Mark of Betrayal

by A. M. Hudson

  My mouth fell open. “Mike? What happened to you—you’re all…grown up.”

  A warm, mischievous grin turned one corner of his mouth. “Yes, Ara. I have to be. I’m the man responsible to defend the most valuable thing in all of our lives—” he winked at me, “—our freedom.”

  I laughed, patting his arm. “And you are the best man for the job.”

  “I know.” He nodded and wandered over to a table of weapons.

  “Um, so, I get that you’re using venom-tipped swords, and all, and maybe this is a stupid question, but, wouldn’t it just be easier to bite the vamps instead of doing all this weapons training and stuff?”

  “These guys will need those weapons, Ara.” He presented the greater mass of the knights. “We’re only turning the four knights in your personal guard into what I am. The rest, I’m going to turn when it’s time. So, we need weapons training because their bite won’t kill vamps. The only way will be with venom-tipped swords.”

  “Really? So, I don’t have to bite all of them?” I asked, pointing to the group of giant, well-toned men.

  Mike smiled softly. “No. We don’t need fifty men that can kill vampires. Me and the four Private Guard should do.”

  I bounced my head with approval. “Smart thinking.”

  “Well, it was actually Morgaine’s idea.”

  “So, are those swords tipped yet?” I pointed to the table.

  Mike slid a long, silver, very heavy-looking piece of metal out of the pile and smoothed his fingers down it. “No. We keep those ones in the armoury. This one’s for training purposes only. We never, ever keep venom-tipped swords in the training hall, Ara, and if one even got in here by mistake, someone would be in big trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “See that Asian guy over there?” He pointed to the back of the room.

  “I see about twelve Asian guys over there.”

  He laughed. “Well, anyway, one of our knights is a vampire.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and I have several more—guys I trust, who are joining the Core this week.”

  “Okay, so, no venom-tipped swords.”

  “Right, and no biting.”

  I nodded.

  “Here.” He gently tossed the sword to me. It spun through the air, handle driving a path, and my hand shot up to catch it, nearly taking me backward with the force I used—way too much for such a light piece of metal. “Still not used to all this strength, huh?” Mike laughed, taking a sword of his own.

  “Not yet.” I smiled and looked down the blade, feeling its weight in my hands, light, like it was a strangely-shaped broomstick. “So, how do you make the venom stay on the tip? Wouldn’t it wear off after two jabs?”

  “Nope. Have you actually looked at venom, Ara?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s thick—like blood. When it dries, it doesn’t lose its potency. If we coloured it blue and wiped it all over this blade, when it dried, you’d still see blue, and like salt, it sticks around in tiny particles. You only need the smallest amount to touch their bloodstream.”

  “What about when the sword gets really bloody?”

  “It just lubricates the dried venom and makes it act faster. I haven’t tested, but we reckon you could get about a hundred kills from each sword.”

  “Oh, cool. Well, there are only about a thousand vampires in existence, isn’t there, so that should be fine?”

  “You got it. Now—” He grabbed my fingers and tightened my grip on the sword. “I wanna see how you handle yourself with this thing. Don’t drop it, okay?”

  “Mike.” I rolled my eyes. “I can probably handle this thing better than you.”

  “Ha!” He turned away and handed his sword to Falcon while he took off his shirt. “We’ll see.”

  I hoped I could handle it. So far, I’d only used wooden swords—no one being brave enough to stick sharp metal in my hands and let me come at them. And this was heavier and shaped differently than the wooden ones—the handle thicker, a little slippery in my fingers.

  Mike folded his arms, standing beside the four knights, wearing a smug grin, and said, “Okay, Ara, take combat position.”

  I planted my heels to the ground and bent my knees, balancing the weight of the sword by angling my elbow on a slight tilt inward.

  “Feet further apart.” Mike pointed to my legs; I shifted them.

  “Chin up.” Falcon walked over and stood behind me, lifting my face with his fingertip.

  “And be on your guard,” Blade said in his smooth English accent as he stood beside Mike and pointed his sword at me.

  Smiling, I scanned the scene; three men in front of me, one to the side, and one I could feel behind me. I dipped my weight into my knees a little more, curling my fingers to beckon their advance. “Bring it on.”

  Mike grinned. “You heard her, boys.”

  A quick movement caught my eye to the left; I turned, feeling time slow down around me, heard the blood pump through the fingers of the hand gripping a sword, felt the cut of the blade through the muggy summer air and saw the glint of excitement in the eye of the man swinging it. But his face changed before the blade reached my flesh, when he realised it would hit white space, its target bending under it—feeling the brush of wind from its crisp metal sweep over its back.

  “Shit!” Falcon said, laughing. “She’s fast, I’ll give her that.”

  Time sped up again; I sunk to my knees, rolling my spine straight to dodge the cut of a blade coming directly down my nose, missing it by a bee’s leg. Two men moved in on my right; I swung my leg out, using a fist on the ground to balance me, then thrust my sword upward into Mike’s, blocking a cut that would’ve opened my shoulder. The men under the swing of my leg hit the floor as my blade came back down, and I heard only a few grunts as I got to my feet again and squared my sword to slice along the blade of another. As I spun to an assault from my right, metal connected with my cheek, parting the flesh in a clean slice, forcing a high-pitched squeal from the back of my throat. I cupped my face to hold the blood in, my gut turning until the wound tingled, knitting back together.

  “Holy shit,” Quaid said.

  The knights were taken aback for only a breath more, then ran in from all four sides; my forearm split open where it shot up to shield my face, while my sword clinked against Quaid’s, and all of a sudden, my feet came out from under me, a fifth knight tearing me to the ground. They all piled in on top of me, pinning my arms and legs, deepening the gash as it tried to heal.

  “Get off me!”

  Quaid stood at my brow, his sword to my throat. “Yield?”

  “In your dreams.” I bent my elbow and twisted my forearm, bringing my knee up into Mike’s jaw at the same time, sending him and Ryder back with a pretty powerful blow—for me. The knights on my left ankle and wrist stupidly let their guard drop, watching Mike stumble about, cursing; I took the break, risking the condition of my gashed arm, and rolled to one side, dragging my limbs from their grip.

  Aside from the blood coating my wrist, standing felt like a new victory, but Falcon was on it; he rolled his shoulder into the ground, legs over head, and came up in front of me, his sword meeting mine with a nasty knock that made my elbow shake. I gripped the handle with both hands, angling it against each of his strikes, until Ryder thrust his in a straight jab, right between Falcon’s and mine, and I lost my grip, dropping the sword to the ground.

  They moved in then. Falcon kicked my sword out of reach; it skidded across the floor, stopping by the mirror, right beside any hope I had of winning this. But the defeat made something shift in me, like a decision made—like everything had already been calculated and was just waiting for that last cog. It filled me with a feeling—a rush, like excitement, which rose up my arms, replacing failure with a burning charge demanding release.

  I flicked my wrist, sending a bullet of electricity into Falcon’s chest as he ran in for the kill; he stopped dead, as if he’d hit an invisible pane of glass—hi
s arms flailing out, his body shaking once before he shot backward, like a rope pulled him from behind, dragging him to the wall.

  “Back off.” I pointed the violent lashing of blue at Blade, then turned at the shoulder to warn the knights behind me; they all stopped, metal clinking on the ground as they dropped their swords, held up their hands and yelled, “Yield.”

  My winning smile swallowed my entire face. “Looks like you guys can go home.”

  Mike rose from the floor, clapping his hands. “Much better, Ara. Much, much better.”

  “Yes, simply marvellous,” a loud, humour-filled voice announced from the side of the room.

  “Arthur.” I turned around and smiled as he walked toward us.

  “Bravo, Amara. I see the rumours of your power were true.”

  I bit my lip, waiting for the electricity to recede, but my body obviously still felt under threat.

  “You’re okay, my dear.” Arthur carefully touched my shoulder; the adrenaline pumping through me eased, taking the blue light with it.

  “Ur, Chief?” Blade tapped Mike’s shoulder.

  “Dear God,” Arthur said, his panicked eyes on the back wall.

  Mike moved as I spun around to see Falcon, slumped heavily on the floor. “Mate, you okay?”

  “Falcon!” My gut dropped.

  Mike and Arthur got to his side first. I fell in clumsily between them, my hand hovering over the knight’s bloodied chest. “Did I…did I kill him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “His heart’s stopped,” Arthur said, rolling up his sleeves.

  Mike grabbed the knight by the shoulders and laid him flat on the ground, then started compressions, pushing crossed hands down firmly between Falcon’s breastbones, right below a mucky, sticky mess of burned flesh. And without a second thought, I sunk my teeth into his arm, and the instant his skin broke under them, blood spilled into my mouth, burning the sides of my throat like hot pins charging through each tiny tastebud, searing everything in their path. The watering response of my tongue made the blood mix into a thinner liquid, which slipped easily past my throat and into my stomach, twisting it in tight knots.

  “I got a pulse!” Mike said.

  I released my hold, spitting blood and venom to the ground as I fell back on my hand, wiping it from my nose and chin. I wanted to kick my legs and scream for them to get it off, but I was all too conscious of the fact that everyone in the room was staring.

  Blade knelt beside me, wiping his sweaty shirt around my face and down my chest where the blood dribbled. “Your majesty, what is it, what’s wrong?”

  I looked up into eyes of concern, and realised only then that I was crying.

  “Come on.” Mike hoisted me off the ground by my arm. “Let’s get you some blood to wash out the taste.”

  An arm, with the sleeve rolled up to reveal clear veins, appeared in front of my lips. “Your Majesty, drink,” Arthur said kindly.

  “Oh, hell no.” Mike pushed his arm away. “There is no way she’s—”

  “She’s in agony,” Arthur growled, standing face to face with Mike. “I do not care for your fears of the lust she will feel while drinking, Michael, I care that that poor girl be eased of the burning she is suffering. Now let me pass.” He eyed Mike, staring him down, and as soon as he pierced his vein with his nail and the smell of his blood hit my senses, I pushed past Mike and grabbed Arthur’s arm.

  “Ara, don’t bite him,” Mike said, with way too much panic, grabbing me.

  Arthur looked up at him, confused. “Didn’t know you cared.”

  I wrapped my lips around the cool, soothing milk spilling from Arthur’s skin.

  “I don’t. But the last thing we need now is the death of a vampire at the hands of the future queen.”

  I was vaguely aware of Mike moving away, but had to narrow myself in and focus only on the blood—only on the feel of it taking the burn away, like cream over salt. But the urge to bite Arthur seared worse. I could. I could bite him. He wasn’t immune, but if I bit him, I could give him my blood right away and he might be all right.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Mike grabbed my shoulder and rolled me away; the sensation of lust, flooding me like a warm beat of blood through my heart, turned to a flush of heat in my cheeks as I felt the air between us.

  “Sorry, Arthur.” I wiped my mouth with my forearm. “I still get a little carried away with blood.”

  He bowed his head, rolling his sleeve down his already healed arm. “Do not think on it, Princess. It is my pleasure to appease you.”

  “Right.” Mike seemed to grow taller then, taking me by the arm. “Training’s over for you, missy. Let’s go.” As he led me from the room, he looked back at the gawking knights. “Back to work—all of you. Blade, you’re in charge.”

  Thank you, Arthur, I mouthed, hurrying away at more than human speed. I didn’t even get a chance to see if he heard me.

  The cool breeze and soft kiss of rain on my cheeks outside shocked my warm body. My heart started faster and the taste of Arthur on my lips sunk in to realisation. I touched my fingertips to them, smiling a little, half laughing.

  “How could you?” Mike said, eyes forward, practically dragging me away.

  “What? Drink his blood?”

  “Yes! How could you let yourself—?” His face contorted with disgust, his fingers tightening on my arm. “I’m so mad at you, Ara.”

  “Urgh. Get over it.” I whipped my arm from his grip. “I’m a vampire. I drink vampire blood. He’s a vampire.”

  “He’s a guy. You’re a girl. Doesn’t mean you can screw him.”

  Hu! I gasped loudly. “How dare you? I would never—”

  “Don’t play stupid, Ara. We all saw the lust take hold.” He pointed to the training hall.

  I dropped my hands to my hips. “It’s not my fault. It’s a part of the process.”

  “Precisely why you are never to drink his blood again. Do I make myself clear?” He towered over me a little.

  “You cannot,” I said breathily, insult rising like a flamed wind, “tell me. Who to eat from.”

  He grew taller in front of me, his eyes widening to take all of me in. “I can. And I will.”

  I stomped my foot, thrusting my fists to my sides, tilting my chin to seem taller. “I can eat from whom ever I please.”

  “Not Arthur.”

  “And how are you going to stop me?”

  Mike dropped back and leaned against the white bricks of the training hall, rubbing furiously at his brow. “Ara. Please. Come on. Stop being a stubborn little brat. You know you shouldn’t drink from him and you know why.”

  As the heat of lust and the adrenaline simmered in my limbs a little, I felt a pang of acquiescence. “Well, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want his blood anyway,” I huffed, folding my arms. “And if I did, I’d have it. You can’t tell me what to do.” Only, he was right. I did feel the lust. I did feel the desire to move my lips up Arthur’s arm and find his mouth, and I knew it was artificial. So, I wouldn’t drink his blood again—if I could help it. But I wasn’t about to be controlled by Mike, either.

  “It’s my job to tell you what to do—when it comes to your safety.”

  “Arthur won’t hurt me.”

  “It’s not his hurting you I’m worried about,” he said, his voice breaking. He stiffened quickly and dropped his arm back down to his side. “Look, I’m sorry, Ara. I know you just hate being ordered around, but, please—” He stepped into me, two hands holding my face. “Please don’t drink his blood again.”

  I shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t want it.”

  “Fine.” He let go of me and turned away, walking ahead. “But if I catch you alone with him, I’m going to assume that’s what you’re doing, and I will forcibly remove you.”

  “You so will not!”

  He stopped then and turned to face me. “Yes, I will. I promised David I’d watch out for you when it comes to Arthur. I won’t let you make the mistake I know you’re
capable of, Ara.”

  “Wait? What mistake?” I grabbed his sleeve.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He looked down at me, his caramel eyes narrowed. “I listened to your heart, Ara, while you drank from him—as did Arthur. You’re lucky only one other person in that room is immortal, or they would all have heard it, too.”

  “It’s just the blood lust, Mike,” I called as he walked away again.

  “That’s bullshit, Ara, and you know it.”

  “Hu!” I huffed and followed him toward the manor. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you don’t know how to control yourself when it comes to your heart.”

  I bolted—Lilithian speed—and stood in front of him, blocking his path. “My heart?”

  His eyes shifted before stopping on the ground by his feet. “You think you want something until you get it, Ara—which, by the point you realise it’s not what you wanted, you’ve already destroyed it.”

  My stomach dropped. “Mike? Is this about Arthur—or about you?”

  He stared at me for a second then looked away with a sigh, shaking his head.

  “Mike?” I grabbed his forearm and tugged until he looked at me.

  “This is about nothing, except the safety and freedom of our people, Amara. If you fall for Arthur through some twisted, artificial love the blood lust causes you to feel, you could be putting this whole operation in jeopardy.”

  Swallowing hard, I nodded. “Okay, Mike. I already told you—I don’t want his blood. It tasted old and dry.” I pretended to wipe it away from my mouth as though that was true, when all I really wanted was to feel it against my tongue again.

  “You’re so stubborn, Ara.” Mike pushed past me. “You could just say you won’t drink it because you think I’m right.”

  “It’s not true, though.” A wide smile forced itself onto my lips. I hid it before I walked beside him again.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I stand by what I said. If I catch you alone with him—” he pointed at me, “—you are in big trouble. Clear?”