The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Somebody smoothed hair from her forehead. The touch made her convulse, brought the smell of blood climbing back up her throat again.

  “Wh-wh-what the fuck. Have you done to me.” Teeth chattering, so cold. Warmth threading up from her fingertips, but still, so cold.

  Alan’s face appeared above her. Hair mussed. A smear of red on his jaw, near his ear. He cocked his head, put his palm on Emma’s forehead, his skin smooth and cool and repulsive.

  “Saved your life, my dear,” he said, voice warm and rich with some emotion Emma couldn’t name. “You’ll feel better in a moment. You shouldn’t have woken up this soon, but it seems you do heal a little quicker than an average human.” His pale eyes narrowed, seemed to glint with gold light. “It’s good, actually. I’ve a few questions. Feel like a chat?”

  Great, Emma thought, he was even more gonzo now than he had been before. She licked her lips, wished she hadn’t, set her jaw against the feel of bile crawling up her throat. “Fuh-fuh-fuck you. I got questions of my own.” Pain seized her, wrapped around her ribcage and dragged hot claws across it, and she gasped, arching off the table, eyes rolling back. Hands on her shoulders and legs kept her from jackknifing to the floor in a heap.

  When she slumped, spent, she refocused on Alan. “What did you do to him?”

  Alan straightened and Emma turned her head to keep him in sight — and caught a glimpse of the rest of him. His shirt was gone, and his smooth, golden chest was smeared with blood. Oh, God. She glanced up; Robert and Vahan loomed either side of her, their hands pinning her down, neither of them looking any better than Alan. But it was a glance down her own body that sent her heart bolting into her throat and raised a fast, frenzied wave of gooseflesh; she wore only her panties, and she was covered in blood, and beneath the tacky, viscous, fruity copper-smelling goo, her stomach was a red and purple mass of raised stripes. A wave of horror rolled through her, seemed to turn her bones heavy and liquid. She closed her eyes.

  “Perhaps you would be better served asking what we did to you,” Alan said, sounding almost smug. “A similar enough thing to what we did to him — the process, anyway. A little less complicated, in your case, and the results are sure to be less spectacular — that is, if you find the notion of my saving your life unimpressive.”

  Emma opened her eyes, stifling a scream. She could not lose it, she had to keep it together. She was alive, wasn’t she? There was only one kind of worse it could get.

  She gritted her teeth and glared at Alan. “Anytime you wanna start making sense, feel free.”

  A slow, wide smile claimed Alan’s face, more frightening than anything he could have said or done. His gaze flicked down the length of her body, and when his eyes came back to rest on her face, there was nothing human left in them — only a gold, sparkling void.

  “We turned him, the wolf boy,” Alan said, face boyish with glee. “Only seventeen years old, but so strong. Shapechangers are naturally immune to vampirism, but with a little science, we overcame that hurdle. I should have had him killed for what he did to you, but you’ve given him hope now, and that’s priceless, my dear. Priceless.”

  Emma struggled to sit. “Ah,” Alan said sharply, holding up a finger. “You’re too weak. You’ve had enough vampire blood to put an ordinary human into a coma, and you’re healing fast, but not that fast.”

  He couldn’t be saying what he was saying. Emma’s mind tried to shut it out and couldn’t, but it didn’t matter, what they’d done to her wasn’t important right now. “Why the hell are you doing this? What use are they to you, monsters you can’t control?”

  Alan’s smile faded around the edges, but the fierce light in his eyes didn’t. “A new Dark Age, Emma. All your human weapons are only useful to a point. There must be a real monster to keep you all frightened, like sheep, once I destroy enough of your pathetic modern civilization to give the monsters a fighting chance.”

  He’d stopped making sense. “I thought you hated how pliant humanity had become.” Emma’s voice shook no matter how hard she tried to control it. “Aren’t we already sheep? Why bother?”

  The smile finally died. “You are worse than sheep,” Alan hissed. “At least sheep know they are in danger when the wolf walks in their midst. They cannot fight back, but at least they run. ”

  “You’re fucking crazy,” Emma said.

  Alan leaned in, eyes two golden, shimmering holes. The bones of his face stood out, skin gleaming with something like liquid light. “Six thousand years, Emma,” he whispered. “I’m more than crazy.” He smiled again, and his fine, straight teeth had pointed tips — three each side on the top row, two each side on the bottom. Curved and perfect.

  Alan straightened. “Enough stalling,” he said, as though his mouth wasn’t crammed with fangs. “There is something very important we must discuss.” He looked away, and Emma tried to follow his gaze but couldn’t see past her own feet, couldn’t sit up to look. “Bring her,” Alan said.

  The sound of movement, and then Emma heard Katenka’s low moan. Her heart sank. She squeezed her eyes shut, refused to cry.

  “Look,” Alan said. “This is interesting, is it not?”

  Damn it. Emma opened her eyes — and for a second, she didn’t recognize the princess. Then she bucked, stomach muscles contracting and tearing with shearing agony, but she managed to get a foot free. She kicked out, pain blooming all over her torso, black spots swarming her vision. “What have you done to her, you fucking —”

  “We have done nothing, Emma,” Alan said, and the force in his tone stopped her. She blinked, stared at Katenka.

  The girl was gray and blue, lips a dark, sick purple, eyelids bruised. She hung in the arms of one of the foot soldiers like a ragdoll, a heap of bones and papery skin, little chest flickering as she drew shallow breaths. Her limbs seemed to twist toward each other, impossibly thin, and Katenka’s once-sharp, blazing bright features were slack and gaunt.

  Emma’s voice came out small. “Katenka?”

  Those bruised lids lifted a fraction; murky green eyes met Emma’s. “Alive,” Katenka whispered. “Just.” One arm flopped down, swung. Her fingertips twitched, and Emma knew Katenka was trying to reach out to her.

  “LET ME GO! ” Emma kicked out and connected with something, she got her foot up under her and lurched off the table, whip-fast, grabbed for the girl — their fingers brushed and then Vahan slammed her back onto the table. For a second she couldn’t see, couldn’t move, the world was brightly lit agony, and when it cleared she was screaming.

  “If she doesn’t touch me she’ll die!” Emma’s voice broke and she turned to Alan, willing him to let her go, daring him to. He looked like all his Christmases had come at once.

  “Yes,” he said, calm and infuriating. “I realize that now. Tell me, if you want the girl to live — how is it you’ve managed to sustain a psychic connection with someone outside of this compound, without my knowledge?”

  Emma’s insides spasmed, fear finally filling her head with white noise. Damn it, had to think, had to —

  “No, wait,” Alan said, feigning indecision with a frown and a finger to his chin. “That’s not what I really want to know. What I really want to know is…” His gaze slid to Katenka, and quicker than Emma could follow with her eyes, he snatched the girl out of the soldier’s arms and dangled her from the collar of her dress like a kitten.

  Emma wailed, couldn’t help herself. Alan shook Katenka. “Why couldn’t you control number ninety six, Emma? Why? ”

  Oh, fuck.

  Emma stopped struggling.

  She had been wrong before when she thought there was only one kind of worse things could get.

  “Let me up,” Emma said. Her voice sounded hollow and unrecognizable.

  Alan cocked his head, blinked. “Vahan, Robert.” He gave a small jerk of his chin, and they took their hands off her, and the soldiers holding her feet followed suit. Cold air stung where their hands had been. She pushed herself into sitting position, hair s
liding heavily over her shoulders; it was thick and wet with what could only be blood, but at least it covered her bare breasts.

  Alan cocked his head to the other side, gave Katenka a shake. The girl’s eyes rolled back in her head. “I’m waiting,” he said.

  Emma forced breath through her nostrils, out her mouth, heart bucking in her chest. What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn’t let Alan know that she hadn’t gone ahead with the ritual awakening of her powers, but if she lied and he thought she had and yet she was useless to him anyway — what would he do with her? What good was she to him? What good was Katenka, for that matter?

  Somewhere deep inside, a part of her reached for Fern, and she locked it down. She had to do this on her own, she had no choice — but she had an idea.

  “I don’t know why I couldn’t control —” she caught herself. “Your monster,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. Careful, so careful, he had to believe. “That’s never happened to me before. His mind was…different.” She took a deep breath, spoke quickly: “But if you let me see him again, I might be able to reach him. No reason why it shouldn’t work. It should have worked the first time.”

  Alan’s face was dead calm, expressionless. Then, his gaze dropped down Emma’s body in a look that she felt sliding over her skin like dark liquid, and by the time his eyes came up to her face again, she had to clench her teeth to stop from screaming.

  His face never changed. “You nearly died. Yet you would go to him a second time. That is either very admirable, very confident, or very, very desperate, Emma.”

  A chill crawled through Emma’s guts. “What do you mean?”

  Slowly, one corner of Alan’s mouth tipped up, and his eyes filled with a light that was nowhere close to human. His voice when it came was soft and terrible. “I mean, my darling, that you are bluffing.”

  Emma felt the color drain from her face, had to clench her teeth against a solid wave of nausea. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, her voice sounding far away. “Like you said. He nearly killed me. Why would I —”

  Alan opened his mouth and laughed, the rich sound reverberating in the stark room, drumming against Emma’s insides. “Because you have, as they say, balls, ” he said, laughter making his voice warm and thick like honey. “You would risk the beast for a chance to set him on me, rather than have me know the truth.” The warmth in his voice died. “But I have had enough, Emma. Enough. For the last time, tell me, why couldn’t you control him? ”

  She glanced at Katenka. They were both going to die. “I don’t —”

  Alan roared. His eyes flared gold and his pale hair lifted from his brow, and then he flung Katenka backwards, and she bounced off the observation window and landed in a small motionless heap on the floor. Emma screamed and launched herself off the table; her feet slid in blood, Alan caught one of her arms and the guard caught the other and she jerked against their hold so hard her left shoulder twisted with brief, bright pain, igniting an old injury, sending a flash of nerve-sizzle all the way to her pinkie finger.

  She barely noticed it. Alan dragged her up against his body, snarling down into her face, breath hot and bloody. “The next time you lie to me,” he said in a voice that grated like stones on steel, “She dies.”

  Emma stared up at him, breasts mashed against his bare chest, the feel of it making her stomach churn, his fingers crushing the bones of her arm together, making them groan. His hands on her burned with cold, white-hot fire. His eyes, bright like cold suns; the light pulsing in time to the throb of power that rolled off him, filling the room with something old and mad, something that should be dead. Part of it was dead: his humanity.

  Finally she understood the fundamental difference between the vampires and the shapechangers — the vampires couldn’t stand the long march of centuries with their minds intact. Something inside withered, warped, festered — something immortal, and it looked through Alan’s eyes now, rotted and hungry and wrong.

  And she was no match for it. It was time to give up, hand herself over to fate, to the gods she knew were there but not always watching, gods she knew rarely cared. Time to throw herself on their mercy again.

  “I am not quite the caller of the blood,” Emma said, voice catching. “Yet.”

  Blond brows dipped down, turning Alan’s eyes to liquid triangles — and then realization hit him, lit his face with smooth, surprised pleasure. Such childlike joy. It made Emma want to close her eyes and start screaming and never stop.

  “The ritual,” he said absently, looking at her like she’d just turned into something useful in his arms. “You haven’t completed the ritual.”

  Emma swallowed, stopped breathing, clamping down on a sob. She glanced behind Alan at Katenka, who hadn’t moved, but there was the faint flicker of breath making her sides quiver.

  “No,” Emma said. She kept her eyes on Katenka; she didn’t want to see Alan’s face, couldn’t see any more, couldn’t take it — but she didn’t need to see him to feel the huge, triumphant breath he took. The air around them pulsed and actually grew dark for a second, as though he’d sucked the light out of the air — or exhaled something vast and black into it.

  He wasted no time. “Vahan, put the princess in the antechamber.” Emma didn’t bother struggling, but Alan shackled both her wrists with one hand anyway and grabbed her chin with the other, jerking her around to face him. He made her meet his eyes. “Katenka is dying, Emma, do you feel it?” His nostrils flared, lips parted, eyes roving over her face. “One too many blows. I lock her in that room away from you, she’ll be dead within the half hour.” He gave Emma’s chin a shake with his bruising grip. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Emma looked at the spot right between his eyes and let her gaze lose focus. She just nodded. Even if she thought her voice would work, she couldn’t come up with anything nasty enough to call him.

  He flashed fang in something that was not a smile, eyes never leaving Emma’s. “Robert, get everyone out. You stay. Vahan, the princess is locked up tight?”

  From somewhere off to Emma’s right, Vahan said, “Yes master.”

  “Good.” As though from far away, Emma heard the march of footsteps as the guards exited the chamber, but the world was growing soft and muffled around her. Deep down a voice whispered to her that she was going into shock, and Emma thought that was well enough.

  And then finally, Fern broke through her shields. EMMA WHAT’S HAPPENING WHAT ARE THEY DOING WHAT HAVE YOU —

  She convulsed in Alan’s arms. Fern, no!

  Alan jerked her still, eyes narrowing, and something awful and heavy brushed Emma’s mind, pressing Fern downwards, inwards, out. “What have we here?”

  Something warm and made of sunshine stirred in Emma’s chest, unfurling, smooth as chocolate and dry as sunbaked desert; she smelled incense and Alan recoiled from her mind, lips skinned back from his teeth, cheekbones standing out and pulsing beneath translucent skin. His hands tightened on her, nails digging into her arms, but there was nothing he could do. Fern flowed back into her mind on the heels of Kahotep’s power and together they filled her up, and she heard them murmuring in her head in languages she didn’t know, urgent and low and clear as bells chiming against the inside of her skull —

  Alan threw her. She sailed through the air, hit the table at a terrible angle, hands scraping against the brushed steel even as her back turned concrete-numb and darkness swarmed across her eyelids. Fern screamed like a hurricane inside her head. Kahotep pushed strength down the bond of the pledge and her body arched off the table, air whooshing into her lungs — and then Alan was on her, one hand fisted in her sodden hair, the other swatting her hands away when she tried to grab onto him, dragging her up until she sat on the edge of the table, or she would have if he hadn’t been holding her inches above it. She dug the backs of her thighs into the steel to anchor herself and bit her lip to stop herself from whimpering.

  “None of that, now, Emma,” Alan said, drawing her head back. “There
’s no point, now. My men are out there, coming for your rescue party — there isn’t going to be any rescue party. Not for you. But there is still time to save Katenka.” He leaned down, snaked an arm around her back, pulled her body flush against his. “You know what I want.” His breath seared her cheek, and what he said next made her heartbeat falter.

  “Emmalina Chase, velleheshli ka hirdam, caller of the blood, I acknowledge thee.”

  She didn’t even have room to wonder how he knew the words; her head rang with them, body singing, magic pulsing through her like something silver and sharp and irrefutable, but behind it stammered a familiar voice —

  Emma we’re coming for you it’s gonna be all right Emma please just —

  She cut Fern’s mental voice off with less than a thought. It’s not. You have to get out of there. He’s sent people after you. I know what I have to do Fern, I can keep the princess alive, that’s all that matters right now. She reached up and grabbed onto Alan’s other arm, the one with the hand clenched in her hair. He let her. He closed the distance between them until his face was close enough to kiss, close enough for the shimmering light of his eyes to sting — like looking into a star, a glittering abyss.

  “As lord and as claimant to thy body and thy power,” he said, chest beginning to rise and fall faster and faster, voice filling with something thick and dark, “I offer myself as altar to your sacrifice. I offer myself as worthy vessel, as keeper, as caretaker, as commander. Do you accept?”

  EMMA NO! NO NO NO! WE’RE COMING FOR YOU DON’T —

  Fern, do you love me?

  His silence whistled in her mind like snow. Now and forever, mistress of mine, he sent. The sound of his breaking heart was like an avalanche.

  Then forgive me, she sent, and shut him out. To Alan she said, “Yes.” And then the tears came.

  27

  Alan hauled her up so her legs dangled, only her hands clamped to his forearm preventing her hair from tearing out at the roots; she squeezed her eyes shut for a second but then his other hand seized the front of her underwear — knuckles cold and hard — and ripped them away. Cold air hit her. Her eyes flew open. His face blazed, and Emma bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, every inch of her insides from groin to gullet crawling cold with horror and something deeper, more primal than revulsion, blinder than terror, even as the magic of the ritual words sang through her bones.