Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  “I never thought I would say this, boy,” said Owen. Those unfocused eyes rose up to meet the hunter’s. “But I think ye might have had quite enough already.”

  Xavier scoffed, then gestured around the room. “Look around you, hunterr,” he slurred. Owen humored him with a token glace over his shoulder. “Can’t you feel the energy tonight? We’re celebrating! Our friend has been captured while we stood by and did nothing.”

  “Lower your voice,” Liam warned, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. The situation was bad enough without anyone suspecting they were affiliated with Viola in any way. But as far as he could tell, their quiet group was practically invisible to this drunken bunch. If anything, their lack of enthusiasm was the only thing that might be making them stick out.

  “They are going to make her fight in the pit, and she will die like so many before her,” said Xavier, his voice breaking with intermittent laughter. “We promised to protect her, and now look at what’s happened. This might just be our greatest failure ever. So why shouldn’t we celebrate? Cheers!” He slammed his mug into Owen’s, shattering them both. Owen leaped up, hands in the air to avoid at least some of the spray. Glass scattered across the sticky tavern floor, adding more mess to the already substantial amount of spilled ale. Disgusted, Xavier tossed the broken handle down onto the table and turned to go sit at the bar.

  Strangely, the aggressive outburst didn’t seem to attract the slightest bit of attention. If anything, perhaps the show of emotion made them fit in a little better. Liam raised a pointed eyebrow at Owen. “There isn’t a damn thing I can do about it,” Owen replied, answering the unasked question. “It just needs to run its course. Anything I say or do will just push him further away.”

  “Wise words,” Liam agreed. “Some demons a man must face alone.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m not certain if this is just a human thing, or the typical male ego that seems to infect all species,” Thatra intervened, clearly annoyed. “I don’t know about you two, but I see a troubled friend who needs our support. If you will excuse me.” She pushed back her seat and left to join Xavier at the bar.

  Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Xavier glanced back briefly before returning his attention to a fresh drink. Thatra cringed upon watching him drain half the mug in one large gulp, but decided against drawing any more attention to his excessive drinking. He likely wouldn’t take kindly to any more criticism. Xavier slammed it back down, a mass of froth sliding down its side, collecting near its base. “Her mind was made up,” he said, unfocused eyes wandering aimlessly around the wet-ringed bar top. “She was determined to leave us, and nothing I said or did was going to make a difference.”

  “And she was wrong to do so,” Thatra said, reaching out to steady him before he tipped over. “She made a mistake. We all do from time to time, but what’s done is done. We need to stay focused now. As far as we know she is still alive and unharmed. The king obviously has plans for her, so that alone has bought us time.” Xavier brought the mug up once more, only to have it slapped back down. “Time we cannot afford to waste drinking.” Already she had broken her promise to herself about not mentioning his drinking. Unable to watch any longer, she simply couldn’t help it. “Xavier, she needs us to be focused, clean, and sober. Do you understand? Are you with me on this?”

  “I’m wissh you,” came a slurred voice from behind. Surprised, Thatra rose up on her toes as an open hand cupped her rear. She slapped the hand away and twirled around. Short, but really only when compared to her, a young man stood there grinning. His face was shadowed in stubble, and a rather poor excuse for a beard proved to her that he might even be younger than he looked. Still wearing that ear-to-ear grin, he turned to call across the tavern. “Huager look, a teggerin! There is a teggerin here!” Following his gaze, she could only assume he was speaking to the man across the way. Not even acknowledging his friend, the man had a bar maid on each lap, and seemed quite busy at the moment.

  “I’m a tarrin,” Thatra corrected, raising an eyebrow at the odd young man. “And if you don’t mind, I’m speaking to my friend here.”

  “Oh come on,” he begged, having his hand slapped away again when he boldly reached around her backside for the second time. “You’re working, right? How mussh? I’ll pay you more than he is. I’ve never been with a teggerin!” She almost corrected him a second time, but laughed instead as she watched him fumble around for his coin purse. Slipping, his foot came straight up, arms twirling wildly. The warrior reached out, grabbing his collar just before he tumbled backward. This only made her laugh harder at the ridiculous human.

  She should have been offended by his awkward advances, but somehow she wasn’t. Simply drunk, no different than all the other humans here, he had mistaken her for a working girl he could purchase for the night—an honest mistake, given that most of girls here fell squarely into that crowd. Yet she found it flattering in some peculiar way. Perhaps it was just his liquor talking, and he would almost certainly think differently come morning, but it never really occurred to her that a human might find her attractive.

  For a fleeting moment, she actually entertained the idea. The company of a human might prove to be...interesting. Not unlike his claim, she had never seen many humans until recently, and certainly had never bedded one for an evening. But she shook away the entertaining thought. They had bigger problems. She had no time for such nonsense. Even so, this aggressive young man needed to be taught a lesson before she simply let him go.

  She stepped towards him, chest out, drawing herself up to her full height. Nearly a head taller than the human, her milky white eyes looked him up and down. “I am not for sale, human. And even if I were, I’m not so certain you would survive the experience.” Touching his slender shoulders, she slid her hands down to his biceps and clenched. With a sudden iron-like grip, she lifted him off the ground. Feet dangling, only now was he able to look her directly in the eye. Her arms bulged with tension, yet she held him easily, showing no signs of strain.

  “Among my race, the women are considered the dominant sex.” A lie, but she was having too much fun to stop now. She lifted him higher so that their noses were nearly touching. “Our mating sessions usually last a few hours or so. At worst, the male may end up with a few broken bones.” The young man’s feet began to kick helplessly in the air, his mouth wide open in shock. “But that doesn’t always happen,” she assured him, eyes softening, voice rising in pitch. She tilted her head, flashing him her most innocent smile. “So then, do you think you are ready? I can get us a room.” She kicked the bar with the side of her foot. “Or I can just lay you up on the table here. Your choice.”

  “No...no no,” he shrieked, feet kicking faster. “Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you. Just put me down!”

  “Aw.” She frowned, feigning disappointment before setting him down. Like a released fish, he streaked off the moment his feet touched the ground. Laughing with a clap of her hands, she turned to share the badly needed laugh with her friend. But there was Xavier, face down on the bar, fingers still touching the mug handle of his spilled drink. All the humor of the situation fled as she was reminded once more of how much pain her friend was in.

  Carefully, she tipped him back and leaned his body into hers, throwing his arm up around her neck. With an effortless lift, Xavier was hoisted and draped across the back of her shoulders like a sack of clothes. Signaling to the others that she was leaving, they acknowledged her with a wave. Best she just take him back to the inn. Clearly, his night was over. To cheers from the surrounding patrons who believed the giant of a woman might have captured herself a mate the old-fashioned way, they watched Thatra disappear into the night.

  “Do you really think your apprentice is going to be all right?” Liam asked, eyes still on the door.

  “Aye,” Owen grunted. “The lad just needs to sleep it off.”

  Liam shifted his gaze back to the hunter. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  O
wen sighed, drumming his fingers along the table’s edge. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen him like this. Believe it or not, between the two of us he usually be the voice of reason. When I lose me temper, he knows how to take control of the situation. This be the first time I’ve seen him so out of control.”

  “He blames himself.”

  “Aye. And nothing either you or I say is going to convince him otherwise. He’s got me worried. We’re just going to have to keep watch on the lad.”

  “And that we will,” Liam assured, scanning the rowdy tavern’s atmosphere around them. “But in the meantime, we have another problem to deal with. Viola has gotten herself in a world of trouble. We need to put our heads together and figure something out. What was that girl thinking? When did I lose her trust?”

  “Don’t do that to yourself,” Owen said, jerking his shoulder out of the way as a wave of spilled ale just missed him. The place was becoming even more rowdy. “We be past all that. What we need now is a plan. Her brother was here for years, all that time being watched closely under lock and key. We saw what he was capable of. He is a lot more powerful than Viola, yet he never managed to escape. Rest assured they’ll be keeping a close eye on her while she’s in captivity. This is bad. I don’t how we can get close to her.”

  “We must gather information,” Liam said, slapping the table with determination. “Where is she being held? How many guards are posted? Are they using magical restraints or more conventional ways of confinement? Information is the key. We must learn all we can about her situation before making any decisions.” He lifted his mug just as a struck man came crashing down through their table, causing it to cave in. The unconscious man lay on the floor, two sides of the broken table raised up to cradle him rather comfortably.

  Liam continued, “But for now, I say we just get out of here.” He downed his drink and the two of them made for the door.

  *

  Bella stumbled through the forest as thorny bushes raked her body and face, tearing away at the tethered rags which were once her clothes. Lungs on fire, heart pounding, she pushed forward, driven on by raw terror. Two days had passed since her release, but the broken woman still would not take any chances. A lesser woman would have collapsed long ago, but pure survival instinct pushed her one more mile, one more step, one more inch of distance between herself and a malicious human being whose cruelty knew no bounds. With limited vision through severely swollen eyes, each fumbling step was its own victory.

  The ground rose up to meet her as she tripped on a root. Hands too weak to cushion the blow, her face slid across the dirt. Arms trembling, she attempted to push herself back up. Only able to lift her face a few inches, she spit out a glob of dirt before collapsing back down. Fatigued, broken, her body jerked with sobs. But her bloodshot eyes remained tearless because her dehydrated body couldn’t spare a single drop of moisture. Her pained cry came out more like the soft moan of a dying cow, her throat too dry and her body too weak to produce any real sound.

  She was going to die out here. Had a queen ever fallen so far? How had it come to this? Betrayal, that’s how. She had given up everything for that...creature, and this was how he repaid her. How could she be so stupid as to fall for his lies? Both Jarlen’s as well as the king’s, really. Never again would she place her faith in another man. Of course, there was no longer any guarantee she would live long enough to keep that vow.

  Starving, weary, her chest heaved against the ground as she gulped air past her cracked dry lips. Summoning all of her will, she began to crawl. Even knowing she was as good as dead, something insider her urged her on. She had little doubt that she was being hunted, probably being allowed just enough of a head start to give the illusion of sport before the hounds descended on her, ripping her body to shreds. I will not give you the satisfaction. You may indeed kill me in the end, Milo, but I swear I will make you earn it first!

  Hand, knee, hand, knee... She inched along like a wounded lizard. Even moving at this feeble pace was taking its toll. Her body had been pushed far beyond its limits. Her hands and knees tingled with warmth, her mouth so dry that each breath came as a labored gasp. There came a faint buzzing in her ear, but after crawling a few more feet she realized it was the sound of bees swarming just up ahead. The reality of that fact barely registering in her foggy mind. She pushed on, another scraped knee dragging along the ground, followed by a cut, bloody hand.

  Her forearm crunching down a last row of dry grass, she spotted a dead tree, fallen to the ground with bees swarming all around it. She could see the hive entrance, alive with vibration as the swarm worked tirelessly to aid in production of the one thing Bella needed desperately. Honey... She had only gotten this far on survival instinct alone, but she had reached her physical limits. Hunger overriding her common sense, a famished body willing to endure anything to get the sustenance it needed exploded into motion without fear or hesitation.

  Unblinking, the queen rammed her hand into the soft hole. Clawing desperately, her fingers wrapped around a soft, mushy mass. Ignoring the hot spikes of pain circling her hand and wrist, she retrieved the soft mush and jammed it right into her mouth. Wax, honey, legs, and wings with a fair amount of whole bees mixed in, the sweet glob squirmed in her mouth. Her teeth quickly silenced the annoying stings as she reached back into the hole.

  The stings were coming in bunches now, her hand growing hot and numb as bees swarmed her face and neck. Ten stings became twenty. Twenty became thirty. With her free hand flailing at the angry swarm, she jammed another sweet glob into her mouth. Face swelling, lumps forming all over her body, Bella stumbled back as the toxins began to overwhelm her body.

  Eyes rolling up into her head, she fell onto her back, fighting to stay conscious. She could feel the tickle of legs swarming around her lips, the buzz in her ears as they crawled around her head. The ongoing stings were a distance sensation, more an afterthought as her mind drifted away. She began hearing voices shouting at her from some far-off place.

  Her eyes fluttered back open, awakened by the sensation of her body being moved. Through blurred vision, she could see her own feet sliding along the ground as she was dragged away by some unseen entity. Paralyzed from bee venom, she couldn’t even turn her head to face her captor. But what did it matter anyway? The hunt was over—they had found her. So this is how it ends. Dangle the illusion of freedom in front of my face, then take it all away. Do with me what you will. I no longer have the will to fight. Resigned to her fate, her mind slipped into blackness once more.

  Her eyes snapped open a second time, vomit spewing from her mouth in a violent stream. Through swollen eyes, she watched her own projectile break apart in midair, drifting away towards the ground far below. For some reason, her hair was blowing around in a high wind, and her body was cool and shivering. So this is what death feels like? It’s not so bad, really. You win, Milo. I go now to the afterlife.

  Chapter 2

  Back wedged into the corner of the damp, stone-walled cell, Viola sat curled in a ball with her chin tucked between her knees. The hollow sounds of dripping water echoed about, each drip making her shoulders flinch from the unrelenting sound. Day and night, all she could hear was the steady beat burrowing a hole into her head. Silence...drip...silence...drip. Her fingernails dug into her temples, toes curling up from the agonizing sound.

  On occasion came the welcome sound of footsteps, usually accompanied by the jingling of keys. Her emotions swirled each time she heard the sound of humans outside her cell door.

  Relief...to finally hear anything other than the dripping water.

  Fear...would this be the time they came for her? If so, what was to become of her?

  Anger...why was she locked away in this pitch-black cell, unable to see her hand in front of her face unless she crawled to the door, letting the thin line of light shining underneath reflect off her palm?

  After the sounds of cell doors being opened and closed, the footsteps always faded away. Then sadne
ss would take hold. It was the realization that she would sit here alone another ten hours or so without hearing any signs of life. As far as she could tell, this was her world now.

  How long had she been down here? It was impossible to tell the time when both day and night seemed to blur together. The sound of flies buzzing nearby was a constant reminder of where she had set her half-finished food trays. A tray was slid underneath her door daily, even if she had no idea if it was a morning breakfast or an evening meal. Fermented beans with a vegetable paste on the side, its top coated with a hard crust, had been the norm since she arrived. Although just barely edible, she had grown used to the slimy sustenance. Even in the dark she had learned to recognize the sour, hairy pieces as mold. Typically, she separated them in her mouth, then spit out the bitter bits of fuzz.

  To her, the accompanying shot glass filled with warm water was the most precious part of the meal. She savored it slowly, taking only the tiniest of sips to help make it last. The first night she downed her portion in one swallow, then suffered horribly before they finally brought her another with the next round of rancid food. A harsh lesson was learned that day.

  Today would be no different. Driving hunger being her only tool to estimate the time, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that a poor meal would be slid under her door at any moment. She tugged at her itchy collar while waiting, finding the thing to be unbearable as of late. A sweaty rash had formed around her neck—she was unable to remember the last time she’d bathed. One hour passed, followed by a second, then a third. Her stomach roiled, burning acid building up in search of any kind of sustenance. She promised herself she would even eat the mold this time when her tray finally came.