Sleeper (Rise of the Fianna Book 1)

by Amy Brock McNew

  She was correct.

  While he and each of his men had fought women on the battlefield, they left interrogations of them up to the female warriors. Though sometimes even more fierce in battle than males, no male in his force relished the idea of harming a female in the way that was required to retrieve information.

  Sadly, today he didn’t care whether his victim was male or female. Karianna had tried to kill Makenna. His rage burned hotter at the thought, searing his skin. The red cloud around him pulsed. Rhys was beyond caring. The blackness in his chest had consumed him. His wolf stilled, dead silent.

  Whereas he'd always been known for being vicious, yet merciful, brutal, yet not without compassion, those more positive qualities deserted him in his present state.

  Rhys growled. “You forget yourself, Amanda.” She retreated at his harsh words. “I rule this clan.” He raised his gaze to the female prisoner. She trembled, biting back a whimper at the black death he knew shown in his eyes. “I will interrogate the enemy as I see fit.”

  Amanda nodded once and stepped back further. Fire in her gaze, disapproval on her face, still she acquiesced to his order.

  Rhys rose, moving to the table that held a myriad of weapons and implements. He ran his fingers over each one, as if taking his time deciding. Building her fear. Then he turned and unleashed his wolf just enough that his claws extended on one hand. The female inhaled sharply as he again crouched in front of her.

  The male jerked hard against his bindings as Rhys took the woman's hand. Trystan moved behind the man, slamming rough hands onto his shoulders and preventing further movement.

  Rhys turned the woman’s hand over and lightly kissed the tattoo on her wrist that told him she ranked high in Kylian’s army. He met her now watery eyes. He steeled himself against the innate desire to comfort her, the instinctual drive to protect a female despite their being vicious warriors. He forced down that voice screaming what he was about to do was wrong.

  It wasn't solely being done out of necessity but came from a place of pain and anger. Of fear for his mate. Of his need to avenge the damage that had been done to her the previous night.

  The animal in him agreed with his choice. Their mate had been harmed.

  Mercy for that did not live in them.

  Rhys chose not to think about the fact that being separated from his mate affected his judgment, twisted his ability to think rationally.

  He rested her hand back on the chair, noting her furrowed brow. “Never once have I harmed a female outside of battle. I do not relish what I am about to do. But I will never regret fighting for my people.” He gripped her chin, holding her head still. The male fought Trystan, shoving with his legs and trying to free himself. “I will give you one chance to save yourself. What is Kylian's next move?”

  She had the answers he sought. He felt it to his bones. Still, the woman tried to shake her head. Rhys didn't allow it. Her expression said she knew he would never let her live, regardless of what she divulged. She was correct. Her face hardened as she pulled courage from somewhere deep. He admired that but it wouldn’t stop what had to happen.

  “I don't know,” she bit out.

  “I should've mentioned lies result in pain.”

  Without hesitation, he dragged a claw down her exposed arm, digging deep, flaying it open to bone.

  The male intensified his struggle against Trystan, whose neck muscles bulged with the effort. “Stop! Stop this madness!”

  Rhys didn't look at him. “I think not.”

  He focused on the female as she fought the tears pooling in her eyes and pulled her shoulders back. She was brave and loyal. Admirable.

  Also, irrelevant.

  “I'll tell you what you wish to know.”

  The male's declaration didn't ring true. At least, not to Rhys's clouded mind. He sliced down the female's opposite arm, just as deep. Blood ran freely, pooling on the floor around Rhys's boots. His mind flashed back to the pool of blood beneath his Kenna last night. He saw himself searching for a pulse, hoping against hope her restrained magic hadn't rendered her mortal and the wounds fatal.

  His blood boiled as the male screamed for him to stop again.

  No mercy.

  Rhys smiled. His own pain had proved a resource, giving him insight in breaking these captives. He turned to face the male, choosing not to think about the tears that had finally broken free from the female, or the way her limbs trembled.

  “The desire to protect a mate overrules all else.” He walked the two steps to stand in front of the other chair, leaving bloody footprints. “Now give me the information I seek.”

  The female protested, begging her mate not to give in. The male shot her a mournful gaze and a sad smile. The love that passed between them sparked light and jealousy in Rhys's dark soul. He shook it off. Regardless of their bond, they had chosen their side. They were enemy soldiers who had probably decimated villages and beheaded warriors of the clans he ruled.

  They'd killed his people. That was all that mattered.

  The man sighed. “Kylian has switched tactics. No longer is a mass assault his preferred manner of attack.”

  “Damon, no!”

  Rhys ignored the woman's screeching. “Go on.”

  “He's training assassins for strategic targets, single kills. And not only from our own ranks. We've been taking those of royal blood, and those hidden when the war began. Sometimes captives we take during battle.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “The recruits are trained, hardened, programmed to take out targets without mercy.” He laughed. “We've been picking off your warriors one by one, using your own people to do it, and you never had a clue.”

  Rhys extended the claws on his other hand as well and leaped forward, burying both sets of deadly talons into the male's forearms. He dragged them deep for several inches before stopping, still embedded. “Where? Where is his camp?”

  The male continued to laugh despite the agony he had to be in. “Right here in good ole New Orleans. Right under your fucking pathetic nose, your majesty.”

  The female growled. “Traitor! Damon, how could you?” Her tears had vanished, and the warrior had made an appearance.

  Rhys snapped. As Amanda jumped to restrain the female, he twisted his claws then shoved deep, meeting wood on the other side of flesh and bone. The male howled in agony.

  Rhys got nose to nose with him. “Kylian, is he here as well? Does he oversee the training? Answer me!”

  He yanked his claws out, then shoved them in the male's gut.

  Blood spurted from the male's mouth as he coughed. There was that deranged laugh again. “Oh yes. He's here. And he's inserted himself deeper into your ranks than you know.” He glanced at Trystan, Amanda, and Talon, who’d been strangely quiet. “Any one of them could be the enemy. As I said, Kylian's mage is more powerful than you can imagine. He could turn your warriors and neither they nor you would ever know. Until he gave the command to kill.”

  Rhys roared, then forced his claws deeper, angling upward and under the male’s ribcage. Closing his fist, Rhys perforated the heart before yanking it from his chest. The male's mouth gaped, dripping blood, until he finally fell forward. Rhys tossed the heart aside, rage cascading over his vision. He yanked the knife from his boot, snarling as he sent the male's head flying across the room.

  Kylian was turning his own clan against him.

  Any compassion, any restraint Rhys owned bled out with the life force of his enemy, flowing to the ground and covering his boots.

  He stepped back to the female. She slumped in Amanda's hold, horrified eyes on her mate. Amanda moved to the side while the female howled in unimaginable torture as half of her soul slumped toward the floor.

  Rhys could identify. It was probably similar to the way he'd felt leaving Makenna earlier. Only worse. So much worse.

  He grasped her chin again, this time gentler. Her eyes narrowed on him, displaying the hate already spilling from her. “It's all right,” he murmured softly, all human
ity absent from his voice. “I can end your pain. Go rejoin your mate.”

  His grip on the knife tightened as he sliced quickly and cleanly across her throat. Her head remained for a moment before tumbling to the floor.

  Amanda and Talon inhaled sharply but didn't speak. Trystan stood silent, a hint of approval mixing with the concern on his face.

  Rhys wiped his blade on his pant leg, then returned it to his boot. “Send them back to their home and get this place cleaned up.” He turned for the door. “We'll have more visitors shortly.”

  A hand grabbed his shoulder and he halted.

  Talon's voice was close, but may as well have been miles away, muffled as it was by the haze that had consumed Rhys.

  “Rhys, we should talk.” Talon moved in front of him. He glanced at the bodies, then back to Rhys. “What happened here, it wasn't─”

  “I'm fully aware of what just took place.” His voice didn't sound like his own.

  His thoughts were full of Makenna. Of the soul deep need to return to her. To protect her. Knowing Kylian was in this very town, closer to her than he'd ever imagined, and that he couldn't reach out and touch her, keep her safe, sent his mind spinning down farther into the black. To a place of unimaginable agony. The regret at leaving her he’d shoved away clawed at his heart.

  “I'm not just talking about this. I'm speaking of what's got you in this state to begin with.” His friend placed a hand on Rhys's shoulder.

  “Talon, leave it alone.” He roughly shook off Talon’s hand.

  Talon sighed. “You need to stop and think, Rhys. Get yourself together. Whatever it is, let us help. We're at your side for a reason.”

  Rhys felt Amanda and Trystan closing in behind them. Felt their worry. Their love for their Alpha and friend. Their desire to fight at his side, no matter what or who the enemy.

  He didn't want their sympathy or their help right now. If he couldn't be with Makenna, he wanted to lick his wounds and wallow in his agony alone. He certainly didn't want them to see that not being with his mate had weakened him so that what he'd just done had taken most of his strength. If he didn't get away from them soon, he was liable to collapse right in front of them. He needed to be alone to get a handle on things and regain his power.

  No, he needed his Kenna.

  He met Talon's eyes, trying to soften his fury. “I simply need rest. We'll reconvene in the morning, my home at dawn. Then we'll decide what to do about Kylian. For good.”

  Without another word, he pushed past Talon and strode across the open area to his cabin. He ignored the looks and curiosity of his people. He was too focused on remaining upright, shoulders back and chin high as he made his way home.

  That wasn't right. It wasn't home anymore. Home was Makenna.

  Makenna wasn't here.

  Slamming the door behind him, Rhys headed straight for the bathroom.

  Leaning on his hands on the sink, he lifted weary eyes to survey himself in the mirror. He wished he hadn't. Hollows lived on his face, shadows darker than night. Blood was splattered across every exposed patch of skin, his clothes covered. He glanced down at his hands. Red dripped from them onto the white porcelain.

  In that moment, he was more thankful than ever he’d erected the shield against the pack link. Thankful his people couldn’t feel the blackness in his heart and mind.

  He raised his eyes, not recognizing the male staring back at him.

  He was broken. A shell. His soul was miles away, perhaps still balled up on the floor in her apartment, just as miserable as he. Or was she? If her magic was muted, would it dull the bond? Would it allow her to be able to function fully or would she be as torn as he was until they were reunited?

  Part of him prayed she would be spared the torment. The part that blamed her because she'd sent him away wanted her to be writhing in the same misery he was.

  Fuck. He was an asshole.

  Not only had he tortured a female with no remorse, now he was wishing pain on his own mate.

  Why should she allow him back in her life? The things he was capable of...could he even be the mate she needed? He reminded himself she was the warrior goddess, their queen. Once she learned how to control and wield it, her power would be greater than his own. She was the embodiment of the original warrior, the most vicious being in existence.

  War was her birthright.

  The thought provided little consolation as his soul twisted, needing her nearness. Craving her touch.

  Determination straightened his spine. He ripped away his clothes and climbed into the shower, turning on the water and letting it attempt to wash the filth away.

  Whether she wanted him or not, whether she was ready to handle the truth or not, mattered little. They were out of time. Kylian's forces were gathering and this new tactic he was employing put Makenna in more danger than ever. If anyone could find her, it was Kylian. Rhys shoved the reason out of his mind, choosing not to focus on it.

  He would go to her. Tell her everything. Give her whatever proof she required. Then he'd bring her into the safety of the compound.

  Even if he wasn't worthy, even if he wasn't ready himself, he could no longer live without her. The blossoming mating bond wouldn't allow it. He ignored the fact that it was his love for her that wouldn't permit the distance, choosing to focus on logic. There were ways to sever the bond, but that would leave their people without a king and queen. It would guarantee Kylian's victory and the end of life as they knew it.

  He couldn't allow what he'd fought for all of his life, what he'd been born for, to be destroyed.

  There was no other choice.

  It was time for her to step into her destiny, ready or not.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bury

  Three splashed water on her face to wake up. She glanced into the mirror, cringing at what she saw.

  The bags under her eyes said she hadn't slept in days. They didn't lie. The past week and a half since her failed mission had been restless. Never before had she missed a target. Or killed the wrong mark. Of course, it'd only been her third assignment, but that didn't matter in her business.

  One mistake meant death.

  Every day, she waited to be pulled into the commander's office, never to be seen again. Just like Four, the first person she'd met when she'd woken up in the barracks that fateful day. His first day here as well. The day her life began.

  He'd gone out on an assignment. When he returned, instead of bringing him back and dumping him in his bunk like they did with all of them, they carried him to the large building at the center of the compound.

  She'd never seen Four again.

  Three smeared toothpaste on her brush and jammed it into her mouth. With no assignments, she'd spend half the night in the gym, working herself into exhaustion. The other half she spent tossing and turning in her bed, fighting off dreams of wolves. Blood, so much blood. And an imposing, dark, handsome man whose face she could never see clearly.

  She tossed her toothbrush back in the cup and yanked her hair into a ponytail. She stretched her sore neck, once again rubbing the wound there. Wounds were part of training around here. They never held back on each other, sparring as though it were life and death. The good thing was somehow they healed quickly.

  Just another fact solidifying her belief that none of them were human.

  Her hand trembled, and Three held it out for inspection, raising her other to join it. There was so much blood on her hands. She couldn't see it, but it was there. The blood of three marks. Stains from inflicting damage on her fellow assassins.

  It never went away, no matter how many times she scrubbed until she was raw.

  It wasn't that the blood itself upset her. It was the reason it was present. The goal behind her missions. Even though she had no idea what that goal was, her intuition told her it was far from a noble cause. Quite the opposite. Deep down, her soul told her that though she was bred for war, she wasn't fighting a just one.

  That cut deep, yet again bringi
ng up more questions with no answers. But that was her life.

  One big question mark.

  Three sighed and tugged at the fitted black turtleneck she wore. She peeked down at the black cargo pants and combat boots. Despite the oppressive heat and humidity that didn't ease with the darkness of night, this was their uniform. They wore it at all times. Even in sleep. They were allowed to change to a fresh set in the morning, but that was all.

  She lived in a perpetual state of discomfort. Snorting, she knew that was exactly why whoever ran this place did it. They were never to be at ease, always on alert. She swore one day she'd drown in the buckets of sweat she produced. It felt as though she were drowning anyway.

  Drowning in a sea of questions and nonexistent memories and garish nightmares.

  Forcing her mind clear, she exited the sterile, army style barracks and headed for the dining hall. If one could call it that. It was a small, nondescript building where they were given trays of what looked like solidified pond scum, a slab of barely cooked meat, which was actually her favorite thing on the plate, and a chalky, fruity drink.

  Oh well, it was sustenance. Of a sort. Whatever was in it, it kept them going, it kept them fighting, and that was all that mattered.

  As Three emerged into the night, activity in the camp caught her attention. An amount of activity she’d never seen before.

  There were people everywhere, casting long shadows in the glow of a few lights on poles and the nearly full moon. People she'd never seen before. They were all dressed in the standard uniform, making it hard to tell whether they were minions like herself or guards. Either way, the place was crawling with them.

  To her left, two different groups of four were being ushered into barracks by guards, marked as such by the weapons they carried. To her right, a long formation four deep and at least one hundred long marched toward the center of camp. Huge, unmarked trucks roared into the gates and straight for a plain white building located at the back of camp.

  Her heart sped up and adrenaline charged her muscles. What the hell was going on? This couldn’t be good.

  Three searched for any of her training companions. Finding none, she closed her eyes and let herself soak up the rays of that wondrous moon. It had always calmed her. Filled her with power. Gave her determination to fight on, to seek out the answers that eluded her.