Blood of Ravens

by Jen McIntosh

  ‘Leave her out of this,’ she breathed.

  Alexan grinned at the threat in her voice.

  ‘Can’t,’ he admitted with a careless shrug. ‘Your father ordered me to find her, turn her or kill her. I can’t fight the compulsion – unless you can give me a reason to delay it,’ he added. Keriath glared at him. A Darkling’s bond to its maker was an evil, twisted thing. The Claiming, they called it. The corrupt magic that blessed them with unearthly strength and unnatural longevity ensured they remained loyal to the one who had created them. They could no more fight the commands than they could stop the sun from rising.

  She let out a frustrated hiss. He was trying to barter Théon’s life for her own. Well, it wouldn’t work. ‘You’ll never find her. And even if you do, you won’t last so much as a heartbeat against her.’

  Alexan smirked. ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ He chuckled, leaning back as his gaze raked over her. But the lust that should have been in his eyes was not there. She kept her face impassive as she tried not to frown. It was rare to meet someone completely immune to her. Even with the burns, most people lost control of themselves when they looked at her. It was the curse of her kind, even if the legends called it a blessing. The beauty of the Unicorns, the gift of her bloodline and the key to the Enchanting power in her veins. A power she’d gladly be rid of.

  Her gaze flickered over his ears – the mark of his own powerful lineage. All the Graced were marked, one way or another. Magic could not touch a person and leave them unaltered. Their power was unique to their bloodline. Unicorns had the Enchanting. Elves had the Casting. Keriath knew which power she preferred.

  ‘How did it happen? The Claiming?’ she asked.

  Alexan’s smirk faded, and a wariness crept into his steady gaze. ‘It’s a long story. One I don’t care to relive. But I can assure you, I did not go willingly.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Keriath said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. She’d never given any thought to a Darkling’s life before the Claiming. What must it be like to lose everything you hold dear, only to have it replaced by everything you once feared and hated? Everything you were born to destroy?

  ‘Don’t be. I’m stronger and faster. I might even live forever.’ They fell quiet for a long time, considering each other in silence. Then Alexan spoke again. ‘You should get some sleep. You’ll need your strength. I’ll keep watch.’

  But Keriath could not sleep. Dread, the like of which she had never felt before, gripped her tight. Darklings had always been the greatest source of fear in her life, ever since the attack that had scarred her as a child. Now she was to be bound, drugged and dragged to the stronghold of the Darkling Queens. Keriath did the only thing she could. She curled up under the blanket and wept.

  Alexan was surprisingly gentle when he shook her awake. Dawn was near – the sky already pale, but the air still cold and damp with the night. Keriath shivered, though it had nothing to do with the chill of the morning. Alexan handed her food and water, his gaze dark with concern.

  ‘Eat up,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll be the last food you get for a while.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Keriath heard herself say, though she could hardly believe it. Here she was, not just showing gratitude to a Darkling, but genuinely meaning it. Because the regret in Alexan’s eyes was undeniable. Still, not enough to risk starting a war over her.

  ‘Whatever food or water they give you will be laced with more ruan,’ he warned, ‘but take it without a fight. If you won’t take it of your own volition, they’ll just force you.’

  ‘Why do you care?’ she asked bitterly.

  He flinched. ‘Why wouldn’t I care?’

  ‘Darklings care for nothing but death and destruction,’ she hissed.

  He shook his head in disgust. ‘You know nothing about me or what I care for. Trust me – I’ve seen what the Queens do to people. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to survive.’

  ‘I’d rather die,’ she said, staring blankly at the charred remains of the fire. Alexan grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. Then his gaze drifted once more to her scars, and it filled with sympathy. Scowling, she wrenched her head free and looked away. She wouldn’t accept anyone’s pity.

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ he snapped, forcing her back round. ‘I’ll send help – or come for you myself if I can.’

  Keriath glared back at him. ‘And what? I exchange one tormentor for another? Don’t waste your time. I won’t go to him. Not now. Not ever.’

  ‘You won’t be saying that once the Queens have sunk their claws into you,’ he promised. ‘Just stay alive.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised sarcastically. ‘You’d better hurry though. Once Resari gets wind that the Queens have me, she’ll descend on that city like a natural disaster.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ he said. ‘Your blessed Saviour can’t save you if she doesn’t know where to find you. Drosta hasn’t recognised you, and I’m not about to enlighten him.’

  Keriath stared at him incredulously. ‘Why?’

  ‘If he or the Queens realised who you were, no one would be able to save you,’ he warned, his tone dark. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. ‘Do you understand how desperately the Shade King wants you? What kind of power someone holding you would have over him?’

  ‘I don’t care!’ she snarled, struggling to get free of his grip.

  ‘You should,’ he hissed, shaking her. ‘You realise it’s only his power keeping the Court in check? If he falters … I can’t let that happen, Keriath. Not for you, not for anyone.’

  ‘One day, I will kill you for this and watch with a smile as the crows feast on your heart,’ she spat.

  He released her and stepped back. ‘I’m sorry my orders prevent me from helping you further, but I won’t abandon you to this fate. I don’t know how long it will take but, one way or another, I’ll get you out of there. You have my word, Keriath.’ And with that, he leaned down to shackle her wrists once more and led her from their camp. She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t bother to fight. He was too strong.

  Drosta and his Hunt were waiting for them by the treeline. The Hunter’s dark eyes flashed as they approached.

  ‘About time,’ he hissed, with a hungry smile.

  ‘I see the rest of your little minions haven’t returned,’ Alexan smirked. ‘I guess they bit off more than they could chew.’

  ‘They’re dead. We found their bodies this morning. Fucking Dragons.’ There was more than desire and hunger in Drosta’s gaze – he wanted revenge for what Dorrien and Faolin has done to his Hunt. Keriath allowed herself a smug, if small, smile.

  ‘I assume they’re all fed?’ asked Alexan, pulling his charge behind him.

  Drosta scowled, tearing his gaze away. ‘Yes,’ he snarled. ‘We found a hunting cabin up into the mountains. Slim pickings, but we made do. Now hand her over.’

  Alexan didn’t move. The Hunt moved restlessly as one. Drosta grinned. He seemed desperate for Alexan to challenge him, desperate for any excuse to kill him. And with his Hunt fed, they might just manage. But Keriath owed Alexan a life-debt. It grated on her pride, but she could not ignore it. And as powerful as he was, she doubted he was strong enough to take on the entire Hunt and win.

  With that thought weighing heavily on her heart, Keriath stepped out from behind Alexan and gave herself over to Drosta. She tossed her hair back and stood up straight, inflicting the full force of herself on the Hunter. No amount of ruan could bind this power – nothing could change how she looked. Even burned and scarred, the magic in her veins could stun a man into insensibility if she let it. Drosta drank her in like a man dying of thirst. Then he made his greatest mistake. He met her eyes.

  All reason flooded from his face. She was vaguely aware of Alexan reaching for her, of the warning hiss from the Hunt that forced him to hold his ground. She ignored it. Kept her eyes on Drosta, drawing him in. Without the
Enchanting, she couldn’t take hold of his mind, but she could still unhinge him. Sure enough, once she was within reach, Drosta grabbed her and pulled her close. Pressing himself tight to her, he yanked her head over to expose her throat. His cold lips grazed her skin, and he breathed in deeply. His exhale was ragged, and she could feel the full extent of his excitement against her backside. But she refused to flinch. She held Alexan’s gaze, ordering him to stay where he was as Drosta taunted him with her.

  But Alexan hardly seemed to notice, warning, ‘Drosta.’

  ‘Why are you still here?’ the Hunter hissed without looking up. He was caressing Keriath’s collarbone with languid fingers. Her skin crawled where he touched her. She didn’t need to look to understand what was happening. To know he had been entranced by the luminosity of her skin, by the softness of her hair. Even by the aroma of her unwashed flesh. If it weren’t for the ruan, she would have had him dancing like a puppet on a string.

  A warning growl from one of his Hunt woke Drosta from her spell, and he looked up to see Alexan looming over him. His hands were balled into fists, as if he itched to pull her free. But that path would only lead to bloodshed.

  ‘Remember what she is,’ he warned. Drosta looked down at her as Alexan’s words filtered through the fog that Keriath’s allure had caused. Then his eyes landed on her star-marked brow, and he pushed her away as if she were a poisonous snake. Alexan chuckled, catching her against his massive chest.

  ‘And how is it you are so immune to her?’ snarled Drosta, collecting himself. Alexan looked down at her and brushed her hair back from her scarred face. The heady look in his eyes betrayed him. He was not immune after all.

  ‘It’s the burns,’ he said, looking to Drosta once more. Even though she realised he was lying, she still flinched from his words. She knew that not even the most gruesome disfigurement could dull the effect of her presence. But the burns – the attack that caused them – had broken her spirit, and that dampened her power. Keriath gave him a baleful look, but she understood what he was doing. Bewitching Drosta without the power to control him would put her in even greater danger.

  ‘Bind her up tight and put her on my horse,’ ordered Drosta, pushing her towards his Hunt. They were quick to follow his commands, and soon she was mounted astride Drosta’s charger with her shackles looped around the pommel. The Hunter swung himself up behind her, his breath catching as he revelled in their closeness. He reached around her to take the reins and breathed in deeply as he buried his nose in her hair again. ‘I’m going to enjoy the feeling of your arse between my thighs girl,’ he hissed, ‘and if you don’t behave, I’ll enjoy a lot more than that.’ Keriath shuddered and looked away. Alexan was leaning against a tree, his arms folded across his massive chest once more, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.

  ‘Kill her, and you’ll answer to worse than me, Drosta,’ he warned as the Hunter wheeled his mount around.

  Drosta afforded him a cruel smile before he and his Hunt plunged their mounts out into the pale light of the dawn, carrying Keriath with them.

  Chapter Eight

  Keriath woke to a trickle of ice-cold water on her face. It was one of the more pleasant awakenings she’d endured since Alexan had handed her over to Drosta. Not that it stopped her lashing out with her foot, trying to catch her tormentor off guard. He chuckled as he dodged, tipping the rest of the bucket over her with a vicious hoot of delight.

  ‘When I get loose, you’re a dead man,’ she vowed.

  He laughed again – a cruel laugh, far more chilling that the water soaking her clothes. She spat in his direction and immediately regretted it when his dark red eyes flashed in anger. She flinched, knowing what was coming next, but with the chains around her limbs, she couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid the savage kick in the ribs. A frightened yelp escaped her as she fought for breath through the pain. A broken rib. Maybe two. They’d heal within a few days, thanks to the Graced power in her veins, but until then, riding was going to be painful.

  ‘Time to wake up, my beauty,’ Drosta jeered. ‘We’ve got a lot of distance to cover, and we’ll never get to Illyol if you keep lying around all night.’

  There was more haunting laughter from behind her as the Hunt joined in with his ridicule, but she hardly noticed, her attention snagged on one word.

  ‘Illyol?’ she heard herself asking. Why would they be going to Illyol? True, it wouldn’t be much of a detour as they travelled south to Dar Kual, but the ancient Elvish city had been abandoned since the Fall. Darklings shouldn’t have even been able to penetrate the wards. Unease slipped a little deeper through her gut.

  Drosta ignored her.

  ‘When can we next feed?’ one of the few females in the group complained – the same one who’d attacked Keriath in the Ravenswood. Not discouraged by the beating she’d got from Alexan, she’d tried twice more before Drosta administered his own brutal brand of punishment. Since then, she’d barely stopped whining.

  ‘When we’re closer to the city. Now stop your moaning and load her up,’ snapped Drosta’s second, Dell – another name Keriath would prefer not to know. Big and brutish and none too bright. She fought back a hiss of pain as firm hands grabbed her about the waist and lifted her up into the saddle, the movement burning her bruised chest. But that was nothing compared to the discomfort of Drosta swinging himself up behind her and sliding his arms past her waist as he reached for the reins. His touch and his scent made her skin crawl and her stomach heave, but she forced herself to remain still and hide the shudder of disgust that would betray her. He took far too much joy from it.

  With a barked command to his Hunt, he kicked his heels into the flanks of his black stallion and charged into the night.

  After leaving Alexan, they had ridden through the day, hidden from the worst of the sun by the shade of the trees. They’d ridden on through the night, but Drosta had called a halt as the sun rose. He’d been far from happy about it, but he needed the remnant of his Hunt strong if he was to keep his prize. Keriath cursed her luck to have been captured by Drosta. He was cruel, but also cunning and efficient. Escape would not come easy.

  Escape. The thought chafed at her mind, just as much as those cursed chains chafed at her wrists. She wondered where he’d got them. And more importantly, why. Between that and the ruan, Drosta had clearly come prepared to hunt and capture Graced prey. And from the exchange she’d heard in the Ravenswood, he’d known exactly where to start. But how? The lethal edge of some dark, dangerous thought glinted in the periphery of her mind, but she looked away. That wasn’t a fear she was prepared to breathe life into. Not yet.

  She glanced down at the thick, black mane in front of her and felt a twinge of sadness. He was a magnificent beast – tall and heavily built, and his coat was as black as coal. She was under no illusions where he was from. He was the legacy of a once powerful people. Her people. A descendant of their legendary warhorses. She’d seen her brother take a form like this many times. The thought tore at her heart, worry gnawing at her gut. Taelyr. Her baby brother. Gods, she hoped he was safe.

  Keriath closed her eyes and tried to rest. But surrounded by the stench of the creatures that haunted her nightmares, it was a hard ask. Still, the smooth, rolling gait of the horse was soothing, and it was not long until she felt herself floating away into darkness.

  Cruel hands pinching at her thigh dragged her from her restless slumber.

  ‘Wake up,’ Drosta snarled in her ear.

  She shook herself as she focussed in on her surroundings, muttering, ‘Have I mentioned I’m going to kill you?’

  ‘Once or twice.’

  ‘It won’t be quick either,’ she promised.

  He leaned in close to her neck and inhaled deeply. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything else,’ he breathed against her skin. Unable to repress her shudder, Keriath leaned away from him. He laughed and squeezed his thighs around her. ‘What’s the matter?’ he crooned in her ear. ‘Tried Alexan out for size and discovered you don’t like the
touch of a Darkling after all?’

  ‘I’d rather be flayed alive.’ She tried to elbow him in the gut, but her chains held her tight. Drosta chuckled again and ran his tongue from the top of her shoulder all the way to the bottom of her jaw. Her stomach heaved, and she had to take deep, steadying breaths to stop herself retching all over the poor beast beneath her.

  ‘I can arrange that, you know?’ he warned.

  Keriath struggled not to flinch, forcing herself to remain calm as she continued to look around her. She had dreamed away most of the night. The sky to the east was pale with the first light of dawn. They had travelled south, drifting up into the eastern foothills of the Wildwings. She frowned at that. It would have been much quicker to skirt around them, even riding through the dense forest. Then her gaze fell on the small, white cottage nestled on the other side of the valley, and she realised what had drawn them so far off course. Realised why Drosta had woken her – why his Hunt was now buzzing with barely restrained excitement. Her heart sank, and she raged against the icy grip of the ruan.

  ‘No,’ she breathed, heaving against her chains.

  Drosta ignored her. ‘Slim pickings,’ he said to his second. Dell grunted in agreement. Keriath couldn’t bring herself to look at either of them. Her attention was on the little croft across the glen. The farmer was in his field, readying for the hard day of work ahead. A young man – possibly his grown son – helped, while a young woman scattered feed for some scrawny chickens. Then two children came racing out of the house, the boy laughing as he chased the screaming girl towards the barn. A furious snarl ripped out of Keriath’s lips, and she wrenched at her chains. Drosta only growled, snapping his teeth near her throat in warning.

  A terrified whimper had her tearing her gaze away to the young shepherd girl in the saddle before Dell. Her eyes were wide with fright and tears stained her rosy cheeks. She was staring at the farmhouse, guilt and sorrow weighing on her young shoulders. Keriath followed her gaze back and felt her heart break. A woman, a crying baby in her arms, had appeared at the door of the farmhouse, scolding the children for waking their sibling. But the babe was not the worst. Drosta’s Hunt shifted with anticipation at the sight of her swollen womb, at the life that slumbered there. Innocent and undefended. Life for the stealing.