The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  He looked over at his brother, lying prone. Deep snores resonated from his chest, pushing his throat slits wide. Bracus smiled.

  Standing, he swung his foot out, making hard contact with the sole of Philip's foot. Philip sucked in a huge gasp of air and kicked out with the same foot, slamming it into Bracus's shin. Bracus stumbled backward from the impact, pinwheeling his arms for balance, regaining it, and finding a blade at his throat. “What say you, brother?”

  Bracus smiled. Philip, asleep but aware, a marvelous thing. “Testing you, my brother. I wished to see if you were still warrior enough to notice me.”

  “Aye, I am.” Philip pressed the point of the blade deeper into Bracus's neck until a drop of blood showed.

  Suddenly, Philip looked down to see Bracus's blade pressed against his vulnerable side.

  They grinned at each other. Stalemate...again. They lowered their blades and sheathed them. The other Band members were now fully awake after a night of heated discussion of sphere-dwellers that had lasted into exhaustion.

  The guard looked at the brothers warily. His captain and his brother, Philip, who was even larger than Bracus. They would bear watching. He ruminated about the acquisition of the female, the Princess. They did not know his plan differed from theirs so hugely. They would soon enough. The sphere—all the spheres—needed to be broken open, their peoples mingling. He sat thinking. The clans would be the obvious rulers of the people, clan and sphere-dweller alike. It was most logical, considering the sphere-dwellers' inferior physical status and obvious lack of prowess, and abundance of females. Things would go as planned.

  As he planned.

  Bracus looked around him in amusement. The entire Band had dozed by the fire. Only Jack was absent. They all looked at him and Philip, eyes glittering in the firelight. Bracus looked at the sky. It was a few hours before dawn. He would stand first watch and Stephen second. Bracus announced the watch status, having allowed some laziness beside the fire. However, important developments straight from the president's lips needed to be conveyed and deliberated upon. Of that, Bracus felt sure.

  Stephen rose, placing the flat of his palm upon the small of his back, arching and stretching like a cat.

  Matthew gave his taunt stomach a glancing blow, and Stephen crouched, at the ready. “See how you tarry?”

  Stephen jabbed him back in the vulnerable solar plexus.

  “Guards!” Bracus hissed. They looked at him. “Now is not the time to seek romance with each other.” They glowered at him. No matter. There would be time enough for sparring when the female was within the safety of the clan. Until such time, he wished for the Band to be vigilant.

  Stephen gave up and trudged to his post away from the fire. There was a fence made from the towering trees that ran the length of the clan's primary compound, and it was not easily breached. Bracus, for one, enjoyed running the perimeter. He told himself he liked the exercise to remain in top shape for warring with other clans and the dreaded fragment. The truth was that he wished to secure the clan's perimeter each day. He never ran at the same time, wishing no one to observe his routines.

  Bracus had changed his mind, choosing to take second shift. This would allow him time to be at the sphere when dawn saw the new day. He would then creep toward the sphere and look once more at the female. He needed to calm his skin, which itched with the wrongness of something he could not name.

  He approached Stephen. “I will run then return one hour past dawn.” They looked at the sky, judging the time. Stephen nodded. That struck Bracus as odd. Stephen was always one to be vocal. But he had been unusually subdued this night. Bracus prided himself on being acutely aware of his Band's mental state. It was critical. Their lives had depended on it, would always depend on it. He realized he might be letting his disquiet permeate his thought process too deeply. He shook it away, moving toward the perimeter, his throat slits relaxing in preparation for exertion.

  CHAPTER 15

  Clara slowly opened her eyes—or eye. As it was, the bruising underneath her eyeball, exacerbated by her tears, had swollen up, distorting her vision. Clara swung her legs around until they hovered over the floor. Immediately, she steadied herself as her vision swam, streamers of color running out in different directions. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Finally, when she was steadier, she shuffled over to her looking glass and gasped at what she saw. Although the primary damage had settled down a bit, the swelling below the eye and her lip made it apparent that she had been struck.

  There would be no attending the fields this day. She could not suffer the questions and sympathetic glances, and cool the tempers of those who wished to avenge her.

  Dawn cast its champagne light through the sphere, the slightly obscure nature of it burnishing the room softly so it glowed. Clara turned away from her pathetic reflection and wandered to the window that was actually the sphere wall and pressed her body against it. She could just make out the stand of trees and had a sudden wish that she could see the savage. Not the one who looked like he wished her harm but the other.

  Sighing, she looked at the Forest, and he appeared. Her heart sped, the pulse fairly leaping the prison of her throat. But she was unafraid. He gazed at her from the stand of trees, then looking around him, he carefully set aside his bow, arrow, and quiver. He was disarming.

  Bracus lay his weapons aside so as to not intimidate the Princess. If he were attacked in the open, at dawn, his daggers would do very well.

  His throat slits opened wide, taking in the extra oxygen he needed as he sprinted the short distance toward the sphere. He arrived and stopped before the Princess. He could see her face as if through dark water, shimmering and slightly obscure, the material of the dome a milky cloak.

  Clara stood stock still. Her pulse hammered, and her hands grew damp, a fine tremor taking up residence as she watched that muscular form and long legs eat up the distance between them. He was a thing of beauty in motion.

  As before, he stopped, and she saw his face change in expression from fierceness to rage. She stepped away from the window, her hand to her throat. What had angered him so mightily? She had done nothing.

  What Bracus saw caused his heart to stutter in his chest. She had been beaten. A black rage, the likes of which he had never known, washed over him, making the blood rush through his body and roar in his ears, he tipped his head back and shouted to the heavens, his concern over circumspection forgotten in the face of her injuries. Who could have dared touch her in this way?

  He would kill them, he vowed.

  Clara jumped when the savage shouted.

  He approached again, his face edged with hard anger. He beckoned for her to come closer. She shook her head.

  Bracus could taste her fear, It wafted out to him on the wind. He looked more closely at the one eye he could see. The other was almost completely shut from the blow she had suffered. Her beautiful lips, full and ripe when he'd last laid eyes on her, now were distended and bloodied. He felt his hands curl into fists. But he restrained his expression. He knew that this trauma would make her uneasy with his show of emotion. Instead, he indicated he had no weapons then pointed to the injured area of her face, throwing his hands wide he gave the universal gesture for “who?” Then he leaned forward, his face almost pressed to the sphere and mouthed, “Who did this to you?”

  Clara would have been a fool to not understand that he wished to know what had happened. Her fear began to slide away. He was not the enemy. For all his fierceness and huge stature, he was not intrinsically evil. Clara opened her mouth to speak, and Charles walked in the room.

  Bracus's head snapped to attention as a young male entered the Princess's room, and he growled low in his throat. Was this the male who had hurt her?

  Charles came into Clara's chamber and immediately spied the savage outside her window. What in the bloody hell? He ran to her.

  Clara felt herself being lifted from behind and shrieked, the memories of the night before fresh. She bucked and fought, fig
hting for all she was worth, the savage's roar of rage ringing in her ears. She could feel herself hyperventilating. Please, dear Guardian, I do not wish to be beaten.

  “It is Charles. Be still. It is I!” Charles shouted.

  But it was no use.

  She had fainted.

  Bracus looked at the scene before him. The male held the Princess with tenderness, belying how she had fought him. The male looked up at Bracus, and he looked back with dark intent. He would kill the one who had done this.

  Bracus had seen how the poor female tried to fight him off. And now she lay still and vulnerable in his arms. Every protective instinct he harbored screamed for release. His hands were evil hammers of abuse at his side. Another day, he would exact his revenge. Three weeks hence was too long to wait for acquisition. The need to rescue her was now.

  Where were her protectors? He looked at the male. He would pay dearly. With a final look at the Princess, he raced up the incline, bound for the stand of trees, his throat slits pouring oxygen into his circulatory system. Bracus needed it. He would run the entire way back to his clan, where he would alert the Band to this change.

  Charles saw the savage look at him with murderous intent and realized that he thought that Charles was responsible for the abuse he saw on Clara's face. Not that it mattered what a savage thought, but it bothered Charles that another would think he could harm Clara. The savage was a huge male, inches taller than Charles, with the strange gills Clara spoke of, opening and closing with his breathing. But it was his eyes that transfixed Charles. The man looked one last time at Clara then turned, flying up the incline to the Forest of Trees Outside, his form slipping into the wood, disappearing from sight.

  Charles stared for a moment after the savage, glad that the sphere protected him, as he had seen his beating upon the savage's face. His fixation on Clara made Charles uneasy. The savagesʼ existence was a problem. Surely Clara could see that? And what of his plan to escape with her? He needed to get her away from this abuse and safely Outside, but the savages were there.

  Clara stirred in his arms, and he lifted her up easily. She weighed nothing. He lay her down gently, a fragile burden, her face swollen and marked. His chest grew tight again, thinking of Prince Frederick and what he had been unable to stop him from doing.

  Clara opened her eyes and saw Charles. She quickly looked at the window for the savage.

  “He is gone.”

  Clara sank back in her pillow, and Charles reached out to her face, gently running a finger over her lip, picturing the Prince. “I could kill him, you know.”

  Clara captured his finger. “Do not.” She placed his hand against her uninjured cheek.

  “I do have a plan, dear Clara.”

  “Is it the same one that Sarah has?”

  “It is. We will reconvene later, when you feel better and establish a time line.”

  Charles looked at her face. “I am so sorry. He beat you because of me and I could do nothing.”

  “He needed no excuse. It would have happened eventually.”

  “Why do you say this?”

  “He is of the Queen's ilk. He enjoys punishing for its own sake.”

  They were silent for a moment.

  Charles looked off at the window, his face darkening. “Why does the savage return to you?”

  “I do not know.” Clara gave a small shrug. “He does not mean me harm.”

  “He looked like he meant me harm!”

  Clara had a horrible thought. “I fought you...”

  “Yes, I am sorry I took you by surprise. I thought that... I do not know what I thought. I saw him looming over you and lost myself. After last night, I feel just a tad bit more protective than before. It makes no sense, as he cannot breach the sphere...”

  “He thinks that you harmed me.”

  Charles nodded, remembering the savage's eyes.

  “It cannot be good. I feel there is a purpose for his visits. I do not know for what reason, but rest assured, there is one.” Clara sat up in bed with a clear sense of disquiet wrapping itself around her, leeching into her bones. She grew cold. Charles folded her into his arms, and she allowed herself to be held. His strong arms tightened about her, and Clara could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. The smell of his maleness and the warmth of him was a comfort she was used to.

  ****

  Clara righted her appearance as much as she was able, but she still looked battered. Taking back streets the streetlights did not illuminate, she made haste to Sarah's domicile.

  Clara crossed the unlocked foyer. The interior door barred intruders. Guardian knew, there were always people who busied themselves with theft. She pressed a bell fashioned of a hammered brass scroll, slightly warm from the steam which lit it softly. Clara could see Sarah's form through the warped glass. It was over one hundred years old and distorted her image.

  Sarah opened the door and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Good Guardian, it looks worse than one day past.”

  Clara nodded. She knew from experience her face would heal for at least another week hence.

  “It is bad, but there has been worse.” But she had never suffered a beating to her face.

  Sarah stared hard at Clara, then, saying nothing, she stepped aside. “Please, come in. Do not linger. Charles will arrive momentarily.”

  Clara passed into the beautifully appointed interior, gazing upon all the things she had seen during a friendship that spanned their lifetime.

  The foyer was lit by a single steam-chandelier. Its soft, apricot glow reflected off the mercury glass balls that Sarah collected, stacked haphazardly in a large bowl inside the vestibule. Clara stood a little uncertainly, feeling the weight of an unknown decision pressing down upon her. She felt miserable at the thought of deserting her People for an indefinite period.

  Sarah stared critically at Clara. “Do not fret. You cannot help us if you are dead.” She made direct eye contact. “And well you know that will be the terminus with that depraved man.”

  Charles entered. “I wouldn't call that cad anything close to ʻman.ʼ Abomination is more like it.”

  He leaned down to Clara, giving her a feather-light kiss on her forehead, the only unmarred skin on her face.

  Clara leaned gratefully into his affection, and Charles fought not to wrap her up into something more intimate. Sarah watched them with narrowed eyes. Charles’s eyes met hers over Clara's head.

  Clara thought she was protecting her People, but friends were her protectors.

  “Follow me.” Sarah moved ahead of him. The bustle of her skirt made a soft rustling sound as she entered the parlor, seating herself on a beautifully made rosewood loveseat. Charles and Clara settled themselves in the matching chairs.

  Charles began. “We will get Clara out of this sphere. However, it may be best that she disappear into the Outside.”

  “Are you mad?” Sarah asked.

  Charlesʼ eyebrows drew up into an offended scowl.

  But it was Clara that answered. “We do not know enough about Outside to know the outcome of such an escape.”

  Charles waved the comment away. “They live Outside. And might I add, seem to be robust!”

  Sarah scowled. “You must know that they have physical attributes which make the Outside tolerable,” she said with thinly veiled scorn. “Another sphere is the practical choice.” She leaned back.

  Charlesʼ eyes narrowed. “Outside is where they will not look.”

  Clara could see where this was headed. The two of them fought like feral cats. “Stop this.” They looked at her, mouths open in preparation for rebutting each other. “I have decided what must be done.”

  The silence stretched out. Clara could hear the steam rising from the small clock on the wall, the ticking swallowing the silence.

  “I will do as Charles suggests.”

  Sarah opened her mouth in protest, but Clara held a hand up to quiet her. “Look upon my face.”

  They looked.

  “He w
ill not let me live. Prince Frederic will chase me wheresoever I go and will not think that I would breach the sphere.”

  Sarah made a last attempt to stymie what she thought was a dangerous plan. “You will compromise the sphere.” The comment fell as a stone in a shallow pond.

  Charles glared at Sarah, who knew very well how closely Clara guarded her People. Sarah glared right back. She cared not. She wished for Clara's safety above her own.

  Clara rolled her lower lip between her teeth, forgetting her injuries and wincing at the contact.

  Charles laid his hand on top of Clara's, his finger absently stroking circles.

  “Dear Guardian, do you think I would endanger her?”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “I would not endanger her accidentally either.”

  “It is unknown and there are the savages to consider.”

  “They mean no harm. I do not care what the Record Keeper reports,” Clara said.

  “Some obviously mean harm.” Sarah gave Clara the full measure of her stare.

  “What say you, Sarah?” Charles looked from one to the other of them, knowing they had a shred of secrecy tethered between them.

  Clara looked down at her tightly clasped hands.

  “Clara?” he asked softly, prompting her.

  Clara sighed heavily. “A savage appeared at the window...”

  “I am aware...”

  “No, not the one that you saw today... another,” Clara said quietly.

  “You did not speak of this. Why?”