Blood Law

by Karin Tabke

  The wide iron-strapped wooden door to the building swung open. She ducked behind the dilapidated car she had driven down in. When a man stepped out and abruptly stopped and turned her way, she ducked deeper. Holding her breath, Falon peered at him through the windows. Edward. And he was not alone. Lana! Collared and on a leash, she cowered beside him. So that was how Edward knew what she had done to Lucien. She was partially clad and looked more than a little roughed up. Her head lifted in the slight breeze, and she, too, turned toward where Falon hid. Damn it, the wind had shifted, and she was now upwind of them. She backed up, hunching down until her knees creaked.

  “Do not be afraid,” Edward called, his deep voice reverberating off the cars. As he moved toward her, Falon moved stealthily around the cars, putting distance between them. “I will not harm you.” The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. His soothing baritone lulled deceptively. “Come out, tell me why you are here. Who are you?” he cajoled.

  Falon felt the pull of his voice. She nearly stood. While she didn’t trust him, she felt on a gut level that he was as intrigued by her as she was by him. But he had her at a disadvantage. She was at his lair with everything to lose, and he had everything to gain. She smiled wryly. If Edward thought he could use her to draw Rafael out, the joke would be on him. The last thing Rafael would do was put himself or his pack in danger for her safety. Her stock had dropped suddenly and dramatically, thanks to Lucien.

  So, what did she have to lose at the moment? Maybe a day or two of a forced stay until Edward figured out Rafael would rather hand her over to the Slayers than lift a finger to save her? She’d take her chances.

  Slowly, like the phoenix rising, Falon stood. She startled in surprise to find Edward standing on the other side of the hood of the car she hid behind. He was as tall as Rafael was, but blond, blue-eyed, and pale-skinned. She’d consider him a handsome man if she didn’t know the truth about him. He smiled a wide, disarming smile. Yet his eyes glittered malevolently. Falon’s nostrils flared as she inhaled his scent. The blood of the Lycan nation screamed out for vengeance. She stiffened.

  “She is Rafael’s bitch!” Lana accused, scrambling up behind Edward. Without looking behind him, he threw out his left arm and hit her in the chest with his fist. Lana landed with a sickening thud on the asphalt. Instinctively, Falon moved toward her. Edward stuck his hand out, palm open, like a stop sign.

  “She is not worth your attention.”

  Falon slapped his hand away and gloated inwardly at his shocked expression. She bet most people, women especially, didn’t defy him. Falon dropped down beside Lana. Blood pooled behind her head; her dazed brown eyes looked up at Falon.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  Falon shushed her, gently rolled her head into her open hand, and pressed her fingertips to the gaping hole in the back of her skull. Energy warmed her chest, reverberating into her shoulder, down her arm, into her hand and fingertips. Lana closed her eyes. “You’ll be okay,” Falon whispered, before carefully setting her head down on the concrete. “Do not move,” Falon instructed, then stood, wiping her bloody hand on her jeans. Lana would heal shortly.

  She turned to Edward and demanded, “How are we associated?”

  His lips thinned as his gaze scalded her from head to toe. “You are a healer?”

  She shrugged. “I know how to use a Band-Aid.”

  He reached down and yanked Lana up to him, grabbed a hank of her hair, then twisted her neck around so that the back of her head was exposed. Lana squeezed her eyes shut, biting her bottom lip. Instinctually Falon understood: Edward was a sadist. He thrived on pain. Lycan pain. Lana didn’t give him the satisfaction of showing hers.

  “Do you always pick on women?” Falon demanded, wondering how long they were going to stand out in the parking lot challenging each other.

  Edward shoved Lana from him, then yanked back on the leash, jerking her backward. She splayed out on all fours and began to cry. He sneered, then looked directly at Falon. “She is Lycan. As such, she does not deserve my respect.”

  “Then why bother at all?”

  He threw is head back and laughed. “You are not an ignorant woman. You know the power I wield, and yet you challenge me?”

  “I challenge any man who treats another being with such contempt.”

  He shook his head. “Come inside, my dear champion of the world, come see what Lycans have done to my people; then tell me how you feel.”

  When Falon crossed the threshold into the fortress, she felt like she had walked into the thirteenth century. The interior of the building was what she imagined an English castle to be. Flaming sconces adorned thick block walls. Between the sconces hung rich tapestries, each one depicting battles scenes. Slayers versus Lycans. And piled along the walls were towering heaps of . . . ? Wolf pelts. At that moment she was grateful she had not eaten. Her stomach did several somersaults, yet she managed to maintain her composure and continue to observe her surroundings.

  Long trestle tables and rushes covered the floor. A huge walk-in hearth blazed with fire; several spits rotated large hunks of roasting meat. At the far end of the hall, a dais with two large carved thrones was prominently displayed. On either side of the thrones was a large, square iron cage, both of them empty. Falon didn’t need anyone to tell her what the cages were for. Edward handed the leash over to a burly man, who dragged Lana kicking and screaming to the cage on the left. He shoved her in, kicking her in the behind for good measure. The door clanked shut, and the brute turned a skeleton key in the lock.

  Contempt sprang into Falon’s next words, “I assumed since you were human you would be civilized. I was wrong.”

  “There is no civility between my people and Lycans.” He looked down at her and menacingly said, “On any other day, you would be in the cage next to her. You have cavorted with Lycans!” His voice lowered, and he stepped closer. “The only reason you are not is because you are a human who, for the moment, intrigues me.”

  “What of those of mixed blood?” she asked.

  He threw his head back and laughed an ugly, demonic laugh. “Do you mean Lycan and Slayer?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Preposterous! A Slayer would never stoop so low as to bed a dog. It is forbidden, not even discussed!”

  “So you’re saying there has never been a coupling between a Slayer and Lycan.”

  “Blasphemy! Speak of it again and lose your tongue!” he raged.

  Falon blanched at his outrage, yet her mind whirled with thoughts. Did Edward not know that Lucien’s chosen one had been a Slayer? Was he in denial? Or had Rafael been wrong? Had he killed an innocent woman? Dear God, what if he had?

  “My apologies, Edward.” She forced herself to touch him by placing her hand on his arm. She blanched at the malevolence that swirled within him. He flung her hand from him as if he knew she could see into his soul. She had made a colossal mistake coming here. But she persevered; she would have her answers. “I am new to your world, thus misunderstanding the dichotomy between Slayers and Lycans.”

  He stared hard at her, sensing she was being honest. In truth, she was. Rafael had been less than forthcoming with information. Falon took several deep, cleansing breaths to calm her rattled nerves. They continued toward the far end of the hall.

  A multitude of cloying scents wafted around her, clogging her nostrils.

  The people, dear Lord, the people were dressed like Conan. Was she at a medieval reenactment? She glanced at Edward and saw that while he wore more modern garb, several pieces, like his leather boots, were lined with what she was sure was wolf fur. His wide leather belt and tunic-style shirt were reminiscent of the Old World. The hair on the back of her neck rose when she looked closer at the people in the hall. Many of them were not whole. Limbs were missing. Some just missing hands or maybe a foot. Some with severely ravaged faces. Good God, what happened to them?

  Edward smiled bitterly at her astonished face. “The work of pack Vulkasin.�
�� He strode toward the end of the hall. Every person in the place stopped whatever chore they were about and stared uneasily at her. Every part of Falon screamed for her to run. But she knew if she were to understand herself, she must stay, because here she knew she would find the answers she sought.

  “What are you?” Falon asked as she stepped deeper into the bowels of the building.

  “You know who we are. We are Slayers.”

  “Why?”

  “Our king decreed it eight hundred years ago. Until no wolf walks this earth, we will hunt them and destroy them.”

  “But, Lycans are human.”

  “They are wolves first.”

  Falon didn’t belabor the point. So they were wolves some of the time. Apparently that was enough to get you killed by a Slayer. She stopped and looked up at the tapestries. The ones farther back depicted witches and sorcerers casting spells. The black magic Rafe spoke about. The last and most elaborate tapestry illustrated a large blond man richly garbed in Old World threads with his hands raised to the heavens and a huge black wolf that hovered among the ominous clouds. Falon stepped closer and gasped. The ring on the man’s finger. It was Rafael’s ring! And Conan’s before him. And perhaps, her father’s before that. Falon cleared her throat. “Did he encourage your use of the black arts?”

  “Necessity dictated we embrace magic. When the wolves were given human life, we had no choice. We do not abuse the power.”

  “When were the wolves given human form?”

  “Three hundred years ago. During the great war of the North, my ancestors were on the verge of eliminating the last packs from the earth. The northern gods took pity on them, knowing they could no longer survive as they were. So they were given human life.”

  “So you went against the gods to obey a dead king?”

  “You insult my clan. We do not worship the gods of the Lycans. We are Christian men and women as was our king!” He stepped back and extended his hand toward the hall and the people within it. “I’m sure Vulkasin has spoon-fed you lies about us. We are not animals like the Lycans, but civilized, and honor bound to our ancestors. Until the last wolf is no more, we live as my ancestors lived. We are steeped in our traditions and will not rest until the king’s work is completed.”

  Falon nodded. So much for love thy neighbor. She pointed to the tapestry. “What of the ring in the tapestry?”

  “The Eye of Fenrir, a gift to my ancestor from his king for his loyalty and good work.” He turned narrowed eyes on her. “It belongs to me. You know Vulkasin wears it.”

  “I do, but I was not aware it was yours.”

  “Did Vulkasin send you here to spy?”

  “No.” She looked directly at him and continued, “I have been cast out.”

  “Do you take me for a complete fool? I saw how it is between you and that cur.” He cocked his head and looked sideways at her. “I also know if you leave here, you will die by the hand of his brother. Vulkasin will not stop him.”

  She knew that but asked, “Why not?”

  Edward took her elbow and steered her to an upholstered chair near a smaller hearth and indicated she should sit. He pulled another chair over and sat facing her. “Do you know why I have not separated your head from your neck?”

  Falon swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, why?”

  “Because you are not Lycan. Because I am the only one who can save you now. Because you can deliver me Vulkasin, but truth be known, more than all of those things combined, there is something compelling about you. I felt it the moment our eyes met. I know you felt it, too.”

  Falon nodded, unable to deny it. It was why she was there. “Tell me why Rafael will not stop his brother from killing me.”

  Edward snapped his fingers; immediately, two women dressed in ye olde garb set a tray of food and wine on the small table next to Edward. They disappeared as noiselessly as they had appeared. Yet when Falon looked around, she felt like a speck under a microscope. The people had slowly stopped what they were doing and quietly watched her. She couldn’t say they were unhappy. Their auras, though black, were tinged with green and yellow. Content colors.

  She dragged her attention back to her host. He poured a goblet of wine and handed it to her then poured one for himself. She watched him warily. He smiled and sipped the wine. “It is safe to drink.”

  Falon took a sip and found it surprisingly sweet and tasty. “Tell me.”

  “The Lycans are ruled by two things, both of equal importance to them. The Blood Law, their covenant, and their thirst for Slayer blood. The Blood Law dictates an eye for an eye. Vulkasin slew his brother’s chosen one. The law decrees Mondragon has the right to exact the same as payment for the injustice done to him. He despises his brother and will see it done. Only then can Vulkasin take another mate and add his devil’s spawn to the mix.”

  “Some say Lucien’s chosen one was Slayer,” Falon ventured, bracing herself for an explosion.

  Edward’s face reddened, but he did not break his stare. Slowly, he said, “A lie. Never has a Slayer lain with a Lycan.”

  “Why would Rafael lie about that?”

  “At the time, the brothers were co-alphas. Vulkasin felt threatened by his brother’s taking of a mate, so he destroyed the threat and made up lies that she was a Slayer to justify his actions.” He laughed contemptuously. “Vulkasin didn’t plan on the fallout or how it would weaken the packs.”

  Edward poured another cup of brew and drank deeply from it. “Vulkasin’s continued reluctance for more than a decade to take a mate has worked in our favor as well. Until the alpha breeds, the pack cannot. Vulkasin’s refusal to take a mate has kept the packs small, and we have been making them smaller.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this? You know Rafael has marked me?”

  Edward looked at her as if she were a dunce. “Because I know that his brother will destroy you. Because you are human and value your life. You will fight for it. You are safer here with me than anywhere else in the world. And even if I believed Vulkasin cast you out, which I don’t, the Lycan has no choice but to come for you if he will ever be able to take another mate. For me, for my clan, you are a means to two ends: Vulkasin’s life”—he sneered—“and the return of my ring.”

  So it really had been a mistake to come here. He had no intention of allowing her to freely go. The cold fingers of fear scurried down her spine. She fought the shivers. “Other than being Lycan, what has Rafael ever done to you?”

  Edward stood so quickly, the chair he had sat upon flew back against the wall, hitting it with a thud.

  “He took my son!” he roared. “He skinned him alive not more than three months ago! Right before my eyes!” He slammed his fists against the block wall. “I will do the same to him!”

  Falon sat stunned. She had seen Rafael kill. Understood it even. If she believed Edward’s statement—and she did—she understood his hatred. But his son was a Slayer, and were not all Slayers fair game to Lycans, as Lycans were to Slayers? “How old was he?”

  Edward turned bright onyx eyes on her. Falon caught her breath and sat back. They turned, just as Lucien had explained they did when a Slayer became enraged. “A day shy of eighteen.”

  Dear God, just a child. “Why would he do such a terrible thing?”

  “Because it is what Lycans do. It is why eight hundred years ago a great king charged my ancestors to destroy the wolves. They were rabid thieves, preying on humans, stealing our children and feeding them to their young. They are evil. They procreate evil. They must be eliminated!”

  Falon sat for long moments, digesting what she had just been told. In that moment, she realized that the hate between Lycans and Slayers was so deep, so profound, and such a part of their DNA fabric that there was nothing anyone could do to broker peace between them. There would only be peace for one side or the other when the enemy was extinct. She was foolish to have come here and even more foolish to think she could be the catalyst to peace between the warring people. Yet, in s
ome big or small way, somehow, somewhere, she had a place in this all. But where?

  She drew in a deep breath and looked squarely at Edward, a man her lover—the Lycan she loved—had vowed to destroy. “My name is Falon Corbet. What does that mean to you?”

  Seventeen

  EDWARD’S STUNNED EXPRESSION caught her off guard and filled her with instant dread. Just as quickly, however, his face smoothed back into a normal mien. “It means nothing. Corbet is a common enough name.”

  She’d seen his shock. Why? She stood and took a step toward him. Toward the truth.

  “Then how do I know you? You said yourself we have a connection. You felt it. Who am I?”

  He averted his gaze for a second before staring straight at her. “Tell me about your parents. Perhaps there is a distant blood tie.”

  “I don’t remember my parents. I was a foster kid. My only tie to my past is my name.”

  “Perhaps your foster parents gave you the name?”

  Falon shook her head. “No, I’m sure Corbet is my family name.” She thought for a moment then asked, “Are there any of your clan who have broken off to go on their own?”

  “The clan never separates. Our strength is in our numbers.”

  “Is there some way you can tell if I’m a Slayer? A test or something?”

  “You have failed the only true test of a Slayer.”

  “I have?”

  “You do not posses the one thing all Slayers are born with: hatred for Lycans. You have shown the opposite, having lain with one, an animal.”

  Falon bit her tongue. She took exception to that last remark. “But what if I wasn’t taught to hate? Could I still be a Slayer?” She had to know!

  “Our hatred is woven into our genes.”

  Why was he not questioning her more in depth? His demeanor had noticeably shifted from highly curious to indifferent. As if he had lost all interest in her. This was not going anywhere close to how she had imagined. What had she imagined? That he would ask her questions then reveal who she was based on them? Well, yes, sort of. At least she had one answer, the important one. All indicators pointed to a non-Slayer status. For that she was eternally grateful. One less bullet Rafe could use against her, and just as important, she thought Slayers sucked. Hugely.