by L A Kennedy
“You can bet the fuckin’ farm on it. Never a-fucking-gain.” Zander spoke up, angry that his mother would be treated like a hated animal later. He looked to his mother. She hated when he cursed. “I apologize for the language, Mother.”
Neri kissed Zylan one more time then leaned back. She looked to his mother and gave her a soft smile and a nod. They were all ready.
His mother spoke in old tongue, a language he remembered from his childhood. His mother used to tell him stories while sitting with him in a blanket fort. He opened his mind to the memories he treasured most—trips hunting with his brother, his first few weeks with Cael and Riam and the moment he’d first laid eyes on Neri. He thought of Sid and the pain he carried and of Bane, howling at the moon when he thought no one was looking. He recalled arm-wrestling with Ester, the queen of poor bedside manner, and of every time his ass was pulled out of hot water by Riam. He let those memories flood his mind as he said goodbye to his first life.
When the blade did its deed, it was hot at first. Then it stung. Zylan tried not to fight it, not to thrash, but his body had its own ideas. He couldn’t breathe. Each wheezing breath was filled with hot blood. His eyes widened and finally focused on Neri. There was no fear on her face. Her smile stopped his body from its violent shakes. She didn’t cry or shirk away. She was his stone to hold on to.
“I’m right here, Zy. I’ve got you,” Neri yelled over the sound of clapping spectators and the upper crust of his society. “I love you!”
Zylan mouthed the words back. His mouth parted, as his body struggled for the air it would never get. His body contracted and released, fighting for the life it would never find. With each blink, the world grew darker. He felt his body grow cold and numb, but he could still feel Neri’s hand in his.
“Don’t be late, Zy. You promised,” Neri whispered into his ear. “I love you. We will meet again.”
Zy closed his eyes. His last vision was of the woman he loved. With that image, he’d find the strength to come back to her. He would fight to return. He wouldn’t be late. He was gone with the last of his blood dripping down the slab, filling a golden bowl. The bowl was collected and would be used to fill the glasses for the first toast of the night.
* * * *
Neri stared, her eyes now coated in tears and her mouth agape. She’d forced herself not to cry when Zylan would have been aware of it. She would be strong for him. She knew he would need it. Hands touched her shoulders, to pull her back from Zylan. She shook her head. She wasn’t ready yet.
Zander came around to her side, batting away the hands that touched Neri’s shoulders. “He must be prepared, Neri, or he will not return. His transformation must begin now, or all is lost.”
Neri nodded, lifting Zylan’s hand to her lips, kissing his palms. “Don’t be late.”
Neri stumbled backward and watched as six men lifted Zylan off the slab then carried him over their shoulders toward the back of the hall, while the partygoers sang songs in a language she didn’t understand. Behind Zylan, five women, who could die but had volunteered to be his first feast, followed. They, like him, were Vampyre and could sustain a brutal attack by a newborn Vampyre.
As though his mother could read Neri’s thoughts, she stepped forward and touched Neri’s arm. “There will be no mating. Their blood will bring him back to the Zylan you know and love. After the initial feedings, he will be able to go to your throat, as only a mate should.”
Neri nodded. “Thank you for this. Thank you.”
“You must return home now, for this is not a place for a human. The events will grow, and they will not be to your taste.” She turned to Zander. “Zander, can you please ensure Nerissa is seen safely into her territory?”
Neri staggered as she was being led from the banquet hall. She’d just watched the love of her life killed in front of her, and she’d held his hand as he’d died. Now she would have to wait to see if he was strong enough to return. As bizarre as that experience had been, she was numb.
* * * *
Neri didn’t remember the drive home. It happened in a blink. She stepped out of the truck and watched Zander drive away. Zander had spoken to her, but she didn’t remember what he’d said. Her mind was miles away—with Zylan. She turned to find Riam lifting her into his arms. Another blink and she was being tucked into the bed she’d shared with Zylan. Another blink and Ester, the resident doc, was sitting on the bed, checking her pulse.
“You’re in shock, Neri,” Ester spoke. “I’m going to put you out for a bit. Your pulse is bouncing all over the place. You need rest. You need to sleep and not to stare at the ceiling for twenty-eight hours straight.”
Over a day had passed, but it had felt like she’d just been laid down. She had enough smarts to know that Ester was right. She nodded her head and pulled her arm out of the blankets. She looked down at her hand, still caked in Zylan’s blood. She squeezed her eyes closed, letting the tears roll. Ester stuck her with a needle and rubbed her arm.
“Don’t be late, Zy,” Neri whispered as the drugs took over.
Her eyes were too heavy to hold open. Her body felt like a few bags of cement had been placed on top of her limbs. Slowly, she drifted off, mumbling.
Chapter Eighteen
It was a nice night for a stroll through the forest, Strain thought to himself, as his feet pushed through the two-foot-high straw. With each step he could hear the earth crush and the grass rub together. Little pinecones were now buried in the ground to grow into the trees they were meant to become, only for the human pillagers to chop them down to make more fuckin’ toothpicks.
Humanity had plundered this earth into miles and miles of bare, bruised land. Holes sat where mountains had once stood. Acid rain now filled the ponds where animals drank. Dams were built, and land was starved of water. Cha-ching was the only sound that mattered out in the real world. If it didn’t come with a wad of cash, it didn’t fuckin’ matter. At least Strain could respect the brutal honesty of the real world, if only they’d stop prettying it up as something it wasn’t.
Running his fingertips over the long, dry grass, he knew the night held so many possibilities. A small drizzle brought out the smells of the earth, reminding Strain of morning hunts and camping trips. The foul stench from his puppets kept him from venturing too far into his childhood sweetness.
He’d spent the week planning an attack on Sola-Nosfer, the true home of one of the Slayers. Tonight he was putting all of his eggs in one basket. He’d heard that Zylan had returned to Sola-Nosfer and was completing the Reaping. Zylan’s first death would leave his fellow Slayers in mourning. They would remain in mourning until they heard if he’d made it through his transformation. Slayers in mourning meant an unguarded city. Now was the time to strike. There would be no better time to wound the Slayers than by taking out one of their strongest—Zylan—while he couldn’t defend himself.
The Slayers would be scattered each morning in their own traditions. Their rotations were down to the bare minimum, and each fight had lasted longer than it should have. They weren’t in the game, not completely. Strain hadn’t seen them roaming the streets lately. They were down to a skeleton crew.
Strain knew that sadness did that to a person, pulled their mind in too many directions for them to give it their all. It kicked them in the balls and left them hanging in pain. Strain would bank on this flaw, just as he would expect them to count on his. Any good general would have attacked in this moment. To win the war, he’d use any advantage he could find. He’d have boiled bunnies and taken candy from a baby if it would have helped in the slightest of ways. Strain had read enough books to know how wars were won. And fairness was not a chapter in that book.
Sun Tzu said, “The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”
Strain knew Cael, knew how weak his heart was. Cael wouldn’t risk another member while still reeling from the loss of one of his clos
est. Cael was handing Strain this victory on a silver platter. He’d take it, then send the platter back with the heads of Cael’s loved ones.
The Rancor Order was out in full force. Every Proletaryan he’d created was with them. They shuffled through the trees behind Strain. This would be a massacre that would go down in the books. It would be a fight unlike any they’d seen, and it would serve as a final warning not to fuck with Strain or the Order.
Leading his team through the trees, he came to his final stop. Strain would not enter the fight. He wasn’t stupid. Strain would have been zeroed in on and targeted. Sola-Nosfer would leave the rest of the Order alone and hunt Strain down. Why fight on the front lines when I have expendables to do it for me?
Strain was placing Garm in charge. Garm was itching to take command of a fight as large as this one. He wanted to prove his worth, which he had, time and time again. But Garm wanted more. He hungered for more. Even though he’d been a dependable Calyph, Garm was unbalanced, like most of his men. But lately Strain had noticed that Garm had an edge on him that sent off warning flares in Strain’s mind. Garm loved this just a little too much. He looked forward to this a little more than he should.
Sure, Strain liked a good fight and relished the demise of irregulars, but rolling in dead bodies was going a little too far. Having a wall of skeletal remains was also a little more than insane. He’d recently seen that Garm’s apartment was filled with bones and hair and old belongings of those he’d killed and tortured. Bluntly, Garm was getting fucked up. Each day brought Strain closer to questioning the man’s sanity. But until the time came where Garm finally lost his grip on reality, he was a tool that Strain needed and knew how to use. Maybe the guy just needed a fuckin’ vacation, with medication and a therapist. He made a mental note to rethink making Garm a partner in The Hemlock.
“Welcome to Sola-Nosfer. Let the games begin,” Strain called out, pointing to the trees ahead of them. He took no additional steps forward. He turned to his puppets and ordered, “Kill them all.”
Wave after wave of his creations flew past Strain as he walked away, whistling into the night. Little raindrops kissed his cheeks, reminding him of rainstorms as a child. He reminisced as he made his way back to the road, into his car and back to Blood Alley. He was in an unusually chipper mood tonight. He ordered his usual drink, sat in his usual chair and enjoyed the view in his soon-to-be club. Tonight was a good night, a great night actually. He motioned toward the first piece of regret on stilettos that he encountered and pointed down to his cock. Normally he’d have waltzed her into the backroom, but tonight he was feeling especially cocky.
Her greed for money and drugs sent her running at him, almost toppling over on her five-inch spiked heels. She was on her knees and had him down her starved throat before his drink hit the table. She held onto the chair as he throat-fucked her. Her arms, covered in track marks, made him hate her just a little more. She would add him to her list of regrets, if she lived that long. They never did, though. They were long dead before they realized just how much he hated them.
Sinking in for the long haul, he sighed. Sola-Nosfer, an empire thousands of years old, would be wiped from the face of this earth in under an hour. Along with Zylan, Slayer Prince, the one who’d taken Neri from him. What goes around comes around.
“Take from me. I take from you. You can’t hide from fate,” Strain whispered to himself, holding onto the head between his legs and pushing it down until she gagged. It was music to his bastard ears.
Chapter Nineteen
Amity woke up to the faintest sounds of screaming. Sid was out cold behind her. He had come to be with her while she died, yet she felt stronger than ever. Her wounds were completely healed. She had complete focus and knew she could fhade, if she wanted to. Her ears twitched to the sound of more screaming. There were no celebrations happening, but something else bad was going on. The darkness was here. The darkness had come. She could feel it in her bones.
Amity closed her eyes and focused her mind. Feeling Sid trying to hold on to her, she pushed herself to fhade. She heard Sid whisper goodbye as she left him.
Amity landed close to the walls of Sola-Nosfer, and she quickly took cover. The walls were crawling with Proletaryans and the Order. Her people were being slaughtered. The buildings flowed with Vampyre warriors, but against the Proletaryans, they stood no chance. She calmed her mind, and pushed herself toward Neri—not her body, just her mind. Neri, in a deep sleep, heard her call and heard her message.
* * * *
Neri opened her eyes to the feeling of someone sitting beside her. A small lamp in the corner offered just enough light to see who it was.
“Amity?” Neri whispered, trying to sit up but feeling like someone was sitting on her chest.
Amity sat beside Neri, her hair in soft curls down her back. She was wearing a white gauze gown. The back of her gown was covered in dry blood and torn cotton, hanging in strips.
“What’s happened to you?” Neri whispered then realized that if Amity was out, it meant that Zylan was the king, and he’d ordered her release.
Amity shook her head, as though she could hear Neri’s thoughts. She leaned in and whispered to Neri, “Zylan still sleeps. He is on the verge of waking, but it will be too late.”
“Too late? For you?”
Amity shook her head again. “You are the only one I can contact, for you hold a piece of my soul. You need to wake up, Neri. You need to wake up and take a message to the others for me. A war is coming. They will kill Zylan and his people. Please, Neri, you need to wake up.”
Neri frowned. She was still sleeping.
Amity lunged toward her, pushing a vision into Neri’s mind. “Wake up, Neri!”
Neri jerked when Amity’s body slammed into hers, bringing her out of a dead sleep, screaming. Riam was the first to get to her, grabbing her arms and trying to hold her down.
“I have a message from Amity,” Neri said, struggling under Riam’s hands.
Ester stepped back into the room, preparing another needle. “Hush now. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll fix you right up.”
Neri locked eyes with Riam. “Riam, I’ve had a vision. Amity came to me with a message. She says Sola-Nosfer is under attack. The Rancor Order and the Proletaryans have breached their walls.”
Cael skidded into the bedroom and blocked Ester’s path.
“Bane. Where’s Bane?” Neri yelled. Riam finally let go of her.
“I’m back here, Neri,” Bane called back from the group of Slayers who’d come running the moment they’d heard her scream.
“Amity needs you to go to your people. She said she will be using a charm.” Neri was confused, but gave him the message verbatim.
“Done,” Bane said and hightailed it out of there, leaving behind the smell of heat and wolf.
Neri sat herself up, pulling her legs out of the blankets, and used Riam to help her stand. She was still dizzy from the drug-induced sleep session.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Cael asked her, stepping in her way.
“You will either move willingly or by force,” Neri spoke, her voice commanding. “That’s my Fyrvor up there. You’ll be hurting something fuckin’ fierce if you don’t move, now.”
Cael grinned at her backbone, until Des touched his shoulder.
“Move, Cael, or I will help her,” Des spoke, squeezing his shoulder. “How would you like to think you were on fire, Cael?”
Cael stepped aside, grabbing Des and kissing her harshly. “Ballbuster.”
Neri looked to Riam. “Can you please help me put on gear?”
Riam nodded and helped her out of the room. The others were moving and moving fast. Cael would fhade in and out, bringing intel back with him. It was dangerous for him to fhade into an unknown location that was under siege. Remaining could be a death sentence. The Slayers would not risk Cael or dropping their numbers.
“Has anyone seen Sid?” Cael yelled out, running for the front door.
&nb
sp; Neri smiled. “He’s been with Amity since she was entombed, so she wouldn’t be alone.”
Soon they were geared up and ready to rock, but it would take almost an hour to get there.
* * * *
“Burn them!” Amity screamed, running toward the guards, pointing at the revenant zombies climbing the walls—the Proletaryans. “You must burn them!”
She was ignored, as the honorless whore they’d called her. They pushed her aside. She watched the Sola-Nosfer soldiers march to their deaths. They would not leave Zylan behind. Zylan couldn’t be disturbed during his transformation, or he would die. But, in turn, the soldiers would die. Because they wouldn’t listen to her, they would all die. She could feel it. She watched the walls crawl with darkness. She watched it flood down into the streets, leaving broken pieces of bodies and pools of blood in their wake.
Focusing, Amity pushed herself to fhade into the woods, away from the danger, into Therian territory. She ran toward the wolves. Holding up her charm bracelet, she ran, screaming for Bane.
“Amity!” Bane called back from deep in the woods.
“Help us! Help!” Amity screamed, running toward his voice.
Hitting a small clearing, she ran straight into Bane, holding her charm, shaking. “I seek your help, the help of your people. I give you my charm, please. Help us, please.”
With a sharp whistle, Bane pulled the charm from the bracelet and tossed it behind him. He handed Amity a gun and three extra clips. He didn’t bother asking if she knew how to use it. She was trained in everything else. “Move it. We’re coming, Amity.”
“Thank you, dear Orygin. Thank you,” Amity whispered. She turned and ran back to Sola-Nosfer, back toward the darkness.
Inches from the walls of Sola-Nosfer, Amity stopped and calmed herself. She fhaded, feeling the wolves rushing past her, their heat licking up her legs. On the other side of the wall, she opened the gates, letting the wolves flood the streets of the place she’d once called home.
