by K. A. M'Lady
There was silence for so long the air crackled with the spark of hidden expectancy. Draven knew that hearing the knowledge of Dreg’s involvement wounded Kuthar deeply. “And the fourth?” Draven questioned, though everyone felt the weight of it.
“Our father’s. His personal lodging he’d never given up.”
“He’d been entrenched in a viscous cycle of unrequited love. Yearned for our mother, only she loved Sabene, a Darengy grave-warrior. And Garvik, well, he hated them all.” Kuthar sighed, moved away from the window to face his mates, his family and the Elder that would help him to end this siege on their people and heal their races. “Garvik killing Sabene played right into Father’s hands.”
“The sins of the father,” Ook stated. “It is better for all to be united.” His large shoulders shifted, his hand settling on the shoulder of his mate, Leah’s small shoulder.
Draven’s gaze drifted to their comfortable repose and he couldn’t agree more.
Traegar smirked at the quiet grumble from the Darengy warrior. His huge, bald head gleamed as brightly as his eyes in the fire’s blazing light. The ease and comfort all of them had with each other, bound to their mates, made him long for this night to be finished.
They all knew it would come to its end. Finality rode the air. It was marked on each of their faces. The human, Leah, would stay behind and manage the recovery and welfare efforts. Ooen would stay with her. The healer’s touch would be much needed this night.
The rest were going into the tunnels, towards their fate, even Kuthar’s female. The knowledge of that shocked him at first. However, after meeting her, he knew it was a futile effect to try to dissuade her. Besides, since her mating, she’d reaffirmed her hidden gift of creating fire.
After years of being sent from foster home to foster home for ‘playing with fire’, little Cyn buried her gift in favor of staying in one place. The safety of having a home, over having a secret, became more than a child could bear. Now, with the strength and comfort of her mates, she no longer had to hide who she really was.
Kuthar caught the mercenary’s dark look when they all gathered weapons to their bodies, stowing knives, guns and extra blades wherever there was space. “Trust me,” he stated, a fond smile touching his lips, his eyes alight as they took in his human’s features. “It is easier at times to give in than to deal with her wrath.”
“Besides,” Ooen casually stated, “she’s really hot in all those weapons.”
Traegar shook his head in mirth, unsure if he could contemplate his mate strapped in skintight leathers, strapped with weapons. Until the image filtered across his mind.
“Hey, you two. Yuck it up all you want, but it’s not every day that a city girl gets to blow up bad guys. I can’t help it if I think it’s cool.”
“I swear you were born of the wrong species,” Leah added with a roll to her eyes.
“If she wasn’t such a deadly shot, I would leave her behind,” Kuthar grumbled.
“Someone has to watch your lovely backsides,” Cyn smiled, devilishly.
Desire and yearning filled Traegar. A smile touched his heart at their easy banter. He was anxious to find and free his mates so that they too would know this happiness and peace. Time had taught him much, but in this case, his patience was beginning to wear thin.
Twenty-minutes later found them at the entrance to Garvik’s tunnel. Teams were poised for entry at each of the others. The tunnels had been swept for explosives or other traps of any kind. Once cleared, small droids the shape and size of over-large spiders were released. They moved quickly across the surface, scanning each crevice and every cleft of wall and floor.
Images were sent back showing air quality and content, structure condition and where exactly the tunnels led. Garvik’s spilled out into a large dark opening; along its circular curve it branched out into other yawning spaces. Obviously, the other entrances ran to one main meeting place.
Along the far curve, on the opposite side of Garvik’s entry, chained to a slab of wall, a woman hung secure. Her pale blue skin gleamed in the flickering light of burning torches. Her long, pale hair hung in shimmering strands around a small oval face. Her sleek neck tensed, and stunning, crystal-clear blue eyes stared through him.
Hurry, she whispered, alert but weak. There’s not much time.
“Onya,” Traegar growled, unable to stay his anger.
Traegar’s eyes followed where her gaze led. On a raised dais, chained and bleeding heavily, Katella lay mortally wounded. The scar on his cheek stood out remarkably, blood ran along its curve in dark hues of crimson; his suffering wheezed through labored breaths. His dark hair was wet and matted.
Hurry. She pleaded again.
“We must go now.” Traegar started through the tunnel, no longer willing to wait for drones and devices to clear the way. His blade cleared its sheath, his side-arm secure in his left hand. The ruling house of Balacjek followed his lead; a mercenary Elder with the support of the kingdom at his back. Peril rode the air and fate sang her own reckoning. This night would end with a song of redemption.
The smell hit them first, stale air tinged with old death, copper-tinged memories, desperation and hatred. They knew going in that choosing a full-on pursuit rather than stealth, would be far more than just dangerous. They were out of time to care.
Entering the chamber, chaos ensued. Elder guards came from every direction, led by Dreg and his father, the Elder Cjek. The stone wall sealed shut behind them, the thunder of its closure cutting off their exit. It fueled the rush of rage, urgency and fear. The finality of its boom echoed in the room, sealing all of their fates. The other passages to the tunnels closed off as well, the façade of a single room, no entry, no exit, quickly took shape. Some of the Royal guard made it through their entry, forcefully slashing and hacking any that stood in their way, but the odds were terrible. Merely one-third of them stood against a room filled with their enemy. Traegar’s mates cut off from his view.
“Clear him a path, love.” Kuthar’s order was given fondly, even while removing the arm of an unlucky foe.
Blood began to cover the floor, the stench of death surrounding all of them. Traegar shot two guardsmen, and then stabbed another just before catching the glare of flame dancing across his peripheral vision. Cyn thrust her hands outward and a ball of fire shot toward the nearest group. A wave of heat and a blast of flames shoved them off their feet, scattering them in fits and screams of fiery agony. With Draven at his side they rushed forward, his need to reach his mates consuming him. Bodies fell in their wake as they killed anyone foolish enough to still be alive after Cyn’s deadly blast.
Traegar reached the dais first. Kantella lay deathly still, his breath faintly noticeable. Traegar reached for him and Draven was immediately at his side, unstrapping his brother from his bindings. “He needs blood,” Draven growled. His own regrets and pain rumbling through him. Determination etched deeply on his brow.
Cradling Kantella’s head, Traegar used his own teeth to break the flesh at his wrist, he then pressed the wound to Kantella’s parched, unmoving lips. “Drink, brother,” Traegar whispered. “Drink, and live.” We need you too much to let you go, the last whispered from his soul.
It was comfortable in the darkness. The silence made his pain seem so far away. And yet, there was something in the darkness that called to him. Something in death’s sweet call that made him linger. Refused to let him go.
It is not yet time, my mate. Hang on just a little bit longer. He is here.
Kantella remembered seeing her when the Elder guard had first brought him to this hell. He remembered his ship crashing, praying that his brothers would get his last-ditch call for help in time to save them. But mostly, it was her image that haunted him. Onya.
I am here, my mate. Be strong.
Time no longer made sense. He’d blacked out too often. Too much blood had been lost. Now the calm, steadiness of comfort that encased him felt different. Familiar, like the darkness. He’d not felt this type
of brotherhood since he’d last seen his twin, Draven; when things had been right between them. Regret rushed through him, awakening his aches. Kantella’s breath hissed through a heavy chest. The voice, however, comforted. It bid him to drink. He was thirsty. Oh, so very, very thirsty.
“Do you think that giving him your blood will save him?” The question screeched across the room. “Death fills what is left in his veins. The Balacjek line and its kingdom are dying. There will be nothing left to rule. All of you will die today.”
“I can see why our mother rebuked you, Varnak.” Kuthar responded, stepping forward amidst the dead that littered his feet.
Ook released the female grave-warrior, and carried her weak body to the dais where Draven and the mercenary tried to revive Kantella. Kuthar knew without looking that his injuries were many, the damage great. But he also knew the power the trion held. Unlike their foe, he studied. Learned, and accepted the power than ran in his veins. Its magic made them powerful. Their love for each other made them whole.
“You know nothing, boy.” Varnak rebuked. His dark shape emerged from the handful of guards that circled him. Time had not been kind to the Elder, his face wrought with the lines of hatred, desperation and disgrace. His skin flushed the color of old death; the Elder obviously not having fed in a long span. Cjek and Dreg stood beside him; sentries for his madness.
Traegar wrapped his other arm around the small frame of his other mate, grateful to feel her lithe form in his arms. He shuddered at the chilling touch of swelled lips against his neck. “That’s it. Drink, love,” he told her, agonizing in delight, the chaos around them gone from his sight and his mind.
A circle of completion closed between them, memories flooding each in turn. Onya knew instinctively when to cease her caress, Traegar’s blood flowing like heated wine past her hungry lips. Nothing had ever felt more wonderful or perfect in her disruptive life. Tilting her head to rest her ear against the sturdiness of his thick chest, she offered him her throat.
Wet heat against the bite at his wrist as it was being sealed, coupled with the mild strength in the grip of his hand, brought his glance back to Kantella. His dark eyes held gratefulness and thanks. A glimmer of hope sparked in their dark depths, as well as uncertainty.
Traegar knew they needed enough strength to make it out of there alive. Then, together they could deal with the rest. All of their uncertainties could be put to rest.
Gathering Onya closer, he pressed his lips to the thundering vein that pulsed heavily at her throat, her long hair flowing over his arm like spun silk. Instinct driving him, need and desire close on its heels, Traegar drove his teeth into the lush flesh of Onya’s throat, his gaze holding Kantella’s the entire time.
They all felt the power of the trion hit Onya with the first phase of its passing. A cool breeze engulfed the dais, circling them in the thick rush of its power. It flowed from where Traegar’s lips connected to the life-blood flowing in his powerful Darengy mate. From there it passed through his soul, through every fiber and limb of his being, and stole through the clasped hands of his youthful, spirited and dangerous warrior mate.
They were a power to be reckoned with; one of the first Elders with the knowledge and wisdom of the ages, coupled with the instincts and craft of a killer. A grave-warrior; a Reaper by birth. The bringer of death, or the beauty that sets you free. And finally, the royal knight. Death’s loyal henchman. Each a part to make the circle whole.
Vranthia would be a strong ruling house; a learned king along with his healer and their fiery warrior queen. His right flank guarded by two of the best warriors of their races, and the seer that eased their souls, and now, his left flank guarded by death guised in wisdom and beauty along with her harbingers’ steady strength and stealth.
Hope and peace were bigger than one man’s wants. Kuthar knew this. Obviously, Varnak did not.
“Perhaps,” Kuthar casually advised, taking in the disheveled, maddened air that carried the Elder, “if you had considered the needs of the people, the truth of the magic over your own base desires, you’d not have been left to these disparities.”
“What know you of despair? Or the people’s needs, for that matter? The Belacjeks have reigned for eons. Never caring what they wanted. What they yearned for. You allowed the blood to be poisoned with cross-breeding. Tainted it with the vile blood of creatures and Outworlders alike.” His disgusted gaze bounced from Cyn to Ook, to where Traegar fed on Onya.
Traegar lifted his head, anger roaring, echoing in his mind as the angst of his mates lashed into him. He raised his weapon the same time Varnak did, the flash of red blazing across the expanse immediate and immense. A spray of flame, like blowtorch spray, flared across the room. Cjek and Dreg burst into flames along with more Elder guards, all screeching in the heat of the deadly fire’s wake.
Onya’s small hands, splayed before her, sought Varnak’s death rattle as light rays struck from every direction. Traegar’s gun pierced his heart, a direct shot bursting the appendage inside him. Onya simply grasped the remaining life-force within him before it could attempt to mend. She was merciless, thrusting his soul to the world beyond, casting him into the darkness, his evil finally at its end.
Chapter Six
Varnak was dead, the truth of their father’s deceptions aired, and his sins brought to light. Kantella and Draven had come to a steady peace over the last few days while he and Onya recovered. Traegar became his constant companion, his wise counsel and easy with a balm to his tortured soul.
Together, they exchanged blood with Onya, building their strength, their link to each other, but the trion was not yet fully completed. They each now shared the others’ memories, their thoughts when they wished it, and their silent yearnings. The desire to share the flesh grew stronger with each passing day. By the seventh day, Onya grew tired of waiting for her mates to ease all of their suffering and took Cyn’s advice. ‘Taking the vampire by the fang, as she’d say.
They found her standing at the balcony entry, the golden light of Vranthia’s three moons silhouetting her figure in the shimmering folds of her long, sheer gown. Her room was lit by firelight and moonlight only, the effect stunning against her pale skin and impish figure. When she turned her blue eyes on them, each were lost to her sultry, knowing gaze.
Their twin growls of hunger reached her, and Onya couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.
“You toy with danger unlike you’ve known, my sweet,” Traegar gruffly warned.
“I am braver than you think, mercenary.”
Kantella reached her first, his quick strides and firm strength encompassing her against his length. He folded her against his body, the warm heat of his lips brushing her neck as he whispered, “One of the bravest.”
“Only the bravest to be our mate,” Traegar agreed, tipping her head, stealing her sigh of pleasure with his insistent lips.
Surrounded and encompassed by them, Onya had never felt more safe and secure in her life. Desire burned through her limbs, need quivering in her belly. She clung to Traegar, the wet heat of his tongue delving, tasting, and consuming her.
All the while, Kantella wove his own brand of magic against her flesh. His hands cupped her breasts, his erection rubbing against her; pressing her tightly against Traegar’s eager flesh.
They turned her in their arms so that she faced Kantella, making quick work of removing her gown. She stood between them, naked but for her low sandals, her skin glowing in the moonlight. Her long, pale hair flowed to her waist.
“So beautiful,” Kantella rasped, his lips swallowing her gasp.
Bare skin pressed against her as two sets of hands wandered her flesh. Hunger rose unbidden between them, a moan of surrender filled the heated exchange. The scrape of teeth across her taut nipple pebbled her flesh. Thick digits wove their way through the coarse hair above her wet, swollen flesh.
Traegar parted her nether lips, her need coating his fingers, her arousal scenting the air. Using his knee, he spread her legs wi
der and pressed inside the glorious heat of her. Her tightness pulled him in. In and out, he stroked in time with each draw of Kantella’s lips and teeth nipping at her succulent breasts. The site of Kantella’s lips on Onya tightened Traegar’s already aching shaft.
He’d shared women before, but this would be different. This woman was his mate, and his sharing would be a binding for eternity with his blood-brother by fate. Together they would be a complete circle, no beginning and no end. Not one without the other. Together their lives would be whole. The thought shuddered through him as he stroked deeper, glorying in the Onya’s physical surrender.
Kantella knelt before her, his eyes dark pools of need. “Let go, love,” Traegar whispered, spreading her legs further apart, taking her unsteady weight against him. “We won’t let you fall.”
Her scent whirled through his head like succulent cream, and Kantella bent forward for a taste, running his tongue up the crease of her thick flesh, her wetness coating his tongue. He growled in delight.
Her quiver pressed her swollen bud against his lips. Lost in her desire, Onya clung to Traegar’s forearm held snuggly beneath her breast, his fingers twirling her nipple in time with each lap and lick of Kantella’s tongue as he toyed with her. “Oh, yes.”
Fingers stroked along the cleft of her cheeks, seeking, finding her dripping with need. “Are you going to come for us?” His words were low, grumbled. Onya knew it was Traegar’s fingers stroking her from behind, seeking and finding her opening and plunging inside, even while Kantella pulled her swollen nub tightly between his lips, nicking it with his teeth.
She came hard, her first orgasm rushing through her; legs trembling, inner muscles pulsing and clenching Traegar’s stroking fingers, while Kantella sucked the rush of desire from her pulsing, swollen flesh.
“Take her to the bed,” Kantella said, his eyes dark with fire. Overwrought need blazed across his features.
Traegar easily lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed, laying her in the middle of it. Kantella joined him. They stood, two strong, tall figures, both with long dark hair, eyes as dark as a moonless night, and the same feral look of hungry determination etched on strained features. Silently, they moved as one; Kantella to the left side of her, Traegar between her legs, lifting them to his shoulders, his mouth eager against her swollen lips.
