Janrae Frank - [Lycan Blood 02] - Fireborn Law

by Fireborn Law [lit]

  "And the rest of the time?"

  "I thought I loved him."

  "He seemed like such a distasteful little mon I won't pretend to understand the attraction. However, I do understand grief."

  "He wasn't as bad as people thought he was. Cullen was funny and sweet. He told stories that made me laugh." Kady choked up again. "He didn't deserve to die like that."

  "No one does." Except Alistar Weems.

  "Don't be upset with me."

  Cahira tilted her head, questions furrowing her brow. "For what?"

  "My my menses are late."

  "I see." Cahira grasped Kady's wrist and extended her Reader's gift through Kady's body. A frown deepened on her face. "It's nearly a month old. Whose is it?"

  "I don't know. It can't be Gorgarty's must be someone else's."

  "Explain."

  Kady sucked a shaky breath. "Just before Kynyr left for Hell's Widow, he drove off three myn who were raping me. Two of them had had already shot their wads." She choked up. "The third he was just starting to poke me..." Kady swallowed back a sob. "when Kynyr grabbed him."

  "Do you know who they were?"

  "I used to serve them drinks at the Difficult Horse." Kady's voice wavered. "It wasn't wasn't the first time. They'd been stalking me ambushing me acted like it was a game."

  "Who are they?"

  "They'll kill me if I tell." Kady scrunched up more, pulling away from Cahira.

  Cahira sighed and crawled onto the bed, forcing Kady to either slide off the other side or stop retreating. The aged healer gathered Kady into her arms and held her as the young bitch wept, finally releasing all the pent up pain accumulated since her father discovered her affair with Cullen. "Kady, Todd and I will not let them hurt you. Just tell me their names. You trust Todd, don't you?"

  Kady struggled to subdue her sobs and speak. She gave a small nod against Cahira's shoulder. "Yes."

  "Tell me their names?"

  "Kynyr knows them. Cormic Parry, the tanner's son. Keith and Donald Greenlea. Iollan Newell ... First time they did it, they beat me until I couldn't stand up." The words caught in Kady's throat and she had to force them out in increments.

  "It's too late to go to the lawgiver. Legally such things must be reported before sunset of the second day."

  "I know."

  "Get the tansy off the shelf, Kady. It tastes nasty, so get yourself a piece of that honey candy to follow it with. You'll be rid of this abomination before morning."

  Kady pulled herself together and headed for the door to go downstairs into the shop. A long howl of grief broke from down the hall. A stricken look came over her face and she halted with her hand on the door facing. "Kynyr"

  "Ramsey's dead," Cahira said quietly.

  Kady ran all the way to the infirmary. The folding screen had been overturned. Kynyr sat on the bed, Ramsey clutched to his chest. He had shifted far into the hybrid form, his snout elongated, golden fur covering him. Kynyr's head was thrown back as he howled and keened. Finn stood next to him, looking dazed and helpless, his hand on Kynyr's shoulder. Kady immediately went to them. She brushed Finn aside with an admonitory finger pointed at his bed. Then she gently, yet firmly, separated Kynyr from Ramsey's corpse, drew Kynyr's arm across her shoulders. "Come along. Lean on me."

  Kynyr allowed himself to be taken back to his room. They passed Cahira, Todd, and Cooley in the hallway. Cooley's eyes were large and his mouth trembled. Todd lifted the cub into his arms and carried him to the kitchen for cookies and comfort.

  Once inside Kynyr's room, Kady threw back the covers and settled him on the bed as his hybrid form faded back to human. Kynyr seized her, dragging Kady onto the bed with him, and clung to her, desperate for comfort. She murmured soothing noises until his lips covered hers, putting a stop to it. He parted her lips and slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Kady's loins tightened as their tongues danced and darted over each other. A hunger for joining her body to his came over her in a wave of intensity she had only felt with Cullen.

  But when his hand went to her breast, Kady pushed away from him. "No. I'm not ready for this."

  "Kady" he reached for her again. "I need you, Kady. Please."

  "No. Not now."

  "Please, Kady. Comfort me"

  "Kynyr, I'm sorry I can't handle it."

  She fled the room.

  * * * *

  Darmyk opened his window, climbed onto the sill and stood balanced there in his bare feet. Climbing came easier barefoot. He bounded onto the broad limb that pushed against the stones beneath his window, walking cautiously with his arms extended to both sides, and when he came close enough to his goal, his huge two-story treehouse, Darmyk leaped inside. Kenly lay curled on the bed there, gnawing on a leg bone from something he had caught the previous night. Darmyk had not yet learned to identify Kenly's kills so he never knew exactly what animal was being eaten. His cat did not need to go hunting, but Kenly liked to.

  The cub settled next to his cat and leaned against him. His friends, Cooley and the Scott brothers, had not come by in over a week and he felt lonely. He missed Kynyr and Finn also. Since the ambush, which Darmyk had over heard the adults talking about, the only playmates he had left were two that he no longer liked.

  He heard shoes scrabbling against the bark of his tree, the creak of the ropes knotted to the deck of his treehouse, and the bumping of two small bodies against the solid trunk as the young invaders struggled with the shifting braided hemp ladder. That would be Ros and Lyrri outside. A flash of resentment and possessiveness sped through him.

  "This is my treehouse, not theirs," muttered Darmyk.

  Darmyk did not understand why the two girls could not climb as easily as he did. His mother always told him that it was because they were not born to a lycan mother, but Darmyk suspected it might be simply that they were girls. Going to the doorway, Darmyk stared down at them contending with the rope ladder. Ros had a determined look on her face that Darmyk suspected boded ill for him once she got inside. Lyrri seemed uncertain and half scared like always, glancing at the ground every time the ladder shifted.

  "What do you want?" He wished he had thought to pull the ladder up when he first reached the treehouse, because the two girls never used his way of getting into it.

  "To play with you," Ros said. Her damaged leg had a hard time with the rope, so she moved slowly. She bumped Lyrri's face with her foot and Lyrri yelped.

  Darmyk snickered at Lyrri getting bumped, and then his lower lip thrust out beneath the upper one. He considered having Kenly prevent them from reaching the deck. "I don't want to play with you."

  Ros gave him one of those smiles that melted the adults and irritated Darmyk. "I've thought of a new game."

  Darmyk tilted his head, deliberating for an instant. He got so little attention since they and their uncle moved into the manor that he felt tempted to let them inside. "What kind?"

  "I can't tell you until I get there," responded Ros with a touch of impatience, climbing another rung higher. "Is Kenly up there?"

  "Yes." So they were going to bring up Kenly again. It used to be that they both liked playing with his cat, but lately Ros was always trying to get him to send Kenly away.

  "Send him away, or I won't tell you about the new game."

  Darmyk's lips tightened. It was just as he had suspected. "I don't want to."

  Ros smiled again and her voice turned coaxing. "Yes, you do. Lyrri likes the new game."

  Darmyk sighed, his hands tightening into fists. "I don't want to."

  Ros' face transformed in fury, and the promise of violence in her eyes seemed to burn into Darmyk's core, frightening him. "I'll tell Uncle Malthus that you're being bad again."

  His step-father's name squashed Darmyk's defiance. He had never been spanked before Malthus came, and he had always tried to be a good boy, yet it seemed like every time he turned around his step-father was smacking him over something. He backed away from the door. "Go hunt, Kenly," he ordered the cat.

 
Kenly made a spitting noise and sprang from the window.

  Ros limped inside with a look of triumph on her face. Lyrri stepped around her so that Darmyk was suddenly standing between them. Darmyk had a very bad feeling about this, and started to call Kenly back, hoping that the cat had not yet gone beyond hearing him. Ros grabbed his arm, jerking him toward her and off balance. Lyrri shoved something into his mouth. He reached to dig it out, and Ros caught that arm also. Darmyk twisted, trying to get his arms loose as Lyrri shoved and Ros pulled, until they forced him backwards onto the straw bed. While Lyrri sat on him, Ros jerked his robe open. Her fangs came down.

  Darmyk thrashed wildly, but could not free himself. He had not known that she had fangs.

  Ros pinned his head to the side and sank her fangs into his neck. He writhed a moment, and then stilled as a deep languor stole over him in response to her sucking. Her tiny, immature fangs left hardly a mark when she pulled out of him.

  Most female sa'necari got their fangs with their menses. Ros, however, was a prodigy; she had been born with fangs and more arcane power than many adults. She touched Darmyk's forehead and sent him to sleep with the same spell that her uncle sometimes used on her and Lyrri.

  "Did you kill him?" asked Lyrri, who at six years old was a year younger than Ros. "Uncle Malthus wants to do that."

  Ros wiped her mouth off on a black handkerchief, shoved it back into her pocket, and smirked at her sister in a know-it-all way. "No. And Darmyk won't remember either. Next time we won't have to knock him down. He'll open his robe for me."

  Lyrri stroked Darmyk's neck, her eyes glittering with fascination, and admiration for her older sister. "Can you teach me?"

  Ros shrugged disdainfully. "What use would that be? You don't have enough power yet."

  Lyrri glared at her sister. "You're not fair."

  "I'm not fair? It isn't my fault you're a normie, and I'm not. You just have to wait."

  Lyrri's expression darkened and she stalked to the ladder.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  VISITS

  Malthus returned at dawn, having left two fresh killed deer at the camp, before riding onto the manor. As he rode past the garden, Malthus noticed that something had changed. At first it did not register, and then he realized the arch was gone and his heart leaped up in his chest.

  He dismounted in the stableyard, throwing his reins to Georgie Rogan.

  "Congratulations." Georgie bowed, nodded, smiled, and practically fell all over himself with happiness. "We got us a real heir this time."

  Malthus beamed at him. "Thank you. It's a fine day."

  Merissa sat in the great hall, sipping a soothing tea, and picking at buttered scones. She looked peaked and her color was a bit paler than usual. She rose when Malthus entered, reaching out to him.

  "Darling, the arch is gone," Malthus said as he crossed the room.

  "Are you happy?"

  Malthus embraced her tightly and thoroughly kissed her, forgetting that Claw and Aisha were in the room. "Let's go upstairs, and I'll show you how happy I am."

  Hours later, Malthus lay gazing at Merissa sleeping beside him. His fangs descended. Knowing that she carried his child, made him hungry to taste her just once, just a little. He slipped the blade of his power into her sleeping mind, and placed a tiny compulsion there, not enough for anyone to notice, not enough to change her behavior except in one way. He could now make her sleep at his command, and only he could wake her before the light of dawn shone in her eyes. Four hickeys marred the pale skin of her neck.

  He placed his finger beside the largest, as his tongue slid over his needle like fangs. With the spot marked, Malthus gently sank his fangs into the center of the bruise, and sucked. She tasted delicious. He extended his awareness through her being, and found his child. No, children. Twins. Sa'necari. Both male. And over a month old.

  A small wave of anger rippled through Malthus. Why had she not told him sooner? Lycans, like sa'necari, and other gifted races, usually knew within days. He laid his hand lightly upon her stomach, and reached his powers into her womb. With a small twist around the tiny embryos, Malthus cast a deception over them. The Readers would perceive both of them as lycan. That would please the old bastard Claw at least long enough for his heart to give out.

  * * * *

  Claw returned from riding the fence with his myn. He always did his full share of the fence mending, herding, and other tasks. With the first scent of autumn in the air, a lot needed to be done. The herds had to be moved into the nearer pens and corrals. He was a lord of farmers and herders unlike the sa'necari lords who sat on their ass and expected their people to do all of it for them. That day the work had taken more out of him than usual.

  He dropped into his chair, fighting a wave of dizziness and exhaustion far beyond anything he could recall feeling before.

  It was worse than the day he struggled with the arch, and far, far worse than Merissa's wedding day. It had developed with such suddenness that it worried Claw more than he allowed himself to admit. He took Baroucha's medicine from his pocket and swigged it like liquor. Only Morcar, who he always sent to pick up the medicine from Baroucha, knew that something was wrong with the chieftain.

  He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.

  Claw heard footsteps approaching, and recognized them, but felt too weary to open his eyes until forced to.

  Soft, gentle hands touched his face. "Are you all right, Claw? You're deathly pale."

  Claw made an annoyed smacking sound with his lips as he parted his lids. "I'm fine, Fianait. Just very tired."

  Fianait kissed her brother's forehead. "I wish Brock would come home."

  Claw closed his eyes again. "I do too."

  "Are you happy about Merissa?"

  "Yes. But I'm not entirely happy about her choice of husband."

  "Malthus seems like such a nice fellow to me. He's been very helpful." Fianait put her lips to Claw's forehead and then drew back. "No fever. Why don't you go upstairs and have a nap?"

  Claw opened one eye to glare balefully at his younger sister. "Stop fussing. I'll doze a bit in the chair."

  Sleep came, a deeper sleep than he expected and when he woke, someone had tucked a blanket around him. Life with three pushy females was not all bad. He would refrain from asking whether it had been Aisha, Fianait, or Searlait.

  * * * *

  Malthus washed, changed into a fine set of clothes, and strode off into the village to exercise his bragging rights at the taverns. Played right, Merissa's pregnancy might help him regain some of the face he had lost the day of Eideard's funeral.

  He went into the Difficult Horse, and spied Shalto and Oswyl sitting with two other members of their small gang called the Lycamornots, Preece and Yren. Although Shalto was nominally the leader, they all answered to Malthus, who had shown them how to take control of their lives and squeeze more out of it. Preece was a sturdy young wolf with skin burned to a nut brown by the hours he spent laboring in the sun, and the quietest one of them. Malthus liked scrawny Yren best. There was not much to Yren physically, he looked like a stick figure with a mop of reddish brown hair, but he made up for it feistiness and he liked to hurt people. Malthus found it extremely easy to point Yren like a crossbow and trigger him off like a bolt to its target. He disliked Oswyl, although he never let it show. Oswyl got squeamish too easily. Sooner or later one of them would have to kill Oswyl.

  Malthus sat down at their table, and cast his eye over the room. "Drinks for all, on me," he shouted. "My fine lady wears her apron high."

  A roar of congratulations went up throughout the tavern, and old Hereward the tavern master shouted, "Nah, first one's on me. This one's our proper heir!"

  Their words sent a shiver of delight over Malthus at his evident success at fitting in with the lycan community. Merissa's pregnancy appeared to have clinched his inclusion, as he had known it would.

  Shalto leaned in and whispered low, "Now that you've cocked-up Merissa, what are you going
to do about the others you've gotten full-in-the-belly?"

  Malthus' gaze slithered around the tavern, scrupulously avoiding meeting Shalto's eyes. He spied Todd Sinclair sitting near the west wall with Kady Wiggins and Erskine Faraday. They did not join in the congratulating, but merely watched him with something indecipherable in their eyes. It spoiled the moment for Malthus. "We'll discuss that at the cottage. I'll meet you there later?"

  "Sure."

  Oswyl looked thoughtful. "I wonder if any of the others who are up the stick are carrying my seed?"

  Preece propped his elbows on the table, and asked, "How many are blooming? We've had our sticks in all of them."

  Malthus scowled at them. "Eleven. This isn't the time or place. You don't want to betray the camp, now do you? Baroucha would be handing out tansy before you could claim them."

  The four youths sobered.

  "We'll take this elsewhere," said Shalto.

  Malthus allowed himself to be congratulated, and after a suitable time, he excused himself and walked to his old house at the far western edge of the camp with Shalto and Oswyl. He kept the cottage provisioned with liquor and other niceties, and it had become their meeting place since Malthus' arrival late last spring. Preece and Yren had gone to get the rest of the gang.

  A large, rough-hewn table occupied the yard with tree rounds as chairs. Thickets of trees grew close to the cottage, and Malthus had refused to allow them to be logged because he preferred the thick curtain of privacy they provided him with. He had also chosen to build this cottage on the westernmost corner of the land belonging to the refugee camp.

  "It's a pleasant night," Malthus said. "Why don't you sit under the stars while I fetch us all some tankards of mead?"

  "Did you get it from Hereward?" asked Shalto eagerly.

  "Absolutely." Malthus went in and took out three deliberately mismatched tankards, one a coppery color with a hunting scene in bas relief, the second was a goldish tone with a leaping stag, and the third bore a dragon wrapped around a tree. He had twelve more tankards in his cupboard and none of them matched. He turned the tap on a keg and filled each one, then sat them on the table.