BEAST HORDE TRILOGY BOXSET: MFM SciFi Romance

by Cari Silverwood

  Desperate, she tried to get him to look at her and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” He turned away. She touched the back of Rutger’s leg, but he only sighed and studied her. The wariness in his eyes was devastating.

  They thought her a vampire? That was insane. She clutched her hands around her middle where the hunger bit, only to have her head pain remind her it existed too. Her state wavered from wanting to throw up to wanting to collapse. She began to shake.

  Really, she did not know what she was either.

  You love killing, her mind reminded her, and blood.

  Not helping me, brain, not at all.

  Shivering, she curled into a ball, too distraught to do anything except let them capture her and bind her. They pulled her to her feet.

  They thought she’d killed Dr. Nietz. It had told her lies as it died. One big one: I am your father.

  Fuck no. She frowned and looked around her, at the beasters hustling her across the Parklands. They held her upper arms and looked at her as though she’d spawned horns… well not those, half the beasters had them. They thought her evil.

  She tightened her mouth, fuming, angry as hell.

  What had the Thing thought she was? Stupid? That line from a movie would never be her epitaph. It had fooled the others, made them believe it was the doctor, but not her. It would not take her down after its death.

  It would not!

  Her stride picked up strength and forthrightness.

  She drew a deep breath, another, inhaling through her nose. The headache was fading.

  This too shall pass. Somehow.

  Besides, she wasn’t a goddamn vampire. Finding out what she really was would be… interesting.

  Regaining the trust and love of her men seemed impossible… Had it been love, ever? Anyway, she was tough, determined, and she had an octopus tattoo on her butt. She would do this.

  Behind her she heard the scuttling of Little Mo’s legs.

  Before her was a heap of discarded stuffed toys and teddy bears. Lost toys. Without breaking stride, she booted a bear to the heavens and watched it fall.

  Fuck yeah.

  RUTGER

  BEAST HORDE BOOK 2

  Chapter 1

  What were the odds they were going to kill her? Fifty-fifty? Worse? Chin leaning on her manacled hands, Cyn listened to the beasters gather outside the door. She should’ve taken a bet against herself. Winning money might be the only good thing that could come of this. Wait, no, the last banknotes she’d seen had been used to light a fire. Money was only a reminder of the good old days, before the Ghoul Lords came and destroyed the world so they could make humans into the biggest-ever all-you-can-eat buffet.

  The steel door opened, and a six-foot-plus, horned foot-soldier was framed in the door space. Not as big as Rutger, not as blue where Rutger had healed impossible wounds, not the owner of a piece of her heart.

  God, she’d swallowed a poetry book today. Cyn slid her knee beneath her, then pushed herself to her feet.

  “It’s time. Behave yourself, please.”

  “Me?” She shook her head in mock disbelief.

  He grunted and gave her a suspicious once-over.

  No one was sure if she was safe to be around anymore. She wasn’t sure either. This was her own fault, though if ever there was a model prisoner it was she, especially considering the havoc she figured she could’ve created. The craziness of two days ago was engraved on her mind. She’d gone over it second by second, or as well as she could. Memories were always suspect when one was stressed.

  And that had definitely been a time of stress. Vargr had seen wings on her.

  She turned to let them move the manacles and relock them behind her back. At least her countless muscular pains had faded. She’d felt like a pin cushion the first day in here.

  Wings. Vargr’s words had given rise to doubt. How could that be true when she could not recall growing wings and the back of her shirt was intact? From the chaos of her memories she’d plucked facts—if it had happened, she’d possibly been suspended over space, stabbing the patchwork human the Ghoul Lord had inhabited.

  Stabbing the Thing. She swallowed at what that conjured and at the echoes of her pain. The headache threatened to return.

  The guard’s hand brushing her and the click of the manacles brought her to back to the present.

  “Come.” He beckoned and she followed.

  What she had seen that day were reflections—red flickers on glass. It had been early evening, and nothing was on fire behind her, yet the huge glass visor over the Parklands had been tinged red, as had the disgusting, cobbled-together flesh of the creature.

  Inexplicable, unless maybe she’d had red wings? A scary and fascinating idea.

  She’d tried to recreate them, but nothing occurred.

  Even Little Mo seemed to have deserted her. She’d not seen Mo since the fight. It made her wonder if the small AI was scared or carrying out some self-preservation protocol, like if your owner’s in deep doodoo run for the hills and hide.

  She didn’t blame him.

  When she fell into her nightmares, the sizzle and crack of her gun sounded in her head. She really should not be scared of herself, but she was.

  They led her from the storeroom with her arms cuffed behind her and a chain connecting her wrists to one of them. It was more than seemed necessary to hold her, but she said nothing. There was nothing much to say as yet.

  With every step toward the vast Parklands area, the shouts and general grumbling from the crowd taunted her, haunted her. Would they kill her? The shouting pounded at her in rhythmic waves of hate. With pinched lips, she looked around and demanded her breathing slow, telling her heart to stop making a ruckus.

  Serenity. Be true to yourself… and try not to murder anyone. Yet. Breathe.

  Here, the immense and sometimes suffocating weight of the scraper buildings above became lost in the greenery and in the view onto the plains and the faraway hills.

  They hated her, yet she thought she’d done the right thing, if you valued the death of a Ghoul Lord over the lives of two humans. She did, about half the time, when she was hungry and bone-tired, and her head ached. At other times, she was disgusted with herself.

  None of these beasters could’ve killed the Ghoul Lord. Only she could.

  She held in the sigh that wanted out. It felt as though she were growing a parasite in there, one that’d wriggle out through her ribs if this kept on much longer. Two days since she’d messed up, or done the right thing, or committed murder. Choose. Tick one choice only.

  Fuck this.

  Cyn rolled her shoulders and kept following the two foot-soldiers through the crowd. People moved aside for her and them, much like how they’d parted for the Ghoul Lord. Ugh. There’d been blood left behind by his feet, tiny pieces of rotten flesh. She jammed her eyes shut. Shut up, memory.

  Three wing-soldiers followed her. She knew none of these. There were a thousand or more beasters in Worshipper Quarter, so that wasn’t surprising. Most of them were here, watching as she was led to this trial.

  She’d shot two dead, and one of those had been Tom. He’d been a friend. Wounded two others, one of them Vargr. Bondmated to him, and she’d almost killed him. Replaying what she could recall of those seconds had made her want to weep while she was locked in that storeroom and alone. Friends were not disposable things.

  And Vargr? How deep did bondmating go; how much did it permeate her cells and make decisions for her body? Was it love? And if it was, how could she have done that? She barely knew him, though, and she’d known Rutger for even less time. One glorious love-making session and then boom this.

  Words penetrated the gloom of her thoughts. Mostly these people muttered shit that was false or they cursed her.

  She had wept in that storeroom. It hadn’t done much for her except wet her face and left her heart pining for the two men who had cared for her, because she still cared for them. Rutger and Vargr, and she’d shot one. It was laughably tra
gic.

  They’d told her Vargr was recovering. If she found out that was untrue, she’d kill more than two of them. She clenched her teeth. Fuck this.

  Cyn smiled in the direction of a loud curse.

  No matter how strong she was, this hurt.

  The guards wove forward. She followed and saw something ahead where the Parklands ended at the railing. If they found her guilty, would they simply shove her over the side into space or would they shoot her? If her wings kindly reappeared, shoving her into space would make them look stupid.

  Shooting then. Or she could jump? She’d keep that for a last resort. Her wonderful hypothetical wings had so far been shy.

  Five years since the Ghoul Lords desecrated the Earth, sucked its population to the Top of the scrapers, and started feeding on humans. Most of those people would be dead by now. She’d been stupidly lucky—the only feeder ever to escape from the Top.

  She should remind them of that.

  And of how she was their last forlorn hope. Which she damn well knew was true.

  Cyn straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and found that not everyone was looking at her as if she were a bug to be squashed. Some looked sorry for her. A few whispered encouragements. Had they seen what truly happened?

  To her shock, Rutger emerged and squeezed her shoulder, whispering as he passed by. “Be strong. I have an idea that’s promising.” She craned her neck around and watched him walk back along the path she’d taken through the crowd, and almost whimpered as a craving struck.

  I believe we saw a Ghoul Lord. Rutger’s words from that day. What was he doing?

  She paused to calm herself and stretched out her wrists until the metal cuffs hurt. Pain. His touch had electrified her, pricked at her, reminded her of something dire. The Lure is coming. If she didn’t fuck him soon, or Vargr, she’d be mindless and crying out to be allowed to go upward.

  Two days ago, her skill with the Lure had become dust beneath her feet and pain. She’d attempted to manipulate it since then and had failed in agony every time.

  They brought her to a table set up with three chairs behind it and the backdrop of the game reserve beyond. They thought this place safe after that attack? Did some logic outweigh the daftness of holding a trial right where people had died? Then again, the Thing had walked in from the dark and not from the outside.

  Another chair sat before the desk, on her side. Hers, of course.

  Cyn nodded at Willow. Locks of the biotechie’s hair snaked slowly as if stirred by a breeze, except there was none and the blue in her eyes and hands seemed to flare brighter as if to match it. To her left was a shirtless wing-soldier with a spiky upright thatch of white.

  “Cyn, this is Mads Thresher,” Willow introduced him, and Cyn nodded to him also. “And this is Steve Goodman.” She indicated the gray-haired and bearded weaponsmith at the other end of the table. “We’ll be judging your case. Be seated.”

  They all sat—her, only after a foot-soldier pulled out her chair and helped her lower herself. She didn’t bother informing him her balance was fine even with her hands at her back. She could probably have kicked in his throat before he could dodge. Two days ago, she’d learned this about herself. Two days ago was a pivotal point in her life. She was more than she’d thought, and she was less too.

  If they decided to execute her, would she simply allow them to do so?

  Her mind was telling her abso-fucking-lutely not.

  This was not something she wished to test. Cyn raised her eyebrows and waited.

  The faces of her three judges were devoid of expression and not at all welcoming. This was far too personal for her liking. Walking through the crowd was better.

  The older beaster with the gray hair, Steve, spoke after clearing his throat. “This is a trial, however, we have never held one before. Not since the invasion has there been any crime worth doing anything about. Willow is the only one of us with any legal experience. Her father was a lawyer.”

  Oh crap. Experts then. She resisted eyerolling.

  “Yes.” Willow sat forward and clasped her hands on the table. “I understand if you feel overwhelmed, Cyn.” That statement alone gave her hope. She detected sympathy. “We’ve been interviewing everyone we could, these last days, and have found there is disagreement over what or who it was that you killed. Apart from Tom and Carl, that is.”

  She shifted and dared to speak. “They saw a Ghoul Lord?”

  Willow smiled weakly. “Some did see something other than a human, yes. Some did not. I was among those who saw Dr. Frank Nietz.”

  Her mouth opened in disbelief. She’d been sure Willow had seen the reality. Behind where Cyn sat, voices were raised as if a scuffle occurred. Not again. There’d been noises like this on the day she’d killed. She turned in her seat but could see very little of consequence.

  “Uhh. What is going on?” Mads half-rose from his seat, his wings rising also. “Someone find out.”

  The sounds of retreating footsteps told her a guard or two were investigating.

  “I’m sorry.” Cyn frowned, recalling Willow’s words. “How many said they saw a Ghoul Lord?”

  “Well,” Steve answered. “None said that. About a third saw a white explosion, light coming from the victim’s eyes and wounds. Everyone saw you shooting and stabbing someone.”

  “And the body? I know Vargr…” She hadn’t yet spotted him. “… he said you needed to fetch the body. Did anyone fly down?”

  He nodded. “At great risk, yes. Three wing-soldiers flew to the ground and searched. They only found blood and some signs of a body having hit the ground with great force. They assumed animals dragged it away.”

  “Oh.” Fuck.

  “And so.” Willow took up the voice of this somewhat underqualified legal team. “We can only go by what people saw: you killing three people.”

  “Two people and one Ghoul Lord,” she pointed out. Tom, Carlos, and the Thing. A lie popped into her head.

  She must say this. It might save her, and was only a small lie. Except, she never lied. Never. Time to start then.

  “And there is this. If I had not done what I did, you all would have died. The Ghoul Lord would have taken you, lured you away.”

  “You know this for a fact?” The piercing stare from Willow made her hesitate. “Because if not, if you killed a human not a GL, then you also killed two others needlessly, ruthlessly, and dare we say insanely. There was no reason to attack him if he was not a Ghoul Lord. The doctor could have given us so much. He understood nanites and how we were created.”

  “It was not the doctor. Well, I don’t remember what he looked like, but I know it was someone dead who’d been possessed by a Ghoul Lord.”

  “Hmmm. This court’s problem is knowing what the truth is, and so far we have nothing solid to support your case. We already know you can…” She waved her hand. “Manipulate the minds of others. Maura for example.”

  That was unfair. It skewed things. Though she had lied in one respect. The Thing had meant to take only her away, no one else, but she’d seen a lot of information in its mind, maybe more than she’d so far deciphered. If this lot of fuck-wits called her a murderer, they’d never get that information.

  “Listen! You have to listen to me!” She stood abruptly and the back of her legs hit the chair so that it almost toppled. Guards advanced on her, but the judges seemed unconcerned and the guards stopped a few feet from Cyn.

  “I am the only hope for what is left of our mutated, messed-up humanity. I can do things no one else can; I know things no one else does. You know that, Willow. I am changing in ways that will let us defeat them.” She set her teeth together. “Do not throw me away. You are the one who jumped up and said we must do something! You said I was a sign, agreed that we should go find Big Daddy. We have to do this. Remember? It’s time to put a spanner in the works of the Ghoul Lords.”

  Panting, she slowed, having run out of things to say. She was no orator. What else could she say when a t
hird of them believed the Thing she killed was an enemy, yet it was not enough to convince these three judges?

  While she dithered, someone tall, sexy, and exactly the wrong person to defend her stepped from the crowd to her left. Vargr. His expression? Anger with a T. Terrible anger. Thwarted anger. She just wished it was Twinkie-deprived anger. That she could deal with.

  “I can tell when she’s lying, and she is. I’m not a hundred percent sure which bit was a lie. All of it, probably.”

  “Not all,” she whispered, and again her heart was metaphorically whimpering as well as punching at the inside of her chest. She wanted him back with her. Was not bondmating a primary instinct? “I’m glad you’re healing.” His mouth twisted in acknowledgment—nothing more though. She couldn’t stop herself asking what she had to. “Did accidentally shooting you bring us to this? You, hating me?”

  If anything, the crevasses on his face deepened.

  “No. It was that you shot me and did not know me when you did it. It was that you shot Tom and the others and did not care. I’m afraid of what you are and what you might become. Tell me, girl, was it really a Ghoul Lord?”

  Oh hell, he wanted her to do this, to answer this question, and thought he could see the truth? Funny, because right now the tears in her eyes were preventing her from seeing him as anything but a blur.

  She heaved in a shaky breath, exhaled. “Yes. It was a Ghoul Lord.”

  Vargr nodded. “That part, I believe. The rest though, it fuckin’ destroys me. Understand? I was just something in the way.”

  The silence seemed to last a long time, and all she could do was cry. Tears wandered down her face and over her mouth then dripped from her chin. Where had her strength gone?

  “Hmmm.” Mads sniffed, tapped the table. “Not sure that counts as incontrovertible proof, though.”

  “No.” Willow shook her head, stared from Cyn to Vargr. “But it counts for a lot with me. Not enough, however. We are a small community and cannot risk having an insane and murderous person among us who could kill again without warning. Shall we decide this?”