Rage to Adore

by Cara Lake

  Lorcan watched impassively as five brutes savagely worked his brother over, relentlessly punching and kicking, leaving no part of his body untouched. Jaro tried to fight back. Some people might have been impressed. He was strong. Incredibly strong. But in the end sheer numbers prevailed. His brother lay unconscious facedown in the mud.

  The mercenaries, girls that they were, whined about their wounds, demanding more payment. They had not expected such resistance. Waving them away, Lorcan pulled out a knife and rolled his brother onto his back. Jaro’s face was unrecognizable. Good! Lorcan had always hated that there was a clone of himself walking around, living and breathing air that was his. He was unique, special, one of a kind. He should be one of a kind. Lowering his face to his brother’s ear, he whispered to him softly, as the knife at his brother’s hip sliced off the layer of flesh that carried the Taijitu mark. This was a mark that could not be replicated in ink or by any other means. The only way for Lorcan to possess it, other than his brother dying, was to have it stitched onto his own hip. He was thankful that the quick healing ability of his Lyrani blood and the skills of the warloki mage he had called cast a spell that would create the illusion the mark was truly part of his skin. Morana had advised him that he would only have a short timeframe to use it before it faded. He gave his brother one last kick in the ribs as he immersed the precious flesh in preserving fluid. He felt no guilt for what he had done to his brother. The Taijitu should have been his by rights. It belonged to him now. And so would Tanith Laska.

  * * * * *

  Returning to consciousness, Jaro spat blood. He watched as it pooled into the puddle of mud and water that lay beneath his cheek. His hands twitched, frozen in the dirt, knuckles sore. Defeated. His brother had done this. Fucking Lorcan! He dragged himself up, each bone in his body protesting the exertion, fractured ribs lancing his abdomen with gut-wrenching pain. He gritted his teeth until he was on his feet. His left ankle buckled under him as slicing agony shot through his leg. Jaro closed his eyes in frustration. Was this payback for the redheaded bitch? Had she told Lorcan he had assaulted her and this was Lorcan’s way of saying hands off?

  Blood was seeping from beneath his shirt. Pulling it back, Jaro was shocked to see a gaping wound at his right hip where flesh had been sliced off. What the…? A pound of flesh. Yes. He remembered Lorcan’s words whispered in his ear as he lay on the ground drifting in and out of consciousness. Words he didn’t understand. “I’ll take my pound of flesh, brother. This was meant to be mine!”

  Shit. What time is it? He had to get back. Phenex would want him soon, and if he was absent, they would think he had run. As if. Been there, done that, been tortured for it. A vision of the redheaded bitch flashed into his brain. The enticing smile that had latched on to his dick at the club, hypnotizing him into a frenzy, kept replaying on a loop. His damn dick stood to attention. Fuck! Had it all been a setup? If he saw her again he would kill her. Screw it. He was fucked anyway. He’d kill Lorcan too. No he wouldn’t. He was so screwed. He would hate him until his dying day, but he would never kill his brother. But the redhead—well—that was a different story.

  Chapter Nine

  Battle

  “Fight night?”

  Morana had promised entertainment. This wasn’t quite what Tani had expected. “Most of the wealthy overlords keep a stable of fighters,” explained Morana, making them sound like horses or cattle. “Some even breed them from birth. It’s similar to the way they deal with prostitutes. They house them, feed them, train them and expect them to make money for them.”

  “Does Lorcan keep fighters?” Tani asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

  “He has a couple. It would look odd if he didn’t.”

  Tani sucked in a breath. The thought was abhorrent. Hopefully he treated them well. She was sure he would. After all, he fed the poor. Of course he would look to the needs of all in his employ.

  Morana led her to the front of the crowded arena and into a closed-in area populated by the aristocratic spectators. Tani recognized many faces from the other night’s entertainment. How different they appeared here compared to the refinement of Phenex’s palace. The atmosphere was charged with hostility, testosterone fueling the air. The box Tani and Morana were to occupy was located at the edge of a large circular pit cut deep into the earth. Other boxes were dotted around the edges, housing various factions of tribal warlords, each like Phenex, lord and master to the population in their territory. They had traveled from all over Ophiuchus to attend this fight. Deep below in the pit, a battle had recently ended. Slaves were raking over the sawdust, erasing evidence of spilled blood and readying weapons for the next bout.

  “Lady Tanith! Welcome.” Lorcan stood as Morana led her to the front of the box where he sat with two empty seats beside him. His eyes could not disguise his delight in her presence and he squeezed her hand warmly, soothing Tani’s nervousness at seeing him after the way things had been left between them the previous night. She smiled back uncertainly, but he showed no hint of the anger she had felt from him in the alley. Tani felt reassured and less embarrassed. Perhaps it had been respect that had caused him to cool the passion that had erupted between them. Maybe tonight she would tell him. Explain everything. Hope surged again that perhaps her duty would actually be possible and pleasurable at the same time. If the expression in Lorcan’s eyes were anything to go by, he was feeling it too.

  Tani felt cold eyes upon her. Sitri sat on Lorcan’s right, next to Phenex. She glanced at Tani, her brows drawn with the usual disdain, but nodded a grudging acknowledgement of her presence. Phenex was more forthcoming. His eyes brightened when he saw her and he stood, coming forward to take her hand and kiss her knuckle in greeting. Tani could feel her skin recoil from his touch. Phenex was evil, no matter how civilized he tried to appear.

  “Lady Tanith. A pleasure you could join us. You have blessed us with such beauty to rival the sordidness of battle. You will have to forgive our male foibles, my lady. We fight for glory in the hope of winning female smiles.” He squeezed her hand, stroking over her wrist. He was waiting for her approval, her adoration, as if he were actually fighting! Tani fought to hide the shudder that crawled over her skin at his words.

  “She does have a beautiful smile doesn’t she?” Sitri broke in silkily. “Be careful that too much smiling doesn’t induce crow’s-feet, my dear. Wrinkles can be so unappealing.” She was like a snake. Venomous. How could she be Lorcan’s mother? They were so unalike.

  “Ah!” growled Phenex, distracted and ignoring Sitri’s blatant rudeness to a guest. “My man is up next.”

  “Who is he fighting?” asked Sitri gleefully, forgetting Tani in obvious anticipation of the fight to come.

  “One of Belial’s stable.”

  “Oh, this should be good.” Sitri clapped her hands. Tani shivered. Sitri might be Lorcan’s mother but there was something so very disturbing about her. She turned toward the pit, watching as Belial’s male strode into the arena.

  He was a tall man, huge shoulders thick with muscle and tattoos that covered his body from head to toe. Short dark hair and a brutish face that sported a pugnacious nose spoke of a life of gladiatorial battle. The crowd bellowed their approval as he pounded his chest in belligerence.

  “Fists or weapons?” shouted Phenex.

  “Fists!” A drunken reply from another box. Belial stood, swaggering arrogantly before Phenex. “Let’s see what your man can do with his fists!” he reiterated. “Agron is unbeaten in seventeen bouts, Phenex. Can your man match that?”

  Tani watched Phenex scowl with anger that he was being challenged. “My man is also unbeaten, Belial…in twenty-four bouts!” The home crowd cheered.

  It was Belial’s turn to scowl. “Well, Phenex—where is this great champion of yours?” He turned mockingly, searching for his invisible foe.

  Phenex waved to a servant, his face darkening in hostility. “Where’s Jaro? Get him now!” At that moment, shouts broke from the crowd and T
ani’s attention turned to the pit. A shock wave emanated around the arena, echoed by the sickening horror that erupted in her gut as she focused on the second fighter, Phenex’s male, who had appeared at the entrance.

  “Gaia, he’s already been beaten black and blue!” she whispered to Morana, her shock at his appearance turning to disbelief. “How can he possibly fight?”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Morana. “It’s amazing what you will do, particularly if your life is at stake.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a fight to the death and even if the loser is shown mercy by the victor, nine times out of ten his master will execute him for losing.”

  Tani felt nausea rise. Phenex’s fighter was taller than Belial’s by a couple of inches, his torso sporting a lean carved abdomen but the skin stretched over it was punctured by a gash at his hip and patches of blue-black bruising mottled the surface. She could see he was strong but he was already injured. She could only imagine he must be in some pain but his stance was rigid. He held himself tall, his spine erect, supported by muscular thighs. Dark hair pulled back and tied off his face revealed the result of a beating that should have seen him hospitalized. His lips swollen and cut, a gash under his left eye and his right eye swollen so badly it was just a slash. He would be practically blind in this fight. Her gaze locked on to his face; she was surprised that he was staring in her direction. Ripples of loathing surged over her, emanating from his every pore. Tani recoiled at the intensity of his rage and jerked in pity.

  “Lorcan, can’t you do something? He can’t fight like that.”

  Lorcan turned and shook his head sadly, eyes sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Tanith. I’m not in a position to question Phenex. His word is law.”

  Tani turned back. The pity she felt for the male who looked broken but was unbowed turned into something else. She didn’t know what. A surge of power from deep within shot out toward him, seeking to give comfort, her natural compassion wrapping itself like armor around him. I will protect you. Electricity shot back—rage—ferocious in its intensity. Her compassion reviled. This man wanted nothing from her, his anger a barbed dart to her chest. The rejection—a palpable slap to her cheek.

  Jaro seethed with a vicious hatred so intense it threatened to explode. He didn’t care that he had to fight for his life against Belial’s champion. Been there, done that. He didn’t care that his body was battered and abused to such a degree that he was at a major disadvantage. Whatever. He could deal. But she was here.

  The sensation of silky red strands running through his fingers crashed a path across his skin. An image of amethyst eyes slammed into his retina. Lush, responsive lips meeting the force of his. Tongues sparring. The taste of strawberries. Oh yes. She was here. With Lorcan. His mother. His master. He would fucking kill her and take pleasure doing it.

  How many times can one man be betrayed? Jaro only knew that if betrayal was a pitcher of wine, he had had drunk his fill many times over. The twist of a knife in his back was the only common occurrence he expected. The arbiters of his betrayals were gazing down on him now. Eyes of disdain. His mother who had first betrayed his father and then him. Jaro was still paying the price of her selfishness. Rather than accept the consequences of her own actions, she had chosen to foist the aftereffects on a young child. Her son. The empty void where his heart should have been surged with an ache so intense it threatened to erupt as he remembered his father’s many sacrifices on the altar of his mother’s ambition and avarice.

  Jaro glanced up at his father. “Do you think Mama will like the gift?” he asked.

  “I hope so,” said his father, smiling down at him, the evening sun glinting on his bronze skin and cheek that bore four days’ growth of whiskers. His father hadn’t had time to shave, it was important that they reached home in time for his mother’s birthday. They had spent the week traveling from Serpens to Arushka to buy a special gift for her. “She’s always wanted Lyrani diamonds.”

  Jaro pictured the blood-red stones that hung on the silver chain his father had let him pick out. Three large red Lyrani diamonds, the most coveted in the universe, particularly on Ophiuchus where they were scarce. His mother would look beautiful in them.

  She was the most beautiful woman in the world, with her long black hair and deep blue eyes. If he was ever lucky enough to have a beautiful wife, he would also give her Lyrani diamonds. Jaro’s father had paid a fortune for them. His father always endeavored to give his mother whatever she asked for and he was the same with Jaro and his brother. But Jaro never asked for much. He knew things came at a price. He knew his father had sold off some of his own prized possessions to pay for the things his mother wanted. Jaro had tried to explain it to Lorcan, but Lorcan was so like his mother. He didn’t listen. He only wanted the finest things. His father had also bought an Arushkan bow that Lorcan had been clamoring for him to buy for many months now. Nothing but the best for his family.

  Jaro bit his lip. It wasn’t the first time his father had moved heaven and earth to acquire something his mother yearned for. The last time, when he’d given her an especially beautiful statue, she hadn’t even seemed pleased. “Oh,” she said, “you found it for me. That’s nice.” She had ended up using it as a doorstop. Jaro had a suspicion that his mother was selfish. But she was his mother and he loved her. He hated to see her cry. Now, years later, he laughed at the memory.

  When his father died, leaving them strangled in debt, she hadn’t cried. She had screamed and torn around the house in a whirlwind of destruction, destroying precious mementos his father had cherished. She had managed not to destroy anything valuable; those items had been taken and sold. When the debt collectors called, there had been only one option left. Work off the debt.

  His mother had pulled both her children in front of her. “Kneel, boys,” she said, her usual way of referring to them. Never Jaro or Lorcan. Never as individuals, always a pair. “I have something to tell you.”

  The brothers stared at their mother with apprehension. She had the wild gaze in her eyes that Jaro had come to fear. This mother of theirs was unpredictable at best and at worst, psychotic. But still, he loved her even as his heart ached for his father. It had been two weeks since their father had been found late one evening, lying dead in the garden.

  It appeared his heart had given out, the strain of the crippling debts too much for him to bear. Jaro missed him so much. His father had always been a solid rock, his idol in many ways, apart from those last few weeks where darkness had settled over the household. His parents constantly arguing, shouting. His mother’s voice raised, his father’s desperately trying to pacify.

  He knew Lorcan missed him just as much. He had heard his brother crying every night since it happened but hadn’t spoken to him about it for fear of embarrassing him. Jaro had kept quiet and shouldered the duties of the house, remembering the way his father managed the servants and slaves, ensuring the household continued to function, leaving Lorcan to grieve. His mother had not objected, her mind distant and distracted. They had barely seen her.

  They saw her now very clearly, her indigo eyes flashing in anger. “We have no money. One of you will have to work,” she said bluntly. No money! Lorcan’s eyes turned to Jaro, his shock profound. Jaro wasn’t so surprised. He had known they were in trouble and he knew now what was coming. “One of you must work off the debt.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair impatiently. “Well, who will it be?”

  Jaro’s eyes locked on to his brother’s and he could see his own fear reflected back at him. Lorcan was older by a few minutes, but Jaro instinctively knew he was more fragile, more sensitive. He couldn’t let the beauty of his brother’s soul be crushed.

  “I will, Mama.” The words were out and could not be recalled. If only he had realized what those three words meant at the time.

  She had hugged him then, ruffling his hair. “Your father would be proud,” she said, but somehow she made it sound like an insult. He was taken straight
away, given no time to pack or say goodbye properly to his brother. The debt collectors led him to the house of Oriax, the owner of their family debt, where he was bonded as a slave and made to take a bloodoath to serve him and call him Master. An oath that could only be broken by death. He was ten years old.

  Jaro had gone willingly. He had not cried. He had not faltered. He had not understood fully the ramifications of his sacrifice. He had not realized that what he had given up for his mother and brother would lead to further betrayals. The two people alive who should have been most concerned with his welfare cut themselves out of his life, barely to acknowledge him again. He had watched from afar as his mother rose in society, her beauty her entry point into the beds of powerful men and eventually to that of the man who was now master of her younger son. Had she ever tried to free him?

  Lorcan too had achieved wealth and position through business enterprise and although Jaro had his suspicions that some of his dealings were distinctly shady, this was hardly a problem in Serpens society. The majority of wealth here was garnered by criminals, thieves and racketeers. Legitimate businessmen such as Jaro’s father were soon squeezed out of the market. Neither Lorcan nor his mother acknowledged Jaro’s existence anymore. He was the skeleton kept hidden. A ghost. To them he was as dead as his father.

  Jaro raised his head to stare at his brother sitting shoulder to shoulder with the red-haired temptress who had set his blood on fire. That she belonged to Lorcan was irrefutable. His hand on hers was proprietary. Bile rose from Jaro’s gut, the taste so bitter his throat clogged and he almost gagged. Whatever Lorcan wanted, Lorcan took. It had always been that way. While Jaro scrabbled in the dirt, surviving on scraps thrown by a master who used him mercilessly. He was little better than an animal. Savage. A beast. His rage at fever pitch, a snarl escaped him, a feral growl of animal ferocity. One day. One day he would rip them all to shreds.