as he stripped off his t-shirt and sweats, both soaked through with well-earned sweat. He dropped them in a basket he kept by the door, along with his socks and boxers, then stood in the middle of his room, naked.

  He needed a shower, and bad, but the thought of going back out through the barracks to reach the common bathroom, of interacting with the other Soldiers, made his head spin.

  Merlin, he thought, absently rubbing his jaw where Oz had caught him off guard with that sneaky right hook. Never would have happened, but for that teensy little distraction. He didn’t know if the irritation grating his insides was from getting his bell rung by a Soldier nowhere near his caliber, or because it happened in front of the Warrior he most wanted to impress. The last thing he needed was for Merlin to see him as weak, as somehow unworthy. Not that it mattered. He’d made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Martin. Why was it that that bit of knowledge stung more than Oz’s fist?

  Martin shook his head and grabbed a pair of shorts from the basket of clean clothes he had yet to put away. In the manse, they had servants who did their laundry, took care of the mundane day-to-day shit. Just another perk of becoming a Warrior. Getting his ass kicked like that in front of not just one, but two elites wouldn’t do him any favors as far as moving up in the ranks was concerned. He might as well pack it in and get comfortable in this nine-by-nine cube he currently called home.

  He fell into his bunk, dropped his head onto the flat pillow and covered his eyes with a forearm. He was too tired to pull his feet from the floor to the mattress, just laid there half on, half off, as sleep battled with the thoughts doing a spin cycle in his brain.

  Merlin had been dressed to work out, not his usual jeans and tee, and he’d pulled all that dark hair into a long tail that hung down his back. The sweat pants he wore hugged his narrow hips like a second skin, and his tank top exposed well-muscled shoulders and sinewy arms. Arms Martin longed to have wrapped around him, now more than ever. Why would he have come to the Soldiers’ facility when they had the Club, that fancy gym up at the manse? None of it made sense.

  It was weird how stoked Tas had seemed at having him there, but Martin didn’t miss the look the Warriors exchanged before Merlin walked out. Nor was he blind to the way Tas watched him the rest of the night. There was no way Merlin would have said anything about what had transpired between them, about the kiss. He was way too hung up on keeping that sort of thing to himself. Still, Martin couldn’t help but wonder.

  He drifted toward the edge of sleep, his mind on the verge of sweet oblivion. His muscles loosened, and if he could sink any further into his mattress, it would only add to the blissful relaxation he’d so rightfully earned. Quiet… peace…

  Some asshat pounded on his door.

  “Goway,” he mumbled into his arm, but the pounding only grew louder.

  “Martin, open up. Oz needs us to test his new batch of Vampahol.” Kyte. Apparently, they missed the message from the last time he’d gone out with them.

  “Not interested,” Martin called, refusing to move a muscle. Incapable, really.

  Aaand more pounding. “Not an option,” Kyte said. “He doesn’t share this stuff with everyone, you know, and you’ve tasted the last batch. He needs us to compare this new stuff to the last. Supposed to taste better, according to him.”

  The fuck with that pounding.

  Martin dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the door. He opened it and Kyte nearly fell inside, his fist in mid-knock.

  “Oh, good, you’re up. Come on, get dressed. This batch is supposed to have flavor.”

  “Was I not clear?” Martin asked. “I’m not drinking that stuff ever again.”

  Kyte just grinned. “Sun’s up, so we’re not going anywhere,” he said. “I promise, you can’t get into any trouble. Won’t even have to glove up your eyeballs. It’s just a little taste test up in his room, that’s all.

  “He’s distilling this stuff in his room? Is that even legal?” Martin asked, stunned. He distinctly remembered Oz’s concern over the thing blowing up.

  Kyte’s grin widened as he pushed past Martin and went for the dresser. “Let’s go,” he said. “If you don’t get dressed, I’m dragging you out as is.”

  Martin sighed. He wasn’t going to get out of this. “One sip,” he said, “then I’m leaving. I’m beat.”

  “Yeah,” Kyte said. “Like Oz beat you on the mats.”

  Martin growled, but the other male would not be deterred. He continued to dig through the dresser drawers, tossing clothes around and messing them up to the point where Martin had to give in. Otherwise, he’d be up for hours putting things back where they belonged. He pushed Kyte out of the way, grabbed a long-sleeved tee and slammed the drawer shut.

  “One sip,” he said, holding up a single digit and wagging it in Kyte’s face to drive the point home.

  “Sure,” Kyte said as he made a beeline for the door. “Whatever you say.”

  Martin scowled at his back but grabbed his shoes and followed him out.

  ~~~~~

  T hirty minutes later, Martin sat on Oz’s bed with his back against the wall, holding his head in his hands as the Vampahol burned through him. Kyte was right. This batch definitely had flavor. Now it tasted like vanilla lighter fluid. But that didn’t deter the kick that came with just one sip, and that’s all he had. One godsdamned sip, and he felt like the world was his oyster. He was invincible, he could do anything, and if Merlin would just open his eyes, he would see that they were meant to be together.

  “So, what do you think?” Oz asked.

  Martin lifted his head and made face. “It still tastes like shit,” he said. “But I’m lit, and that’s the point, right?”

  Kyte grinned and lifted his flask in a mock salute before taking another shot. The stuff didn’t seem to affect him nearly as much as it did Martin, and Oz was practically sober.

  “How long have you guys been messing around with this stuff anyway? How are you not out of control drunk?”

  Oz shrugged, and the leather jacket he wore whenever off-duty, creaked with the movement. “I’ve been working on it for about a year. The first six months, Kyte was my only taster, so I suppose we may have developed a bit of a tolerance.”

  “How did it even come up?” Martin rested his head against the wall, hoping it would stop the room from spinning.

  Oz flipped his desk chair around and straddled it, crossing his arms over the back. “My dad was a moonshiner back during prohibition. Made a mint off the humans. The government can make all the laws they want, but men like their liquor. Of course, he’s still at it. Just because it’s legal now doesn’t make it any less profitable. I learned the basics from him, but even his high-test stuff did nothing for us Vampires. I drank a gallon of my pa’s finest in under ten minutes, felt it for less than two. Ah, but those two minutes were fucking awesome. It seemed unfair to me that just because we have a higher metabolism, we don’t get to enjoy the same effects as the humans get from drinking. And let’s face it. Some days, it just don’t pay to be sober. So, I worked on it, tweaked dear old dad’s formula, added some secret ingredients, and voila! Vampahol.”

  Martin sat forward as his head began to clear a bit. Plus having his feet on the floor helped with the aforementioned spinning. “You’ll make a fortune of your own,” he said, eyeing the flask in Kyte’s hand. “If you can get the taste right.”

  “He’ll make a fortune anyway. This stuff is already like gold. Soldiers are clamoring for it right and left.”

  “Yeah, but Soldiers work for Legion money. That’s not going to help you, if you’re out for monetary gain.”

  “Good point, as I do not take credit cards… yet. However, once it’s perfected, there are plenty of civilians out there who will pay handsomely for the product.” />
  Martin looked around the room, took in the neat surroundings and lack of anything resembling a still. “Where are you cooking it?”

  Kyte opened his mouth, but Oz answered first. “Better you don’t know. I’m not sure how the Legion’s upper echelon will feel about my little invention, so for now the location is on a need to know basis.”

  “And I don’t need to know?”

  Oz made a gun out of his thumb and forefinger and shot it at Martin. “Exactly.”

  A little container on the desk caught Martin’s eye. “What about the contact lenses? How did you come up with that?”

  “Necessity is the mother of all invention,” Oz said, picked up the plastic case and gave it a short toss in the air. “It didn’t take long to figure out that Vampahol knocked our inhibitions down to practically nil. This was especially true of our spark. If we were going to be able to mingle with the humans, we had to cover up that lack of control, or we’d be no better than the ferals.”

  “But how? I mean, contact lenses aren’t exactly in high demand for Vampires. At least not until now.”

  “The Internet, my brother. Everything you ever wanted to know about anything but were afraid to ask.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all covered.” Martin stood and stretched, the effects of the Vampahol finally easing up enough for him to regain his balance. “You ever think about working with Viper?” he asked, but Oz shook his head and gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “That is one male I do not want watching over my shoulder. His blind training is bad enough.”

  Martin rubbed at a nasty bruise on his shoulder and frowned. Oz definitely had a point.