by K. A. M'Lady
Reaching the loading docks, Draven blinked in disbelief. His blood stilled while time seemed to pause. He waited for the fury. Sensed the end beyond the ripple of darkness before death even had time to become aware of eternity’s demise. For this, someone would pay with their life.
Rage, barely contained, filled his veins as he viewed the scene before him.
Some of his men stood in clusters talking, laughing. Others loaded gear and supplies onto a smaller fighter vessel. Lieutenant Grange stood near the bay barking orders to the few who were working. Beyond that there was nothing. No cargo ships. No fighters. No cruisers. The loading dock held no other ships, including his own.
“What the hell has happened to Leah and my ship?” The words were a growl so soft, so filled with violence that Draven felt his canines fill his mouth; a brilliant burn as they burst through his gums. Everyone within fifty feet of him stopped, turned to stare and voluntarily took a step back.
A visible ripple of fear rushed through each of them. Lieutenant Grange’s was the most notable; rippling from toes to neck. Eyes wide, Grange turned to face his Captain. In this subtle movement, Draven knew of his involvement before the Lieutenant uttered a word.
“Youuu…youuu…you took it, Captain. You took your ship,” Grange stuttered, his eyes lids fluttering rapidly. His complexion was flushed, his anxiety spiking the air.
Draven’s movement became a blur of light and shadow. So fast was his motion that he was beside Lieutenant Grange before the pause of a blink. One instant he was beside the entry to the docking bays and the next Lieutenant Grange was clinging to the hand clasped tightly about his throat, the arm lifting him off his startled feet.
“You have failed your people, Lieutenant Grange,” Draven whispered coldly, staring into Grange’s horror filled eyes. “And, most importantly, you have failed my mate.” With the next breath Draven’s teeth were sunk deep into Grange’s throat, his lifeblood filling him, his dark memories and darker betrayals flowing freely into Draven’s mind.
The blood-link was strong, the betrayals searing. Grange had been feeding the wrong data to them for the last three years. He’d been helping Kantella while escaping the notice of Vranthian forces, all in the hope of finding his own mate. The Wasting and Kantella’s lies had driven him that far. Far enough to betray his own people.
With a growl, Draven ripped out his throat and tossed him to the ground, his dark blood pooling beneath his lifeless remains.
“If you wish to regain her, you must return to whence she came from.” The voice startled Draven with its dulcet tones and soft rumble in the wake of the chaos that roared through his mind. He turned.
Ook, the Darengy grave-warrior, slowly approached from the entry of the bay. His gate was slow but steady, his large, muscled frame healed from the injuries he’d sustained protecting Leah. There was something in his eyes that told Draven he knew far more than appeared. That he saw more of life and death and the realms between than most could ever comprehend.
“Are you to be my guide, Ook?” Draven asked, knowing the power as well as the ramifications his question held for both he and the Darengy. He’d thought of his and Kuthar’s plan, but that, thanks to Kantella, had been shot to hell.
The sight and nearness of the Darengy stirred him, called to him. He was out of options. He knew that to knowingly request a grave-warrior to walk with you in life was to be tied to them in death. One soul protecting the other. A bond stronger than brothers. Eternally a binding of blood and soul. He knew and didn’t care.
Like Leah, something called to him. Or maybe it was because of Leah. But no, that couldn’t be. The connection was there before. Sizzling along his flesh. Tempting him to remember. But remember what, he wasn’t sure. All that he was certain of was that if he wanted to find Leah he needed the Darengy to help him. Needed him at his side; a part of him.
Ook stood still, his back ramrod straight, his odd, tri-colored eyes boring into Draven’s as if he could see the ever after. By accepting the Prince’s request, he would be forever beholden to him. His personal guard in life and death. It was a great honor Prince Draven was set to bestow upon him. And yet, it would mean great difficulty for the Prince.
Everyone knew their history. The Darengy had been driven to near extinction at the hands of the Elders. Fear had driven them to all but decimate their people. If Ook accepted the Prince’s offer, he would be blood bound to him as long as Prince Draven lived. Where Prince Draven walked, Ook would follow. If The Wasting claimed him, it would spread to Ook as well. For as long as Draven lived, so too would Ook. As the Prince thrived, Ook would thrive as well. But for now, he would never want again.
The temptation was great, but Ook’s loneliness greater. “Why?” Ook questioned, needing the confirmation he could not find in the Prince’s dark eyes.
Draven sighed and stepped towards the grave-warrior, side-stepping Grange’s dead body. “My father once told me that the worth of a man lay not in his words, but in his actions. In the span of time that I’ve known you I have seen you protect the weak, the suffering and maligned at the cost of your own life. Even Death needs such an ally at his side,” Draven stated with a twist to his smile, his dark eyes calculating.
The Darengy considered his words. It was true that Draven’s reputation as a cold and malicious warrior was whispered in the shadows of the night. His victories over his enemies were told like fairytales to younglings at bedtime. Great men feared him, and foolish men died at his hands.
To be bound to such a warrior would be a great honor, indeed, but Ook was not a glory hound. He had followed no man and no Liege before or since the great wars between the Elders and the Shadow Dwellers. Yet, he knew as certain as he breathed that this Prince and his Over-lord would bring great change to their peoples. He had seen the visions. Felt the coming changes in his blood. Had foreseen the outcome in the dust of death and the winds of time.
“Is that the only reason?” Ook questioned, needing to be certain.
“There is this.” Draven held his hand just inches above the flesh of Ook’s chest.
Fire danced in his veins. Lightning tripped along his Ook’s skin. Reason and knowing filled him. Yes, this Ook would do. For his people, and for himself. “So be it,” Ook calmly agreed.
Before either could change their minds, Draven closed the distance between them, placed his palm flat against Ook’s heart and pressed his fangs into the Darengy’s throat.
The instant Draven’s palm touched Ook’s breastbone, he felt the large man’s hand palm his own thundering chest. He knew that this would be an exchange. An agreement bound in blood and death magic. The blood exchange of the Vranthian and the death magic of the grave-warrior. It would be two warriors binding themselves to the fates, and to each other. They both knew it was just the beginning.
The moment Draven’s teeth broke Ook’s flesh, his memories poured through like a sun flare, the pain and heat instantaneous. Searing and spectacular. Fire blazed a path down his throat and into his belly, expanding out into his veins, causing them to pulsate and twitch. It was like he was drowning in a vat of lava, one delicious gulp at a time, and with each thick, heated swallow, a new and desperate memory flared to life within his mind.
Ashen fields set afire; the spark of embers floating through the air with the huff of soot, each flake flickering in a stale, humid wind. It burned his eyes, tore at his mind. His gut told him the ashes were the bones of his kinsmen. The embers their souls burning in the night.
Then the next pull of blood would bring another image, a rapid flash-forward of time; a field of orange poppies, a cabin, a creek. A woman with hair the color of violets, skin the soft blue of a summer sky. A sky he’d never seen before, and never would again. A feeling of happiness settled briefly deep into his bones. Laughter filled the light-bright world around him before it was rapidly replaced with blood and fire and madness.
The raiders came in the night, set the cabin afire, and killed the violet-haired beauty. Destroyed everything in thei
r path, the land awash in blood.
Again the images fast forwarded, scattered, and then stalled on the red-line desert. The sky became so thick with dust that when the rains came, the walls and streets wept blood. Blood that stalked the soul like a thirsty demon. It followed you everywhere, corrupted everything. Seeped into the flesh, poured from the mouth of the same madness that fueled the fires that had burned cities and killed the innocent, laying waste to what was left to the remnants of humanity. It filled the night with unending darkness. Then a single voice broke through that darkness and filled the world with light. Leah.
Ook closed his eyes. As soon as Ook used his magic to open the pathway that lead to Draven’s soul, his own history was revealed and the images were not any greater than his own.
The first rush immersed him in a thick, opaque cavity of darkness that stretched endlessly. It became a void within a void; an utter absence of light. It was a stillness so complete that the heart ceased to remember the memory of a rhythm, the pulse of emotion, the fraction or depth or spark of hope, life or dreams. This is what eternity’s loneliness must feel like, Ook thought briefly. He felt like the lost wandering in a null. Inside this utter emptiness was a lifetime of war, death and loneliness.
Through the haze images rushed his mind; men fought in bloody fields of scorched earth, screaming their final battle cries. Lasers and blades met flesh and Vranthian bodies sparked, and then burst into flames. A million fires lit up the darkness, their embers turning to dust, scattering with the wind. Each death marked a man’s memory, a shadow stalking the survivors. Blood and death, death and dark memories left to leave their own deep scars on a vacant skyline and the empty souls that battled on.
Many more battles on distant fields under different skies filled Ook’s mind, scenes changed, each death scraping against his own soul with sharp claws. They tore at his heart, wounding him as they had his Prince. Then the images suddenly paused, a brief illumination in the darkness; his Prince and his Liege, Prince Kuthar, one dark as the shadows themselves, the other as pale as the mist that scurries across the moons. Two fierce warriors, brothers in every way. Happy, if for but a moment. Laughing and carousing. Then the image shifted, reflecting the dark horse that stood between: Kantella, the betrayer.
The images that soon followed reflected the years of deceit, the lies and betrayals at the hands of one so like the other. The heavy burden these betrayals placed on his Prince’s soul. Each treachery led to another and another until a night on a distant planet; one more lie to bring about another battle with more causalities and cannon fodder standing in the way. Ook was a shadow to this memory, watching Prince Draven and his twin, Kantella, deep in battle, face to face.
Their powers propelled them above the ground where swords crossed against the backdrop of an odd, swirling, multi-colored purple and orange tinted sky. Blow after blow, their swords clashed. One advanced while the other parried a blow. Garbled words were uttered in anger and vehemence; each countered and re-countered. Their battle raged, onlookers unsure who would be victorious.
Kantella sneered, “She left you for me, brother. How does that make you feel? She left you and I took her. I took her blood and her body like any other common whore.”
Kantella’s vile laughter burned through Draven’s memories, and with it a power that lit the darkened skies.
Kantella became even more overbearing and zealous of his own prowess and debaucheries. While he taunted Draven with his sins and his unending transgressions; hoping to wear his brother down with each ugly iniquity he’d wrought on those Draven had loved, fought for, and was willing to die for, all in the name of his need to be King.
Kantella swung wide, the arc slicing round towards Draven’s midsection, but Draven anticipated the move. He shifted his sword a fraction to the left and undercut Kantella’s blade, lifted it straight from his stunned grip, setting it free of rigid fingers. With the moment and his hatred fueling his rage, Draven followed the swing through.
It was the warm heat of Kantella’s blood against his flesh that soothed the demon. The fire of blood-letting that cooled the beast. When Draven blinked beyond the haze and fury of every animal instinct that seethed beneath his flesh, it was his brother’s blood that called to him and when he looked upon his visage, the image reflected back was no longer his identical match.
“You will pay for this, brother,” Kantella vowed, while his blood flowed freely from the gash that spanned the length of his face. “It will end when next we meet. This I vow.”
“I would expect no less,” Draven calmly replied, as Kantella’s battle-scarred and bloody form faded before him.
The darkness shifted and Ook felt the world sway beneath and around him. The wind blew from every direction, icy cold and biting. It clawed at his flesh, tore at his empty belly. Nights rolled into weeks, weeks to months and months fading to an ever encroaching darkness. Loneliness and madness walked hand and hand with melancholy; each voice a shrew whispering tidings of nothingness in the hollowed out recesses of mind.
His men avoided him. Women shunned his company. Even his own brother, Kuthar, was too wrapped up in his own responsibilities and angst to worry about Draven’s losses. When their parents died of The Wasting, the wound grew deeper, his hatred for Kantella more complete. Then the summons came that Kantella had left another victim. Near death, she needed the blood of an ancient. She needed Draven.
Ook felt every rush of desire, hope, longing and hatred for Kantella as the memories of holding Leah in Draven’s arms flowed through him. The fire that had coursed through his veins when the blood exchange occurred.
It all confirmed his dreams...she was the hope of their people. She was the conduit that would seal their fates. He didn’t understand how or why, but he was certain with every ounce of his being and while the memories flowed between them; the taste of her, the feel of her flesh in Draven’s hands, he too tasted and felt and longed for her to make them complete. She was their trion. She would set them free.
When the exchange was finished, Draven and Ook released each other, tentatively. Their eyes met across the small distance that separated them. Magic and fire filled the air around them like a small force field. “I had heard,” Draven whispered, his voice filled with wonder, “that in times long since past, it was the unity of our races that kept us whole. But I never believed.”
Ook could only provide a small smile to the warrior, awed by the knowledge, the power and the man he was now bound to; the man who held his life in his hands. “I too was taught the old ways, but never thought them true.”
“We must find her,” Draven said.
“We will find her,” Ook agreed.
Chapter Seven
Leah woke to the still and utter sound of silence. Unsure of how much time had passed, she looked around Draven’s quiet quarters and felt his loss, but it was more than just the distance between she felt. She felt the weight of his absence, certain he’d been gone too long and that somehow her world was about to turn upside down, again.
Rising from his bed, she found the clothes that had been left for her and decided to quickly dress before the angst that was gathering inside her since waking, intensifying in her belly and spreading, proved her fears. Where are you, Draven, she wondered briefly.
The clothes he left her slid over her skin like soft silk, fitting to her form like the memory of his hands upon her flesh. Leah couldn’t escape the memory that invaded her thoughts. Wishing again that he were with her. Soothing her worries. His presence calming her. Reassuring her that things would be okay.
It reminded her of another presence in this strange world that had watched over her like a guardian angel. Ook. He’d been with her from the beginning when she had awoken in Latronda’s care. Stood guard over her. Watched her with a hunger she swore she felt even now brush against her skin.
She could still recall the way his intense tri-colored eyes bore into her across each distance every time their eyes had met, their amazing color burning
her everywhere they touched. The memory sent a shiver through her as if she could feel the two of them; their hunger, their need, as well as their deep-seated desire to protect her.
If she closed her eyes, it was as though she could picture them together, embraced in each other’s arms, surrounded by desires and magic older than time. When she breathed, their combined scents engulfed her. It filled her with longing. Awakened emotions she’d thought long dead.
“Draven’s a fool if he thought that he’d have you to himself. That I wouldn’t return to take what is rightfully mine.”
Just like that, the spell was broken, the images of Draven and Ook ripped from her mind while Kantella’s ugly ring of vile laughter tore her from her visions and slammed her right back into her worst nightmare. Leah turned to gaze into the dark, hate-filled eyes of Kantella, a sardonic smile twisting his lips.
He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, his large frame eating up the small space that separated them. Stricken, Leah watched in horror while dark thoughts danced across his eyes. Instinctively she knew that if he reached her, she’d be done for. There would be no hope for escape. No possibility of Draven saving her this time. No hope of Ook protecting her.
Dazed, she watched the natural progression of his reaching for her, her pulse slamming in her chest. Fear spiked through her veins like the cold rush of death, and she knew that if he touched her, there would be no going back.
Kantella lunged.
Leah couldn’t withhold the squeak of terror that escaped her parched lips. Like a ghost in the darkness she swore she heard Draven’s voice whisper through her mind, Run, Leah. She didn’t need to be told twice. In a leap of desperation, she dove across the bed, bounced along the edge of its coverlet and out the quickly closing door.
Kantella’s curses rang in her ears.
The hallway was narrow with many flat-paneled doors; overhead lights reflecting off entries and security handpads. This must be the crew quarters, Leah thought, running down the hall. She needed somewhere to hide.
