by Kresley Cole
Munro shook his head gravely. “And still you believe Lachlain will return.”
The three had been round and round about this for one and a half centuries, since the time his older brother had vanished after setting out to hunt vampires.
Uilleam and Munro told Garreth that he awaited Lachlain unreasonably. Best accept that his brother was gone, especially after so long had passed since his disappearance. One hundred and fifty years—to the day, this day. They said Garreth hadn’t moved on and accepted his responsibilities as king.
They were right.
“When will you believe he’s no’ coming back?” Uilleam asked. “Two hundred years from now? Five hundred?”
“Never. No’ if I still feel he’s alive.” Though vampires had killed the rest of his immediate family, for some reason, Garreth still sensed Lachlain lived. “No’ if I feel it as I do now.”
“You’re as bad off as Bowen,” Uilleam said, finishing his own bottle—and opening another.
Bowen was Garreth’s first cousin, a shell of a man since he’d lost his mate. He spent every waking moment in agony, yet he wouldn’t accept the loss and end his life as most Lykae males would have in his situation. “No’ like Bowen,” Garreth said. “He saw his mate gored, saw her death. I dinna see such proof with Lachlain.” No, I searched and searched and found… nothing.
“Game on!” a demon called.
Garreth shook himself from his memories, swigged whiskey, then mustered to the field with his kinsmen.
Caliban bared his fangs at his opponents, a gesture Garreth returned as the teams huddled up.
Quick snap. Ball in play. Passed to Caliban. Garreth saw his chance, charging for him, pumping his arms for speed… faster… faster… He leapt for the demon, tackling him with all his strength.
As they careened to the ground, a length of Caliban’s horn snapped off, and he bellowed with rage. “You’re going to pay for that, Lykae!”
For miles, Lucia the Huntress had been stalking her night’s prey, growing increasingly perplexed when the tracks she followed led her closer to what sounded like a battle, echoing with roars and curses.
Mayhem? Without inviting the Valkyrie? And in our territory, too? If beings were going to trespass in order to war, they should at least have the courtesy to invite the host faction to the conflict.
When she came upon the battlefield, Lucia canted her head to the side. Clash of the Loreans, she thought as she beheld modern gladiators—not at war, but at play. Immortal rugby.
Winds whipped along the mile-long field, and lightning flashed above them, mirroring the intensity of the contest. It was like a ceremony celebrating… maleness.
Lucia easily recognized the horned players as demons, and she suspected their shirtless opponents were Lykae. If so, then the rumors were true. The werewolves were in fact encroaching on Valkyrie territory. She was surprised. In the past, they’d kept to themselves, staying at their sprawling compound outside of the city.
Congregating at the sidelines, Nymph spectators trembled with excitement, likely seeing this as no more than a mud-wrestling match between brawny heart-throbs.
A ruthless hit on the field made Lucia raise a brow. Not at the violence—she was a shield maiden after all—but at the unthinking violence. Though these Loreans all trespassed, they were oblivious to an Archer in their midst, one who could inflict serious damage—very swiftly and from a great distance.
Levelheaded Lucia, as she was now known, didn’t comprehend unthinking. But then she didn’t comprehend men. Never had.
Luckily for them, the only violence she’d deliver this eve would be to her targets: two kobolds—vile gnome-like creatures—who’d been seen stalking human young to feed on.
Her sister Nïx, the half-mad Valkyrie soothsayer, had dispatched her to these bayous to dispose of them. Lucia had asked Regin to join her, but she’d declined, preferring to play video games in the comfort of their coven over another “rain-drenched bug hunt.”
Lucia had jumped at the chance. After donning a T-shirt and hiking shorts, she’d strapped on her leather thigh quiver, archer’s glove, and forearm guard. With her trusty bow in hand, she’d set out at once….
Another brutal hit. She nearly winced at the impact from that one—a piece of horn skipped down the field like a lost helmet—but she wasn’t surprised. Lykae and demons were two of the most brutal species on earth.
Worse, one of those bare-chested males had caught Lucia’s attention. Completely. No matter how badly she wished otherwise, Lucia still noted attractive men, and as the teams skirmished, she couldn’t help but appreciate the power in his towering frame, his speed and agility. Though mud splattered his torso and a shadow of a beard swathed his lean face, she still found him handsome in a rough and tumble way.
His eyes were a burnished gold color with rakish laugh lines fanning out from them. At one time, he’d been happy; he clearly wasn’t now. Tension radiated from his body, anger blazing off him.
When those golden irises flickered a bright ice blue, she confirmed what he was. A Lykae. A werewolf.
An animal. His handsome face masked a beast, literally.
“You call that a hit, you bluidy ponce!” he yelled at one of the demons, the muscles in his neck and chest standing out in strain as he bowed up and bared his fangs. His accent was Scottish, but then most of the Lykae were Highlanders—or they used to be, before homesteading southern Louisiana. “Aye, Caliban! Go fook yerself!”
Others were drawing him back from a particularly large demon, seeming exasperated, as if the male had been picking fights all night. Probably had. The Lykae were considered a menace in the Lore, with little control over their ferocity. In fact, they seemed to revel in it.
One hundred percent unadulterated male, alpha to the core. And still he was making her… lust. As the game continued, Lucia waited for revulsion to drown out her attraction. And waited.
Yet with each pitiless blow the male gave—and took—and with each of his growled threats and taunts, it burned hotter. Her breaths shallowed and her small claws went from straight to curling, aching to clutch a warm body to her own.
But when she remembered the last time she’d felt like this, a chill swept over her. She dragged her gaze from his antics and surveyed the nymphs frolicking on the sidelines. Lucia had once been like them—hedonistic, serving no higher purpose.
Am I still to be like them? No, she was disciplined now; she had a code. I’m a Skathian—by right of pain and the blood I’ve spilled.
With a hard shake of her head, she forced herself to focus on her mission—dispatching the kobolds. To the naked eye, they appeared cherubic, but they were actually ground dwellers with reptilian features. And when their populations went unchecked they tended to snatch human young, which jeopardized all of Lorekind.
The pair had split up, one of them fleeing deeper into the swamps, while the other hid behind the wall of nymph spectators, assuming itself safe in this crowd.
Lucia absently fingered the flights of the barbed arrows strapped to her thigh and savored the comforting weight of her bow over her shoulder.
Her prey assumed wrong. The Archer never missed.
Chapter 2
Garreth swiftly broke away from the pack of demons at his heels, gaining more and more ground toward the goal. Rain pelted him as his speed increased.
This would be an easy score, taking him nearly the entire length of the field. Finally the demons pursuing him gave up, slowing one by one, hailing curses.
Yet then, in the most bewildering moment of his life, Garreth’s lids grew heavy and his dark claws bit into the ball he carried, puncturing it. As he inhaled deeply, he isolated a new, exquisite scent from a thousand threads of them—the coppery smell of lightning, cut blades of grass, the swampy bayous all around them. Sensations overwhelmed him, racking his muscles as he slowed.
Her. My mate. She’s near…. She was downwind but close enough that he detected her. He didn’t know what she looked like
, what her name was, or even her species. Yet he’d been waiting a millennium—his entire existence—for her. His head swung around in the direction of the scent.
A small female stood alone off to the side of the field.
At his first sight of her, his breath was lost, his Lykae Instinct roaring to life within him.
— Yours. Take her. —
She was half a mile or so away, but he saw her clearly through the rain, could make out every detail. She had pouting pink lips and flashing amber eyes. A black bow was strapped over her petite body, and she’d tied a leather quiver full of arrows to her thigh. Wee pointed ears poked out through her mane of long, wet hair. Yes, mine.
Gods, she was as exquisite as her scent—
Wham! The demons tackled him with the force of a freight train, flattening him on the field, piling on top of him. His left shoulder popped from its joint. A knee to his jaw wrenched three back teeth loose. He growled, not with pain but with frustration, punching the still-hitting demons with his one good arm. As he battled to free himself, he sucked his teeth into his windpipe.
The twins ran to help him, finally peeling the demons off him. Garreth struggled to his knees, futilely coughing, hacking as he watched the strange female.
Suddenly, in a laserlike movement, she readied her bow, nocked three arrows from her quiver, and drew the bowstring to her cheek. What the hell? Everything happening so fast… Aiming for the nymphs? No, not them. A kobold cowering among them. Never hit it from so far away.
She was poised, motionless, for a shot. Though rain and wind whipped her hair over her cheek, she never blinked, never took her eye from her target even after she released that bowstring.
The arrows flew between two nymphs and sliced through the kobold’s neck, severing its head from its miniature body. A fantastical shot. Yet she appeared bored with the result.
Heaving, choking, Garreth saw her casually wend her way through the stunned nymphs. Once she reached the two pieces of kobold, the archeress chucked them into the nearby swamp.
She replaced the bow over her body, then strolled back in the direction she’d come from. When she realized all attention was on her, she slowed. “Oh.” She gave them a Queen Elizabeth wave and said, “Play on.”
As he wheezed and his cousins whaled hits on his back like anvil blows, she met Garreth’s gaze. He reached a muddy hand toward her, but she frowned with disdain, then disappeared into the brush. Finally Uilleam kicked Garreth in the back, and his back teeth flew from his windpipe like Chiclets.
“What in the hell’s the matter with you?” Munro demanded.
Between labored breaths, Garreth clambered to his feet. He’d been told what to expect when finding his mate, but never had he imagined the strength of his reaction. “It’s… happened.”
They knew immediately what he spoke of. Munro looked incredulous; Uilleam, jealous. How long had they both been waiting?
“The archer?” Uilleam asked. “Never seen anyone shoot like that. But she looked like she might be… a Valkyrie.”
Munro swore under his breath, “Bluidy bad luck.”
“Just force my shoulder back in place! Be quick, man!” Naturally, the first time Garreth encountered his mate—the one he’d awaited so long—she’d seen him calling his competitors pussies and playing by dirty rules. He was shirtless, well on his way to being drunk, and filthy with blood and mud. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.
And it probably appeared as if he’d been about to take part in an orgy.
“You tell no one of this,” Garreth grated.
“Why the hell no’?” Munro gave a hard yank on Garreth’s arm.
“Whatever she may be, she’s other,” he said. “And she’s to be the Lykae queen? No one knows, not until she’s marked and mated. Vow it!”
“Aye, then, we vow it,” Uilleam said.
The second they popped his shoulder back in, he took off at a sprint. —Track her. Claim. —With his Instinct louder and sharper than it’d ever been, he ran headlong through the rain.
He’d just been despairing over another year without his older brother, another year of royal responsibilities that he’d never thought would fall to him. On this day, the fates still refused to surrender Lachlain. But they’d given Garreth his mate in that ethereal creature.
As he charged forward, excitement welled within him, followed by overwhelming relief. With the way the rain had been pouring earlier, he could’ve missed her scent. Now he was on her trail.
Yet at the line of moss-curtained cypresses—the entrance to the most remote section of the swamp—he slowed. Somehow her scent was emanating from four different directions. He decided on one to follow, then raced through the brush, hurdling streams and bogs.
When he reached the source of the scent and there was no sign of her, he turned in place. Then gazed up to find one of her arrows lodged in a tree, so deep only the flights showed. And to those, she’d tied little bits of her T-shirt. Clever girl. She’d used her arrows to obscure her trail.
But he would follow each to the end, tracking her for as long as it took. She’d been born for him. And I was born to find her….
Terrain passed beneath his feet for half an hour before he located her true trail. With the innate stealth of his kind, he prowled closer, hunting this huntress in the now drizzling rain.
The swamp made it easy for him to approach her undetected. There were a thousand shadows to conceal him, with animals constantly creeping about to distract her.
Once he spied her again, he just stopped himself from sucking in a breath. Up close, she was even lovelier than he’d thought her. She had to be a Valkyrie, one among a species of women both notoriously beautiful… and notoriously fierce.
Her features were stunning—high, bold cheekbones, plump lips, and a slim, pixie nose—but her coloring made her beyond compare. Her skin was golden and smooth, her eyes the color of Scots whiskey.
She was of middling height and curvy, wearing a wet white T-shirt that hugged generous breasts. Khaki shorts fitted tightly over her pert arse and displayed shapely legs. Her hair was long—a dark mane, heavy with rain.
On her right hand, she wore a leather shooting glove. A long leather forearm guard stretched from her left wrist to her elbow. Who knew archery gear could be so sexy?
His female would wear her leathers when he took her curvy wee body tonight. At the thought, his shaft hardened in his damp jeans, and he almost growled.
Instead, he silently followed her, watching as she closed in on the prey he’d already scented in the burrows beneath them.
If she was in fact a Valkyrie, she’d possess superhuman senses like his own—keen hearing and the ability to see in the dark or over long distances. Yet her sense of smell wouldn’t be nearly as developed as his own. She’d need to track the creature by sight and sound—and she was doing so expertly.
But all the while she would freeze, jerking her head back in his direction, her pointed ears twitching.
Without warning, she leapt up into a waterlogged oak, crouching there as she resumed her shooting stance, nocking another arrow. From a distance, her short bow was unassuming, a recurve bow with the ends arching away from her and a thickened grip in the middle. Typical, if old fashioned. But as he neared he could see there were etched gold markings in the polished black wood.
Her weapon was as fine and proud as its owner obviously was….
She went motionless, aiming directly for the spot where he’d scented her prey. Did she plan to hit it through the earth?
Aye, because in a reaper’s voice, she whispered, “Underground won’t save you.”
Chapter 3
I can hear its breath, muffled now. Lucia knew the kobold had gone underground, scurrying for its life. She’d trailed it here, easily reading the signs that all prey left behind.
From this angle in the tree, she could shoot into the ground, piercing her arrow straight into the tunnel beneath. Her special arrow—it’d go in sleek and aerodynamic until c
ontact, then it would release three razor-sharp barbs.
Soon she’d report two confirmed kills back to Nucking Futs Nïx. Just as Lucia always did. And then what? Then I’ll repeat days like this, over and over, until the Accession.
When the nightmares came.
For now, kill the kobold, go home.
Yet for some reason, instead of focusing on her target, she recalled broad shoulders and lean cheeks, remembering how the Lykae had looked at her just before he’d been tackled. He’d stared, heaving breaths with that barrel chest, sweat trickling down his muscled torso. Until he’d gotten flattened by some of the biggest demons she’d ever seen.
His interest had disconcerted her. In fact, all eyes had been on her—something that didn’t often happen since Lucia usually had the brazen, showstopping Regin the Radiant to distract notice from her.
But if anyone, including that male—who surely hadn’t been reaching for her with that grubby paw—had gotten curious and actually followed her, she’d taken care to cover her tracks.
Lucia shook her head hard, refocusing, inhaling a breath. Once she exhaled, she held herself motionless, sighting down the arrow’s length. The ancient inscriptions on her bow seemed to glow….
She released the string. With a thunk, the arrow punctured the ground, boring deep, all the way to the kobold burrowed below. A muffled shriek sounded.
Target hit. Even underground, she’d nailed it. Not surprising—she hadn’t missed a shot in centuries. Skathi’s essence literally worked like a charm.
Lucia swung her bow back across her body, then leapt down to finish off her immortal prey with a swift beheading. It’s hard being this good, she thought as she sauntered to the spot of contact. It’s harder to act modest. She sighed. My cross to bear.
Three tenets comprised the Skathian code: honesty, chastity, and humility. She managed honesty—mostly—and chastity totally. But she couldn’t grasp the reasoning behind humility.
