The Outlanders

by Erin Rhew

  THE OUTLANDERS

  THE FULLFILLMENT SERIES

  BOOK TWO

  ERIN RHEW

  Copyright © 2014 by Erin Rhew. All rights reserved, including the right to distribute, reproduce, or transmit in any form or by any means. The Outlanders is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and events are all fictitious creations imagined by the author. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead is merely coincidental, and not intended by the author.

  For more information about rights, please contact the publisher.

  BookFish Books LLC

  Acquisitions Editor: Tammy Mckee

  P.O. Box 274

  Salem Va. 24153

  bookfishbooks@gmail.com

  Or visit our Web-site at http://www.bookfishbooks.com

  Cover Artist: Anita B. Carroll at http://race-point.com

  Author: Erin Rhew at www.erinrhewbooks.com

  Chapter One

  Wil

  Wil stared down at the delicate hand gripping his arm. Part of him wanted Layla to let go, the other part longed for her to pull him closer. When her hold tightened, he sighed, willpower lost. He drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers with all the pent-up yearning he’d tried to keep hidden.

  A current flowed from her, intensifying until they both shook from the force of it. Though he’d always believed her to be the long-awaited Fulfillment, in that moment he knew it for certain. She was the one—the one to save Etherea, the one to bring peace, and the one to steal his heart.

  She sighed, relaxing into him as she threaded her hands in his hair.

  That sigh.

  The image, the same one that haunted his every waking and sleeping moment, rose to the surface. Horrified, Wil backed up to distance himself from her as a wave of painful longing coursed through him. Tearing away from her felt like ripping off his own skin, but he couldn’t be with her knowing she loved another.

  “Layla,” he said in a raw voice. “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” He pushed back his hair as he fumbled for the right words, for a way to make her understand. “You see, the person I want to be would let you go. That person would be happy for you and Nash and want nothing but the best for you, but as much as I want to be that person, I’m not yet. I’m still selfish enough to kiss you without your consent, to want to leave you with a special memory of me that wasn’t planted by an Alteration. I’m sorry I’m not a better person, Layla.”

  Empty and vulnerable, he gazed into her purple eyes, expecting rejection. Instead, she took a step toward him. He sucked in a startled breath but remained in place.

  “Wil, I don’t think you could be a better person if you tried. You’re already so kind and selfless. And just to be clear, you didn’t kiss me without my consent.”

  She took another step forward and closed the gap until their lips locked together again. Though his mind screamed for him to stop and consider his actions, he ignored the warning and wrapped his arms around her tighter. She let out a small gasp, which he matched with a low moan.

  “Layla.” The husky way in which he breathed her name surprised him.

  In his arms, she shivered. He bent down and planted a kiss at the nape of her neck. With each touch of his lips, Wil tried to convey the depths of his feelings. If he only got to hold her this one time, he wanted her to know exactly how he felt. He’d grown weary of hiding it, tired of fighting it.

  “Wil.” She hitched his name, barely able to speak.

  She dragged his head back up and joined their lips together. They stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. The more heated their exchange, the stronger the electric hum between them grew. Layla clung to him, shaking. He lifted her up onto the table. When his hand lingered for a moment on her thigh, her leg quivered against his palm.

  He reached up and cupped her face. They pressed together, not an inch of space between their bodies. Her hands roamed up and down his back, clawing at him. Love and desire coursed through him with a fervor he’d never known. He loved her, and she loved him…he’d never dared to hope for it.

  In the back of his mind, a sinister laughter broke through the haze. He recognized the sound though he’d never actually heard it in person. Werrick. Just when Wil had allowed himself to believe, the merciless truth jarred him into reality. They’d been duped by Elder Werrick…again. Against their wills, the Ecclesiastical leader had worked his mystical magic to manipulate and control their feelings…again. Wil cursed himself and the Elder. He’d been foolish to consider, even for an instant, that Layla loved him. She loved Nash. Wil had known it before, and he knew it now.

  With the last shred of remaining dignity he possessed, he disengaged himself and stepped back. Everything stopped except their ragged breathing. Heat wafted around them, the air charged with their craving.

  “Oh no,” he whispered as his stomach lurched.

  Without another word, he turned and ran out the door.

  Wil propelled himself awake, absorbing the collective hum of buzzing activity. The dream—or had it been a memory?—lingered behind his closed eyes. Around him, he heard men race by, their swords clanking, as blood, fresh and sharp, permeated the air. His muddled brain struggled to separate fact from fiction.

  When he attempted to open his eyes and survey the surroundings, they refused to budge. An inexplicable force weighed down his whole body and rendered him immobile. With each breath, his chest screamed for relief from its phantom attacker. White spots dotted the blackness behind his closed lids. In his search for answers, he only found more questions.

  An unfamiliar voice stole Wil’s attention. “I think the Vanguards will attack again soon. With King Jesper dead and Prince Wil dying, how will we defend ourselves against them?”

  “You saw Prince Nash in the battle,” a second voice added. “He’s next in line to be king.”

  With King Jesper dead…the words hit Wil hard, reminding him of the battle and its tragic cost. His father had lost his life in the attack by the Vanguard usurper, Prince Vance. Now, Wil lay where he had fallen, struck by Vance’s blade in a one-on-one battle.

  With so many staggering thoughts vying for a position in his mind, Wil grasped for one thing he did know to anchor him in place. He finally settled on a reoccurring certainty—his kingdom, Etherea, needed him. Moreover, Layla needed him. Armed with a purpose, he commanded his body to move. His insides shook with frustration as the simplest of outward motions eluded him.

  “Are you guarding the king?” Feet shuffled near Wil’s head. He recognized the voice—Volton Mars, his teacher, physician, and friend.

  A throat cleared. The first voice rose again, “Uh…no, Volton, we...”

  “Then clear away from the king and let me work.”

  The men grumbled as they went, but soon their footsteps and voices faded in the distance. A presence hovered. Though he could not see Mars, Wil drew comfort and strength from his friend’s nearness.

  A hand patted his cheek “Wil? My prince…I mean, my king. Wil, can you hear me?”

  He wanted to speak, to assure Mars that a consciousness lay trapped inside this uncooperative body, but he had no way to communicate. Sure, capable hands pressed into his chest, sending a rush of anguish so strong Wil lost his tentative grip on consciousness. He drifted away, farther and farther from the sound of his friend’s call as memories consumed him.

  Prince Vance raised his sword and charged Wil. In the Vanguard’s sneer simmered unconcealed contempt, conveying the depths of his hatred for all things Ethereal. His guard down, Vance exposed his sole purpose, his self-imposed reason for existence—the successful destruction of the Ethereal kingdom. In contrast, Wil would gladly give his life to protect his people and defend Etherea. The two leaders
faced off, each with a goal in direct opposition to the other…quintessential enemies.

  Wil knew he should be afraid, being so outmatched by a naturally superior foe—as all Vanguards were blessed with remarkable strength—but he couldn’t muster it. His love for Etherea and Layla, combined with his belief in the rightness of his claim over Vance’s, provided him an immeasurable amount of peace in the face of near-certain death.

  To his surprise, Wil blocked the first of Vance’s strikes, and then another. A spark of hope, of belief, bloomed. He thought, for one brief moment, he might just beat the Vanguard. That split second of hubris left him vulnerable, and Prince Vance struck.

  In those first moments, before his mind registered the injury, Wil stared down at the weapon sticking out of his body, more in shock than in pain. His first thought—that he’d disappointed his people—filled his mouth with the bitter taste of failure. His second thought—of Layla—sent a sorrowful ache coursing through his body.

  Just as those two feelings blended together, a third sensation exploded inside him. Pain, alive and hungry, consumed all other conscious thought. Blood soaked his shirt. The stain spread, growing larger and darker with each beat of his heart. A thick, red line seeped down the hilt of the Vanguard’s sword just before Vance yanked it back out. A new, burning river of fire rolled through the gash, sending shock waves to every section of Wil’s body.

  Eyes wide, Wil glanced up at Vance, who grinned with a satisfied smirk. Anger boiled inside Wil, but his limp limbs left him powerless to retaliate or even defend himself against further attack. His legs crumpled beneath him, shame adding weight as he hit the ground. He knew in that moment he would die at the hands of the merciless Vanguard. He expected Vance to raise his sword and strike him down, yet the final blow never arrived. Instead, Layla appeared beside him like an avenging angel, her weapon drawn. Then everything went dark.

  Layla—the mere thought of her revived Wil. He tried again to open his eyes, wanting to see her just once more, wanting her face to be the last thing he saw before he joined the First Ones in the Great Beyond. But nothing happened.

  All around him, people shouted. Swords clanked inside their holds as feet continued to shuffle by. The sticky heat from the blood-soaked planks warmed his back. Relentless in their pursuit, sensations assaulted him until a familiar voice boomed through the chaos.

  “Grant, lead the Vanguard soldiers into the tunnels. Their presence is confusing the Ethereals.”

  Nash! Relief spread through Wil as he eavesdropped on his half-brother’s decree. Nash would take care of Etherea…and Layla. Wil’s heart constricted, sending a fresh burst of searing pain snaking through his prostrate body. Though he tried in vain to hold on, he slipped back into the all-consuming darkness.

  “I’m here, Wil,” Nash whispered.

  Wil pried open his eyes. He gritted his teeth and forced a smile despite the intense, scorching burn. His body urged him to give up, to stop fighting and succumb to the death that circled him, but Wil refused to go without securing Etherea’s future…and Layla’s. “Brother, I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Wil.” Nash’s voice wavered. Wil caught the despair on his brother’s face as Nash turned away. The two men had never been good at hiding anything from one another—not even their love for the same girl.

  Nostalgic, Wil replied, “You know, we’ve never been apart for that long. You used to disappear into the woods sometimes, but you always came home for dinner. I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Me too.”

  “I need your help, Nash.” Wil stared at his brother, trying to make Nash understand the importance of these words, the necessity of them.

  “Anything.”

  Wincing in pain, Wil reached behind him, where Layla sat stroking his hair, and grabbed her hand. She gasped in surprise. That small sound almost made him reconsider, but he pressed on despite his heartache. For the sake of his kingdom. For the sake of his family.

  When Wil placed Layla’s hand on top of Nash’s, confusion and surprise passed between them. Though it broke his already damaged heart, Wil wanted to give his beloved the freedom to follow her desires, even if it took her away from him and into his brother’s arms. Wil loved Etherea, and he loved Layla. So did Nash.

  A loud snapping vibrated the air around them. Wil raised an eyebrow in confusion. He’d only experienced this strange current with Layla a few times, so why now? His arm rattled, as did Layla’s and Nash’s. Volton Mars, who sat a few paces away, watched with fascination.

  “Oh First Ones.” Wil’s mother muttered her prayers, attributing a spiritual component to the inexplicable vibration.

  “Wil?” Layla’s gaze swung back and forth between the two princes.

  “I’m dying—”

  “You’ll be fine.” A sob caught in her throat, contradicting her forced assurance.

  Nash forced a smile, but he didn’t fool anyone. “The Volton will fix you up in no time.” Wil shook his head to stop whatever other pacifying reassurances they had planned. He looked between them.

  “I don’t know what will happen to me.” He avoided the word dying to appease them. “But I need you both to work together to save Etherea.”

  “What are you saying?” Nash furrowed his brow.

  “I want you to stand as king in my place.”

  “What? I could never…”

  “You can, Nash, and you will. I trust no one else to hold my throne.”

  Wil meant those words with all his heart, certain he’d been right to place his faith in his brother. All their lives, Nash avoided leadership, claiming he didn’t possess it, but Wil had always known otherwise. Nash would make an excellent king and a good husband to Layla. With their union, the peace prophecy, which required an Ethereal to wed a Vanguard, could still come true. Wil foresaw the future with startling clarity.

  A crackle pierced the air as the energy coursing between the three intensified. Wil believed it to be a sign from the First Ones, a confirmation of his choice. He would die loving Layla, and she would live loving Nash. The thought pierced his heart in a way no sword ever could, but he plastered an encouraging smile on his face. He wouldn’t let either of them see how much this request, this release, crushed his soul.

  “Okay, Wil.” Nash agreed with a curt nod. “But only until you heal. As soon as you are back on your feet, the crown is yours.”

  Wil smiled, appreciating his brother’s optimism. Turning his gaze toward the woman he loved, Wil memorized the contours of her face, drinking them in one last time. He could have used these last moments to say anything to her—a thousand possibilities vied for position in his mind—but he stayed the course.

  “Layla, Nash will need your support. Stand by him. Help him. I want the two of you to do whatever it takes to protect my people.”

  “We will.” She closed her eyes and nodded.

  Feet marched near his head and drew Wil back to the present, though the memory lingered. He’d said those words just minutes before—or had it been hours? He didn’t know, yet they still tore at him like a raw, gaping wound inside his chest. His chest…the pain there changed from a blinding burn to a dull throb. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Nash’s voice rose again, commanding attention despite the swirl of activity. “We need to move Wil to the castle!”

  “Yes.” Volton Mars cleared his throat. “I might be able to stabilize him if I have access to my equipment.”

  A fresh, unexpected wave of agony surged through Wil, his body’s final stand against the inevitable death stalking him. His lips parted, and a small moan escaped.

  “Wil?” Layla’s voice washed over him, soothing his persistent ache. She slipped her warm hand into his cool one. To his surprise, nothing happened. The baffling undercurrent, beginning when Elder Werrick had bound them and reaching its climax upon the battlefield, disappeared with just as much mystery as it had appeared. What did that mean? Further proof of his imminent death?

  “Take the imposter to
the library. Place two guards inside with her and two more in front of the door,” Nash continued to issue orders.

  “You can’t do that!” A stranger’s voice shook with unconcealed rage. “Mia’s done nothing wrong. You can’t treat her like a prisoner.”

  “Stop fighting us.” Both a plea and reproach resounded in Layla’s words.

  “I can, and I will,” Nash snapped. “She poses a threat to Etherea, and as its acting king, I’ll choose what to do with her.” Wil yearned to open his eyes. Desire to speak and defuse the situation bubbled within him. But he had already ceded control to his capable brother, so Wil held his tongue. Not that he could speak anyway…

  “A threat? A threat? You can’t be serious.” The unfamiliar voice rose with indignation. “She’s the real Fulfillment, can’t you see that? A blind fool could see that.”

  Nash growled. “Samson, that’s enough!”

  Confusing waves of information assaulted Wil’s mind all at once. Samson—Layla’s adopted brother? When had he come to Etherea? Who was Mia? And why had Samson called her the real Fulfillment? How long had he been unconscious? Long enough to miss crucial information… He hated being injured, incapable.

  When strong arms lifted him into the air, jostling his wound, blackness encroached upon his consciousness. He struggled against it and focused instead on the feel of Layla’s hand in his. This touch could be their last, so Wil clung to her, cherishing every second.

  “Rest. You’ll need your strength to get well.” Layla’s warm breath rippled down his neck.

  Bewitched by her, as he had been from the very start, Wil obeyed, succumbing to a dark and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Layla

  The deep lines of worry creasing Volton Mars’ face told Layla Wil’s situation had grown dire. The Volton’s bloodshot eyes shimmered with unshed tears. They bore witness to his sleepless night—a night spent attempting to save the young king. Layla’s throat constricted, choked by an invisible claw. His name—Wil—drummed through her mind like a chant, as if repeating it could somehow keep him alive.