Kindred: (Into The Darklands)

by K. M. Raya

  The Hag looked contemplative. “This changes things, doesn't it?” she mused. “Yes—this changes many things.” She suddenly smiled. It was a toothy grin. Jagged teeth lined the inside of her thin lips and again he tried not to shy away from the sight.

  He waited in silence, not wanting to tempt fate by angering her further. Dorethe paced the dark room, gazing into the darkness in deep thought. It made him nervous. She turned to him slowly, a resolved smirk on her monstrous face. “You've convinced me. I think I’ll help your cause, little mage.” The grendel released its hold on him. “Run along and tell your princess that I shall be meeting her very soon.” She flicked her wrist at Roark and his companions. “Leave now! You are unwelcome to stay the night.”

  The last thing he heard before sloshing out of the cold marshes was the unmistakable cacophony of laughter, rising from the horde. It echoed around them like the wails of a banshee. He knew the bloodlust that the Hags were notorious for would come back to haunt him some day. They lived for bloodshed—for the sport of the hunt. It curdled his stomach and he wondered, not for the first time if they had made a grievous mistake.

  Sera

  The sun disappeared behind the mountains long ago, but sleep continues to evade me.

  After the attack, Derrund and his giants unanimously agreed to fight beside us. Something about the savage heat of battle must have fueled the ancient bloodlust that I knew ran deep in their blood. They’re warriors through and through, and though they frighten me, we need the allies. Derrund’s ships are docked and the giants returned to their troupe, leaving the rest of us to camp for the night on the cliffs of the valley.

  I stare into the crackling fire, watching as its shapes dance around in the darkness, replaying the battle over and over again. It was my first, but it would not be my last and my mind hadn’t quite caught up yet. Every mage I’d killed had been in the name of my mother. Every pair of eyes hidden beneath a coward’s mask were the eyes of the shadow assassin, mocking me—taunting me.

  “Let's take a walk,” Shayde’s deep voice rumbles from behind me. Grasping my small hand in his, he leads me from the fireside, leaving Thallan to stare after our retreating forms. I offer him a small smile, and to my surprise and relief, his lips tilt up at the corners and his silver eyes sparkle. My heart lurches at the sight. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a smile touch his handsome face. His smile is full of promises and I don’t dare mistake the heat in his stare as he lets his hypnotic eyes wander over my body. It settles something inside of me as I follow my shadow drac.

  “What has your mind wandering in circles?” he asks as he brings me to a stop on the ledge of the same cliffside we’d taken flight from. “You’ve been thinking about something and it’s bothering you, I can sense it.”

  Looking to Shayde I fight the temptation to lose myself in his bright eyes. “I feel like there’s more I could be doing. I let my mother down and it makes me feel weak and useless.”

  Shayde reaches forward and pulls my body to his, letting my head fall to his chest as his skin warms my cheek. “One day at a time. We have Derrund and his troupe now. Sephrian and his brothers are powerful mages, yes, but they don’t hold a candle to the fighters we have in the Veil,” he promises, and I want so badly to believe it. “Sephrian’s magic relies on death and rot. The more he uses up, the weaker he’ll become until it’s no longer sustainable. There's a reason your father went mad, Sera. The necromancers knew he couldn’t handle that darkness, much less a mage who already has power of his own.”

  “How can you be so confident? These men conquered three kingdoms in a single night and assassinated a seven-hundred-year-old monarchy…we can’t underestimate them, Shayde.” Tilting my head back, I frown at the smile on his face.

  “I have faith in what we built here, and you should too. Tilda taught you well and the people will follow you wherever you lead them.” I grumble. I don’t want to have to lead them to their deaths, but he speaks of it as if war is a good thing. His confidence in me does warm something inside of me though.

  “And no…they didn't assassinate the monarchy.” He smiles against my lips. “They missed one.” His lips graze mine, washing away all the bad that surrounds us. Even though I am so afraid of what tomorrow brings that I can barely keep my head up, having his strong arms around me reassures me that I’m not alone and that I’ll never be alone again. I want to wrap myself in him completely. I want to lose my senses and let tonight exist for us. His lips feel like the softest of silk and the taste of him drives me wild. There’s so much power simmering beneath these hard muscles of his.

  I jump slightly when I feel a light caress on my back, but a familiar scent of leather and sage surrounds me. I know that Thallan has joined us on this cliffside and my heart begins to beat faster. I can feel the heat of him at my back. Looking up, my eyes capture Shayde’s smirk as his yellow eyes make contact with the elf behind me. His warmth covers my skin and I can feel him begin to trail his fingers along my waist. I’m utterly caged in by these two magnificent creatures and it makes me truly feel like the queen they claim I am.

  Thallan’s warm lips touch the shell of my ear and I shiver. “You were born a queen, Sera. I’ve known it since the day you rode into the forest with nothing but your horse and your determination. I could feel the power seeping from your skin the second you looked at me for the first time. I could see the passion and love you have for your people and your kingdom. I knew from the start that I would protect you with my life, even if you were unable to return my feelings...” His voice is low and grumbly, but every word makes me fall harder. “I’m glad you do return them though, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do this—”

  His tongue flicks out, licking along the side of my neck as I let my head drop back on his chest and close my eyes. The sensation of Shayde at my front, watching Thallan have his way does something to my body that I’ve never felt before. I feel a rumbling and instinctively, I know it’s coming from Shayde. He’s enjoying this as much as I am. I send a silent thank you to any of the gods listening that we’re secluded in the night.

  Thallan hooks his fingers in my tunic and pulls on the laces until it falls open and exposes my breasts to the night air. Shayde runs his hands up my front until be grasps my heated breast in his palm, making me moan and squirm against Thallan. I can feel his hardness even more as they press me in closer. Both men are so incredibly tall and broad that I practically disappear between them, if anyone were to stumble upon us through the trees, it might even look like Shayde and Thallan were lovers themselves. The thought sends a thrill over my skin.

  With shaking hands, I reach down and run my nails over Shayde’s torso, loving the way his dark skin ripples and glows in the moonlight. Unlacing his trousers, I free him from his constraints, and he rumbles low in his chest as I run my hands over his length. Thallan’s hand applies more pressure to my breast as he continues to kiss my neck. With a swift whip of night air, Shayde’s massive wings rip from his back as they circle the three of us like a living shield. The air grows warmer beneath our mingling breaths. Thallan hooks his hands below the backs of my thighs and lifts me with ease until my legs fall on either side of Shayde’s waist. Thallan holds me there and in the next moment, I lower onto Shaye’s length as he fills me entirely. We both moan and I settle into place. Chills race up my spine as Thallan’s hands clamp down on my hips—moving me the way my body already cries out for.

  Shayde’s hips rise to match mine as he thrusts into me. He moves faster and faster until I’m panting between them. Thallan’s teeth scrape along my neck and shoulder blades as I take my right arm and loop it back around the elf’s neck, holding myself aloft as they love me together. His breath is hot and fast in my ear, and I can tell he’s on the edge. Reaching with my other hand, I find his trousers undone and grip him tightly as Shayde continues to thrust. Thallan growls against my neck as I squeeze him in my palm.

  A roar rips from Shayde’s mouth as I feel his whole body s
till inside of me. He throws his head back as his body trembles and shudders, causing me to cry out my release and grip Thallan harder. He shudders behind me, teeth sinking into the side of my neck as he revels in ecstasy along with us.

  The moment seems to stretch forever, when soon I feel them backing up to give me some air. Cold wind washes over my body and I shiver, but Thallan bends down to grab his discarded cloak and drapes it around my shoulders. It smells just like him and brings a small smile to my face.

  “We need to get you cleaned up before we get back to camp, little queen,” Shayde murmurs in my ear.

  I grin as I raise my eyes to him. “Do I smell bad?” I tease and Thallan snorts behind me. It’s such an uncharacteristic sound for an elf that Shayde and I both laugh.

  Recovering, Shayde grips my hands between his, rubbing them for warmth. “On the contrary, you smell delicious...but Derrund and his troupe have keen senses. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you is all.”

  Thinking on it harder, he’s probably right. I smell like sweat and the other elves will all know exactly what we’d been doing the moment we step back into camp. Smiling sheepishly, I nod my head. “Alright dragon man, let’s go.”

  “What about me? I think I deserve a bath too,” Thallan groans behind me, crossing his arms over his chest, but his smirk gives him away. The moment is lighthearted, and warmth fills my body. Having the two men so at ease near one another is more than I ever wished for any of us.

  Within moments, the sound of bones cracking reverberates over the cliffside as Shayde shifts to his dragon form. I immediately run to him and begin my climb onto the back of his neck and in between his shoulder blades where I fit perfectly.

  “Surely you don’t expect me to get on the thing,” Thallan grumbles and I grin mischievously at my frowning elf.

  “He’s not a thing, you pompous nit, now get on because I’m starving and exhausted.” It feels good to fall back into the easy banter the two of us have always had with each other.

  Thallan grins with a dramatic huff before ambling over and climbing up onto Shayde’s back behind me. His arms settle around my waist. Once secure, the three of us lift from the cliffside as Shayde flies us down to the small stream that eventually filters down to the open sea.

  ~~~

  There's a voice on the air tonight, and it rouses me from my dreamless sleep.

  My skin is flushed and covered in a fine sheen of sweat as I peel back my duvet. Stepping onto the cold stone floor of my bedroom, I throw on a silken robe as I follow the voice. Something strange is welling up inside of me and I can’t seem to shake it. I feel a sadness hovering right beneath my chest. It makes my belly ache and my breathing picks up, and the further I walk into the narrow corridors of this castle, the stronger that feeling grows.

  I walk in a daze—near my mother and father’s rooms and straight through my sitting parlor and guest chambers. A fluttering breeze wafts down the corridor, beckoning me to keep going. In the back of my mind, I know mother would be scandalized should I be caught out of my chamber in this manner. A princess should never be seen outside of her royal dresses and crowns. But still I risk it. I wind through the halls filled with portraits of my ancestors, staring down at me in judgement. Their flaming hair much like mine is a stark reminder of my father’s legacy and the stain on this land he will eventually leave in his wake.

  The voice grows stronger the lower I let myself go. The castle has six levels, two of which remain unknown to me. Mother never allows me to venture into the mancer’s chambers at the bottom, though I’ve always longed to take a peek. She says I’m too curious for my own good and that a princess should keep her head down and eyes up. I do loathe that woman. For ten long years she’s treated me as one would a smudge of dirt on the train of her gown.

  Passing door after closed door, I stop when I reach the end of a long corridor, this one much more unkempt than the levels above. It’s murky down here, smelling of piss and wet dirt. It doesn’t stop me though; I need to know what it is that calls me here. Again, I listen for the voice on the air, following it until it screams in my head—causing me to hold my ears in pain. I come to a stop before a blackened door made of old, wet wood with iron bars inlaid at the front. I reach out with a shaking hand and give it a light push, surprised when the heavy slab opens ever so slightly. Frigid air rushes out from the dark room and I can see a candle flickering off one of the dirty stone walls. I wish I had a torch, but the call was just too strong.

  I step into the room, limbs shaking and my head hazy and eyes unfocused. This room feels wrong somehow. It feels unnatural, like all the happiness and life in the world has been drained right out of it. It feels like a place not meant for my eyes. Movement catches my attention and soon a shadow glides over the wall. I make myself small as I round the next corner, only to pull up short at the horror before me.

  Three tall figures hover over a wooden table, each one of them cloaked in black cloth with the hoods drawn up. One of the figures reaches a gnarled looking hand towards a body splayed on the tabletop. I recognize the pallor of its skin and the sunspots marring his fingers along with too long fingernails and a single silver ring wrapping around the thumb—instinctively recognizing it as my father’s adviser, Moran. I back away from the mancer and whatever dark thing he’s working on. The man always terrified me and, in a way, I think he terrifies my father too. His beady little eyes have always followed me through this castle in disapproval and suspicion. I hate Moran just as I hate what he’s turned my father into.

  My eyes are riveted on the sight of the three figures—a black, smoke-like substance swirling around them, but it seems to be coming from the body on the table. It travels around in the air, but ultimately flows up through their mouths and noses that I can just barely see peeking from beneath the hoods.

  Squinting my eyes, I look in on the figure furthest from me. Just beneath the draping black fabric of its hood is...a lock or crimson hair. I suck in a breath of surprise. The body on the table twitches before a low, keening moan bursts from its lips. My blood is ice in my veins. I don't want to see any more of this. Turning on my heel, I make for the door. I’m as quiet as a mouse while I send a prayer to the gods that I’m not found out. Just as I reach the door, I make the mistake of turning back to look just one more time. While the two hooded figures on the sides are still sucking that black smoke from the body, the one in the center stares back at me—face hidden beneath the shadows of its hood. My body feels stuck, weighted and tired. My mind screams at me to run as we stare at one another. The moment seems to stretch on forever until suddenly, my body jerks, loosening my limbs and freeing me from the thing’s hold. I tear my eyes away from the hooded figure and run out the door and back down the twisting labyrinth of hallways, but all the while, my mind circles back to that bright crimson strand of hair.

  Sera

  I wake next to the blazing fire, but no matter how much the coals crackle and blaze, I shiver as I shake away the nightmare I haven’t had since I was a girl.

  My breathing is ragged and my heart pounds in my chest. Black hooded figures dance in my mind's eye, reminding me of what’s truly out there. I haven’t dreamt of that night in so long. I was only a child when I saw Moran’s ugly work for the first time, and though I’ve done my best to forget it, it seems it’s coming back to haunt me. I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and look around to see that most everyone is still sleeping. There are several giants nearby, snoring loudly—their rumbles filling the night like an avalanche of crumbling rocks. But despite the noise, I feel comforted and protected. The forest is otherwise quiet around me and I pull my cloak tighter over my shoulders, staring into the flame and shivering ever so slightly—just not from the chill.

  “Cold?” I startle as Wesley circles to my front and I glare up at him in the firelight. His dark hair is disheveled and has grown well passed his shoulders I finally notice. His beard is thick and covers the entire lower half of his tanned face—he looks like a wild man, n
ot the boy I’d grown up with. Still, he looks so handsome right now that I almost forget just how angry I am with him. I’ve purposely been ignoring him to the best of my ability, but the feat grows more difficult every day.

  I sigh deeply, running a hand over my face. “Not particularly.”

  Wesley huffs and looks up to the stars as if they might give him the words to make it all better before snapping his dark eyes back to mine. “Can I sit? Only to talk…just hear me and then I’ll leave you be,” he begs, and I can already feel my resolve wavering.

  He betrayed me and it’s not something I can simply forget, but a part of me needs to hear him explain it in his own true words—not the stories he’s tried to weave to save his life from our gallows.

  “You have until I finish my wine and then I’m going for a walk,” I concede as I reach behind me and fumble around for my wineskin in my leather pack. When the elvish berry wine hits my lips, the burst of flavor reminds me of home and a deep longing settles in my belly.

  Wesley wastes no time and sits down immediately, pulling his dark cloak around him and propping his elbows onto his knees. His hands are calloused and rough, as if he’d spent years working with them. I frown as I take in every detail of the man I used to rely on. His browned skin looks rougher now and around his wrists are angry looking white scars—from shackles I assume. His clothing is elvish made, kindly supplied by the Veil before our departure and it suits him, maybe a little bit too well. His dark brown tunic is finely woven and tucked neatly into his black sabre skin trousers and boots.

  I take a too large gulp from my wineskin—attempting to wet the dryness in my mouth after looking at Wesley for too long. I need to get my head right, but perhaps wine isn’t the thing to do it...

  “You’ve changed,” he observes, breaking the tense silence.