The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Initiation ritual, most species have it, Fern whispered in her mind. Ah. It made sense, but almost a woman at twelve years of —

  “Meddle?” Katenka’s pretty voice sounded rich and much older, rounded out with indignation. “I do know better, papa, better than you. You would delay for a year and a day and torture yourself with wondering if the caller of the blood will say yes or no.”

  Yevgeny’s face went hard and tight, eyes blazing. He stood up, fists at his sides, clearly speechless.

  Katenka crossed her frail arms over her chest, and narrowed her eyes in an all too adult look. “I do not have a year and a day, certainly not if the caller of the blood says no.” Those jade green eyes glanced over at Emma, and something young and small wavered in them, but only for a moment. “I would rather find out now.” She looked down at her lap. “I have many books to read, and maybe not much time in which to read them. Many games to play with the twins.” She sniffed delicately. “A lot of pancakes to eat.”

  Emma looked up at Yevgeny. His face was ashen and devastated. The rest of the room had ceased to exist for him, and there was only his daughter, white-blond hair like an artfully tattered cloud about her face and shoulders, small chin rock solid, jade eyes hooded. Everyone else was just as silent as Yevgeny, and Emma fancied some of the guards wished they could melt away into the walls. They were built for bodyguarding, not witnessing bizarre family dramas, or the plaintive wishes of a child readying herself to die.

  Seshua moved. Emma flinched as he pushed away from the wall. He came to stand beside her, heat swirling off his body, and he looked down at her with eyes almost midnight blue, several shades darker than his skin.

  “I think now would be a good time to tell them, pequeña. ”

  She blinked up at him in disbelief, leaning away, trying to resist the gravity his presence exerted. “Tell them?” He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

  He cocked his head, gaze roving over her face. “Unless you do not want it. Perhaps I have misjudged you.” His mouth curved into a thoughtful smile. “But I do not think I have.”

  Emma’s heart leapt. He did mean for her to tell the wolves about the pledge. He was letting her do as she willed. Well, letting was a bad word — it implied he was giving her permission, and she didn’t need permission, but she never expected to have it. And she sure as hell never expected the breathless little thrill that hummed through her when Seshua gave her that small smile, leaned toward her not to threaten her or stop her from —

  Emma, Fern’s mental voice jolted her back to reality. Warmth flamed up her cheeks. Focus, Em. She glanced at him, could barely meet his eyes, but all she saw in them was compassion and sincere concentration. The wolves will go nuts if you don’t tell them something soon.

  She looked around and found Yevgeny staring at her with muscles standing out in his neck and jaw, fists clenched and knuckles white. His hair actually shifted about his shoulders, slow, restless — for all the world as though there were a breeze, but there was none. Nadya and the king’s second in command were both ramrod straight and pale, nostrils wide, whites of their eyes showing all the way around.

  Katenka’s eyes were on Seshua, though. When she felt Emma’s attention on her, her glance slid sideways, and a small wondrous smile filled her eyes first, lifting one corner of her mouth reluctantly.

  What was she smiling at?

  Emma took a deep breath, didn’t know who to look at. She settled for Katenka. “I don’t need sex to accept the pledge.” There: like ripping off a band-aid. Better to do it fast. “When the jackals pledged to me, the prince and I…we didn’t have to.”

  Yevgeny didn’t relax at first. “But the prophecies say —”

  “They don’t say it,” Fern interrupted, “Not outright.”

  Yevgeny looked at him as though he’d just appeared out of nowhere. “But what does it… It clearly states there must be a sacrifice of the body, that the flesh must submit, that the essence must be accepted by the caller of the blood.” He shook his head. “How —”

  “Blood, ” Katenka said. She looked up at her father. “She’s the caller of the blood. Blood is of the body, and in order to give it, the flesh must submit… Makes sense, da? ”

  Yevgeny blinked, and so did Emma. Hell, so did everyone. But it was Anton who spoke, voice low and hard with restraint. “It does not make sense. Our kind don’t bargain with blood. That’s for the soul-eaters. ”

  Oh, crap. Anton hadn’t been in Egypt, hadn’t been told, didn’t know, and Emma had never exactly felt like bringing it up. It wasn’t as though she’d skipped home from the jackal kingdom and announced to everyone that she didn’t need to bang anyone to save the lives of her loved ones, after all — break out the champagne.

  Emma turned to meet his eyes, and it hurt — they were the hardest gemstone green she had ever seen them, no soft, lush rainforest in his eyes for her now. Just great. “It’s true, Anton. The pledge needs blood, not sex.”

  Anton flinched. She would have expected him to be happy — everyone else had been. Red Sun shifted his weight against the dresser, leaning toward Anton. “There was a time our rituals had more to do with blood than anything else, my friend.” Red’s tone was conversational, but the look in his dark brown eyes as he glanced at Emma was sharp as knives. “The rise of the aneshtevannir made us abandon much of the old code, but the prophecy was birthed in blood. The gods remember, even if we don’t.”

  Anton looked at Emma as though he didn’t recognize her, as though searching her face for some trace of the thing that had accepted the jackal prince’s pledge, the thing that sunk teeth into the firm muscle at the base of Kahotep’s neck, jaw quaking with the effort of breaking skin, crushing tissue, tongue jumping against the sweet, hot trickle.

  Anton was right. It was a thing for the aneshtevannir — the soul-eaters.

  Vampires.

  Did he think she was proud? Did he think she didn’t wake in the middle of the night with the taste of it coating her teeth, the scent of rain and ruin all around her, the feel of Kahotep’s body against hers reminding her she’d been about to give up everything just for a chance to save them all? She’d gained so much, but at the time it had felt like dying, like offering her life for theirs; Fern, the guards, the maidens. Alexi.

  Like stepping out into the void. She hadn’t known what would happen, hadn’t known it would work. Only hoped.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Yevgeny. Emma flinched and turned. Yevgeny fixed her with his wolf-eyes, and something fierce yet achingly fragile burst to life in their depths. “If I offer the pledge, will you —”

  “Whoa!” Emma held both hands up, scalp tingling. Even those few words from Yevgeny shot straight to the base of her skull and sang there like a bell, the faintest echo of what she would feel if Yevgeny uttered the words of the pledge for real. “You haven’t put it all together, wolf king.” He frowned, twitching with a stifled snarl. Emma lowered her hands. “The pledge doesn’t have to involve sex, so…”

  Emma looked at Katenka. The princess was a step ahead of her dad, pale green eyes alight, snowy skin nearly glowing.

  Yevgeny sucked in a breath. Emma’s gaze flicked to him, and he met her eyes, and the intensity of his stare nearly peeled her skin right off. “Katenka can offer the pledge.” His voice was hollow. His cheeks looked sunken, suddenly so tired, something brittle in the way his eyes narrowed.

  “If Emma wishes to accept,” said Seshua, “Then yes. It is conceivable that the princess may offer the pledge.”

  Emma frowned and craned her neck to look up at Seshua. “I hear a but coming.”

  His gaze slid from Emma’s face to the princess. “But, will it work?”

  “Why wouldn’t it?” Nadya’s voice was deeper than was flattering. She flicked hair over her shoulder, husky-dog eyes burning into Emma’s.

  “Because,” Seshua said, not exactly lying, “The princess is young. And unwell.” Not lying. Not telling the truth either.

 
; Katenka narrowed her eyes at Seshua, but didn’t say anything. Emma moved a little closer, trying for some privacy. “Katenka.”

  The princess looked at her, jade eyes liquid. “Yes?”

  Emma willed herself not to look away. “Do you want to try this, even if it might not fix you? Do you understand what the pledge is, what it does?” Shit, how could she possibly understand?

  Katenka smiled, and one cheek dimpled. “Do you understand what it does?”

  Emma opened her mouth, closed it. Straightened and put her hands on her hips. Katenka just cocked her head, a mild, smug expression on her face.

  Finally, Emma sighed. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

  Katenka broke out into a grin. “Better than you do.”

  “So humble, too.” Emma shook her head and looked up at Yevgeny. “How about you?”

  Yevgeny looked down his thick nose at her. “I am afraid I am not humble either.” When Emma rolled her eyes he shook his head, faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I understand, as well as I can. All I care about is giving Katya a chance.”

  Emma sobered. “You make it really confusing to be afraid of you.”

  The wolf king looked at her, face smoothing out, until there was no expression to distract from the animal intensity of his eyes, as though the wolf was physically caged by his humanity. The kind of piercing, soul-spearing look that all wolves, caged or wild, could give, the one that simply dissolved like sweet, swift acid through all the ugly layers of what made you a person and saw whatever you had left underneath.

  Emma fancied that look had much to do with why men had tried to erase wolves from the face of the Earth.

  He blinked, and the look was gone; Emma felt judged somehow, and didn’t know how she’d fared.

  She had a split second warning as Fern went tense beside her, that was all, before Katenka said, “I would be willing sacrifice to your altar.”

  The words hit Emma like a wall, a wall made of singing steel, whistling in her ears. She gasped.

  Katenka’s eyes widened. “My body is proof of the pledge.”

  Emma’s breath came faster, the world dropped away, all she saw was jade eyes in a pale, frail face.

  Katenka’s chin trembled. “Do you accept?”

  Emma was a bell, the words ringing behind her eyes, the feel of them awful and vast. Panic rose like bile in her throat as memories slammed into her, as something fluid like desire rose from her stomach to her breastbone, stretching beneath her lungs. Her breath came faster, tighter, harder.

  “Kat—” she gasped, tried again, “Katenka.” Her voice, breathless, the magic of the pledge hanging in the air like a thick fleshy weight. She felt Fern’s hand on her arm, fingers strong and familiar. “What am I supposed to do about the blood, Katenka?” Wait, that wasn’t what she’d meant to ask — how did Katenka know the pledge, how did she know —

  Katenka thrust her hand toward Emma, eyes frightened, determined. “Do you accept?”

  Emma’s left hand reached out of its own accord, fingers brushing the princess’s, sparks biting at their fingertips. Cold fire raced up Emma’s arm and settled behind her ribs, pulsing there, pulling, willing her to take Katenka’s hand. She did, holding it palm up, so fragile — so damn cold. Shouldn’t be so cold, not a shapechanger.

  Emma breathed in, caught the dusky, woody scent of cherries — and something underneath it, fermented and dark, Katenka’s scent sliding and dissolving into the burn of sickness. Katenka being broken down, Katenka dying; she didn’t know how she knew, whose power she called on without thinking to be able to tell, she just knew without a doubt that she was not mistaken — the sweet, living scent of the wolf princess was in decay, like fruit withering on the bough.

  The words rose out of memory, and up from somewhere deeper, some place where the entire world tilted inside of Emma’s head. “My body is vessel for the blood,” she said, lips moving too slow, the texture of the words riding her voice vaguely obscene. “And I accept.”

  Katenka’s eyes were the only thing in the world; together their breath whooshed out of their lungs, Katenka’s hand convulsed in Emma’s, fingers clenching, tangling. Emma’s skin flushed, Katenka’s lips parted, fear beating its thick drum against the slim column of the girl’s throat and suddenly the hand in Emma’s didn’t feel good enough right enough hot enough —

  Someone’s hand on her wrist, not Katenka, lifting their twined hands toward Emma’s face. Fern’s scent, sunwarmed sheets, baking bread, grounding her —

  Cherries. A thick dark perfume, something like metal rushing beneath the surface.

  Blood.

  Emma remembered what she was doing, couldn’t do it like this, they should have had more time. The magic of the pledge pressed down on them, heavy and warm, aching, straining to claim them — the need, the desire, not sexual, not yet and thank the many gods for that, but whatever it was it leapt between Emma and the wolf princess and it pulled as though it didn’t know where to go.

  Control. She didn’t know if it was her thought or Fern’s, but she obeyed, blinking, gasping for air, muscles straining and shaking against nothing, nothing physical anyway. “Open the call, Katenka.” Her voice shook so bad she didn’t recognize it, but Katenka understood, didn’t need to be told twice.

  Emma smelled the power first, like a curl of dry ice up her nostrils, and then it devoured her. She made a sound, breath drowning in her chest as goosebumps sliced up her arms and down her back and over her knees, seizing her feet and her elbows, making her jerk upright and stumble. Seshua caught her with big, hot hands, sat her on the bed as though she were a doll, but she barely felt it, because the feel of Katenka’s beast slid over her hand where they held fast to each other, and it breathed through the space between their bodies like a phantom.

  So weak, Emma thought, sagging, propping herself against the bed with her free hand. So much power in the call, but Katenka’s beast itself was a shadow, its essence, the invisible feel of it prickling, tickling like fur, humming and skipping and rubbing against Emma’s skin, pulsing like a fading light to the time of Katenka’s shallow breath.

  The princess saw the shock on Emma’s face. “What’s wrong?” Her voice a high, clear song, vibrating with fear.

  I don’t know, Emma thought, bit back an ugly sound of despair, felt Fern’s mind pressing against hers. I don’t think I’m strong enough.

  Fern wedded his will to hers, pouring strength into her. It didn’t matter; it was not Katenka’s strength. Her beast wasn’t dying, or twisting in upon itself, it was just faint, so faint Emma didn’t know what to do with it — except try.

  She dredged the words up, opened her mouth and trusted them to come. “Your body is proof of the pledge,” she whispered, and it echoed. “But your blood is the pledge itself. My body is vessel for the blood.” She raised Katenka’s small hand in her own, fear rising, the spell of the pledge not quite enough to stop her from wondering if she could do it — if she could really —

  Fern shoved power at her through their bond, dark and smoky and pure. She felt it turn her eyes black, felt the flush of it like adrenalin singing through her bloodstream, power and faith and belief and a crystalline, diamond hard love that was indestructible.

  “I am the caller of the blood,” she said finally, and with Fern’s resolve keeping her steady, she lifted Katenka’s hand to her mouth and closed her teeth around the muscle beneath the girl’s thumb — and bit down.

  16

  Emma held Katenka’s eyes, only Fern’s iron grip on her mind preventing her from gagging. Not even the spell of the pledge could take the edge off.

  Katenka clenched her jaw, jade eyes blazing, fierce and brave. If only I could be so brave, Emma thought — then her teeth crunch-popped through skin and thicker tissue, and blood seemed to leap onto her tongue.

  Like fire, like a punch to the gut, stars exploded behind Emma’s eyes, sound erupted avalanche-thick in her ears — she swallowed, coated her throat with livin
g metal, fruity copper salty warmth going down like magic, like live champagne, power blooming in her mouth and spilling through the rest of her body.

  Katenka’s beast was so weak, but her blood so strong.

  Emma drew back and clamped her lips shut, and then her fingers went nerveless and she dropped Katenka’s hand, sagging back blindly, Seshua catching her.

  She heard Russian. Yevgeny’s rich, heavy voice, firing rapidly, Nadya murmuring in the background. Somebody else swore.

  Emma wondered why her ears were functioning, why she could think, why she wasn’t a twitching mess; she held her breath, waiting for the power to hit her.

  It didn’t. She opened her eyes. Light sensitive, she squinted. She could suddenly hear Seshua’s heartbeat, feel it through her back. Her skin felt raw and she could taste the soured sweetness of blood — she could also sense Katenka, a warmth, a presence, more than the girl’s small physical form. She closed her eyes, still felt the princess, a subtle pressure against — against what? Some boundary, some edge of psychic or magical awareness she never even realized she had.

  But it wasn’t the same as it had been with Kahotep. She couldn’t feel Katenka’s blood rushing through her veins, feel invisible strings of power threading out of the girl and into her own body.

  Emma opened her eyes. Katenka was slumped against the cushions, breathing hard, hand curled against her breast. Yevgeny had one hand on her shoulder and it looked as though it should hurt, his knuckles white, tension singing up his arm. His face looked somehow fragile and thunderous at the same time.

  He blinked those wolf eyes and Emma smelled loam, mud, hot with electricity. Scorched earth.

  But his voice was even when he spoke. “That did not go according to plan, did it?”

  Seshua growled. Emma realized it was because of the look Yevgeny was giving her. She patted Seshua’s arm and tried to sit up so she wasn’t flush against his chest. “Not exactly.” Seshua’s hands closed around her upper arms, locking her in place, stinging her sensitive skin. She bit back a hiss and let her head fall back on his shoulder, giving into her exhaustion for a second. “Let me go, Seshua,” she whispered. “Now is not a good time. I’ve got, like, the worst case of PMS in the universe, okay?”