Kindred: (Into The Darklands)

by K. M. Raya

  His lips descend on mine, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth as I raise my hips up to meet his. Thallan rolls his hips, pressing his hardness into me. I rake my fingernails down the hard plains of his back causing him to moan into my mouth. In one swift thrust he’s inside me, filling my body completely as we both cry out. I move in synchronicity with him as he thrusts faster and harder—pouring his love, worry, anger and fear into me and every time he sighs my name I can hear how much I really mean to him. He loves me—cherishes me even. He’s always loved me; I know that now. All the years of kisses, caresses, touches and heated looks. All the times he worked me hard and trained me harder were because he cared. I see it clearly. I was so blind to it before, still seeing the world through the eyes of a girl.

  Running my fingers through his long hair, I pull on the luminous white strands, eliciting a growl that rips from his lips as it makes him wild. His fingers dig into my hips and I lock my legs behind his back. His lips roam over my neck and down over my shoulder, licking over my skin like fire. With one final thrust, he empties himself into me and buries his face into the spot between my neck and shoulder. I tighten around him, crying out as heat rips through my body. Magic crackles around my fingertips as I lose myself in him.

  I feel complete in this moment. I feel safe and loved—like everything that’s bad in the world exists entirely separate from him and I.

  ~~~

  Waking up, I rub the sleep from my eyes and look around my dark room. Thallan is long gone—probably with his soldiers making sure things are prepared and ready for the morning’s march.

  I sigh as I sink into my bedding—wondering if it might be the last time I get to enjoy the room I helped build with my own two hands. My mind has taken a dark turn but worries keep me from sleeping soundly. The truth is that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of facing Sephrian and his army. I’m afraid of coming face to face with the shadow again…

  ‘There's someone in my room…’ Awareness dawns on me. A shape walks into the moonlight and I heave a sigh of relief and Shayde comes closer. I have no idea how long he’s been here, but I’m glad he is. The last time we spoke, he’d been cold and distant. I can’t blame him though after everything that happened with those dracs. The pain and anguish he must be feeling pulls at my heart.

  “Were you spying on me?” I tease and his mouth tips into a grin—a long fang pokes out over his full lip. His eyes glow yellow in the darkness of my room, setting off the glow of his onyx skin. He looks like a wild creature, hovering over my prone form and I can’t help but crave him closer.

  “I needed to make sure you were safe.” He crawls up and over me, pushing me back against the mattress. I hold my breath as his large body covers mine. His hands graze the skin of my arms making me shiver. “I love you,” he whispers against my neck before inhaling a deep breath—rubbing his nose in my thick hair. His body rumbles and feel the bite of his claws as he holds me tighter. “I have something for you.”

  Pulling back, Shayde stands up from the bed and walks towards the door, leaving me cold. I sit there on my bed and pull the bedding up to my chin but before I can wonder too much, he’s coming back. There’s a wooden box in his hands as he approaches the bed. The way he holds it tells me whatever it is, is incredibly important to him. Nerves make my stomach flutter as he sits on the edge of my bed with the box in his lap. My eyes are glued to the box and now that I can see it better, I see small etchings carved into the dark wood—ornately carved lines that look like swirling vines and flowers intermixed with unrecognizable runes. Shayde hands me the box and it’s heavier than I’d expected. He nods his head—encouraging me to go ahead and open it. Softly, I unclasp the small iron lock and raise the lid carefully.

  “Shayde… are you sure?” I ask breathlessly—looking up at him in awe. Deep down I already know he’s serious because dracs don’t tend to do anything without thought. I stare down at the large black scales sparkling in the glow of the candlelight—colors bounce off of the iridescent surface causing light to dance along the walls of my room. Reaching inside I pull the armor out and hold it carefully with shaking hands, afraid of breaking it even though I know it’s nearly unbreakable.

  Shayde is gifting me with the most precious thing one can receive from a shadow drac. He’d made armor from his own scales and fashioned it to fit me and only me. The weight of what this means settles onto my shoulders but also fills me with pride. My mother had been the last one to have been blessed with such a gift.

  “When did you have the time to make this?” I run my hands along it's ridges, marveling at the craftsmanship. The inside of the armor is lined in shining black silk that matches the scales on the top.

  Shayde moves the box out of the way and takes the armor from my hands before placing it over my head and fastening it in place. They feel light as a feather, but I know they’ll protect me from any weapon that attempts to penetrate it.

  “I had it made the day after you buried your mother,” he tells me, and I have to fight back a choked sob. “I once gifted her with armor very similar to this to repay her for saving my life all those years ago.” He reaches up, running a hand over my wet cheek and brushing a tear away. “I’m giving this to you because I need you to be protected. I need to know that even if I’m not right there beside you, in some way I’m keeping you safe. No magic or blade can penetrate the scales of a drac.”

  I clasp my hand over his as he holds my face in his palm and squeeze. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

  Leaning forward, his eyes flit between mine as he brings his lips a breath away from mine. “I told you I loved you, Sera. You are my mate and I’ll throw myself on any sword if it means keeping you safe. I’ll die a thousand mortal deaths for you—though, with this armor I hope I won't have to.” He smiles and I can't help but laugh.

  For a few moments, I can almost let myself forget what comes next.

  Sephrian

  Nine Mages returned to Karn as Sephrian watched from the upper turret of his stronghold. They walked in defeat, heads lowered and bleeding from wounds unseen.

  He’d sent forty mages to the edge of the Short Sea in hopes to catch the merry band of travelers off guard. Clearly, he’d failed. Sephrian cursed as he spun away from the edge. Killing General Rathbone was supposed to be his chance to seize the Veil, but he’d been unprepared for one little development. The princess—thought long dead was an unknown variable and one he did not wish to underestimate twice. For some reason, the shadow hadn’t killed her and Sephrian would be a fool to ask why. He’d had two chances already, and still the girl remained breathing.

  King Derrund and his troupe were spotted on route to the Darklands’ shores only days before and it made Sephrian nervous for the first time in a long time. The giants of Paragon were no strangers to war, and he loathed to imagine battling even one of their kind much less a troupe led by Derrund himself. Mages were powerful creatures, but giants were something altogether different. Their magic and strength had been harvested from the land itself—an endless siphon of energy, rage and an incredible drive to conquer. For centuries now the gigantic race had kept to themselves, minding their own and Sephrian feared their silence had finally come to an end.

  Malek hadn’t returned to the castle as expected and he could sense Maeve's unease as she awaited her mate. The two shadow dracs pledged themselves to the rebellion long ago, but sometimes he wondered how far their loyalty really stretched. Side by side they’d fought against the Tyrant King before fleeing with the rest of the Kindred into the Darklands. But after years of wasting away and making do like Tilda and her followers, Sephrian had been ready to take it all back—even as their brothers and sisters refused to join them.

  He knew it was a difficult thing for a shadow drac to be away from their colony for too long, and for this reason Malek and Maeve had become increasingly volatile. Maeve remained behind to guard Sephrian while Malek accompanied the mage soldiers to the sea. Every day that passed since their departu
re took its toll on Maeve. He could see her out there night after night—pacing the courtyard and glaring at the skies as if her wanting would be enough to bring her mate home to her. A churning in his stomach was telling him that she waited for a ghost.

  The heavy door behind him slammed open, the sound reverberating through the room and bouncing off the stone walls. Shutting his eyes tightly, an ache was already beginning to form between his eyes. His brothers filed into the room, looking downtrodden and frustrated. They ambled into the room without a word between them as Magnus stood by the hearth to stare at nothing while Soran stood like a statue, glaring at Sephrian.

  A third figure entered behind them—cloaked in black and shrouded in a darkness that nothing could penetrate. It stopped just inside the door. The shadow remained something of an enigma even to him. The silent assassin rarely spoke, but when it did, Sephrian clung to every word. He’d first encountered the shadow figure six years before, during their time in the Darklands after King Draegan’s banishment. He’d turned up one night in Sephrian’s chambers while he slept. When he woke, an ornate curved blade was held against his throat while the shadow simply stared down at him in silence. He’d never seen its face, but he’d seen the dark tendrils of pure death that wove around it like a cloud of fog. Whatever the figure was, it had its reasons for coming to him.

  Sephrian came to the conclusion that the shadow was more valuable as an ally than as an enemy. He’d struck a deal with it that night—agreeing to work towards a mutual goal. With Sephrian commanding an army of mages he’d managed to sway to his cause, they’d taken Karn in a single night—turning the kingdom back over to the powerful...to the rightful rulers. But as Tilda’s army in the Veil grew, eventually Karn was no longer enough. Five years had passed and now it was time to take it all. The shadow seemed to agree—whatever it's reasons.

  Sephrian turned to his brothers. There was no love remaining between them, but he no longer mourned the loss of it. They were objects to him—a means to an end. Too much time had passed for needless and burdening emotions. “We lost dozens,” he informed them, and the room remained silent. “I can feel it in my bones that one of our dracs is dead. Soon Maeve will know, and we’ll be left without an aerial defense.”

  He paced the room, deep in thought. “I refuse to sit idle while the Veil becomes stronger. I doubt we have a single winter left before the people begin to seek refuge elsewhere. I hear the whispers on the wind—the secret meetings the villagers think I’m unaware of. We need the Veil and its army. We need them under our control and added to our ranks.”

  Despite the loathing between brothers, he could see the excitement shining in their eyes now. “My men are prepared to leave at your word. Just give the order and we march,” said Magnus. Sephrian knew his brother’s army was on the smaller side, being mountain dwellers and hunters from what used to be the kingdom of Amaranth—they were well trained and running on years of pent up rage and the will to survive.

  “Mine as well. I’ve stationed three hundred of my mages along your borders. We’ll send messengers to Zegrath and the rest will be here before the morning,” Soran assured them. Amaranth had a few hundred warriors, but most were not battle mages. No, the battle mages lived in Karn with Sephrian and were ready to fight at a moment’s notice. His men were hardened and bloodthirsty fighters. He’d trained them himself with the help of the shadow and his influence.

  “We leave in two days,” he ordered with finality. He was sick of talking about their plans rather than putting them to use. He was ready. He was coming for them all.

  Sera

  The sounds of clanking iron wakes me from a dreamless sleep. Someone kicks me in the stomach and my eyes fly open only to watch as they tumble over me and sprawl into the mud.

  I jump to my feet and out of my bedroll tucked away behind a tree as an onslaught of arrows and mage fire rain down overhead, barely missing me by a hair. A fireball nicks my ear as it flies by my head. The smell of burning hair makes me cough, gag and squint through the haze of smoke mixing with the falling rain. I look around me with wide eyes as my people begin to fight for their lives. We’d been traveling for three days and four nights only to be ambushed in our sleep. We’re no less than a half day away from Karn, still surrounded by the dense wood, but the kingswood is a much different place than the Darklands. We’re on enemy territory now.

  Something hits me from behind, knocking me to my knees. The breath leaves my body leaving me gasping and coughing. Reaching around, I don’t feel anything on my back, but it stings and pulses all the same. Turning, I look at the ground, spotting a broken and twisted arrow lying at my feet. It must have bounced off my scaled armor without piercing through. After gathering my breath and my wits, I run into the fray and draw my sword. All around me is nothing but chaos. Blood sprays in the air and the clash and clank of steel fills my ears. An unfamiliar mage runs towards me, wielding nothing but his hands which are blazing red with battle magic. He’s a large man with muddy brown hair and years’ worth of wrinkles on his face. He doesn’t look like a soldier though. He looks more like a farmer, or someone who works in a tavern. He doesn’t have the hardened stare of a killer, but the frightened one of someone who is being forced to fight. His hands thrust at my chest and propel me backwards, but my feet hold me up as I regain balance.

  Flinging my hands out, magic crackles over my fingers and swipes him with tendrils of mage fire, blasting the man backwards but he pushes back. He’s strong but I can already tell that I am stronger. I’ve known for a long time that the power inside of me isn’t normal by any means. For some reason I am stronger. My magic more deadly. Even now it threatens to overcome me, but I reign it in, not wanting to cause more pain than necessary. This man is being forced to fight me, and although his death is impossible to avoid, I’d rather make it as painless as possible.

  My flames are quickly overtaking him, and I almost hesitate as I watch the realization cloud his eyes. Extinguishing my flames without warning, his weight causes him to fall forward before I light him up again, slamming my palms into his chest. The man flies backwards, hurdling into the side of a tree trunk and crumpling to the ground in a heap. I have no clue if he’s dead or alive, but I have no time or willpower to check. In my heart I know I don’t want to kill the man, but I’ll do what needs to be done regardless.

  Once again, I’m thrown forward as something slams into me from behind. This time it’s with what looks like an axe. It’s heavy and powerful, and yet it still bounced off my armor—although it’s still a struggle just to breathe. Unsheathing my sword again, I effectively block his next blow. This man is even more startling than the last—if one could even call him a man. He’s young—not much older than maybe sixteen years. His face is still round with boyhood and his black hair is matted to his pale face with sweat. His eyes are afraid, but he fights with the aggression of a man three times his size. I can tell that the boy is human. I hate the fact that I’ll have to end him. It seems Sephrian’s recruits are untrained. It's disgusting and makes a mockery of what was once a great military force.

  We twirl and block, moving around swiftly and trading blows back and forth as my footwork begins to confuse the clearly untrained lad. His eyes fight to focus on my blade as they flicker to my feet. I dance around him easily, striking him in the arm, the leg and in the back. He’s weakening. I futilely hope that he’ll fall to the ground with weakness before the killing blow—sparing me the guilt, but from the determination in his eyes I know his death is inevitable. My foot slips in what must be a mixture of blood and slick mud—losing my balance for a moment. The boy uses it to his advantage and raises his weapon, ready to strike.

  Suddenly, an arrow protrudes from his scrawny chest. He looks down in shock, blood seeping from his mouth before falling down dead at my feet. I let out a reluctant gasp—eyes searching the battlefield for the archer. There must be hundreds of fighters around me, it’s easy to lose a person in the mess. Elves fight mages and dracs whip their
tails into groupings of humans, smashing them into the dirt with ease. I don’t see an archer through the haze of blood and darkness, but somehow, I just know it was Thallan. He’d promised me he would be there watching, and he’d kept that promise just like I knew he would.

  There's a swirling fog that seems to hover over us, writhing through the rain and fire. I recognize the cold, dead, hopeless feeling of a mancer’s death magic and it makes my heart drop into my belly. I know the shadow is here somewhere and the thought makes me panic. As I fight my way through the crowd, I come to realize that it's almost impossible to tell friend from foe. I’d been easy to spot with my bright red hair shining like a beacon for all to see—the long thought dead Draegan Princess.

  An arm wraps around my neck from behind and hauls me up off the ground. Magic sparks at my fingertips again as I struggle to free myself. My flames should have scorched my attacker, but they only hold on tighter. A moment later I’m being pulled up onto the back of a black horse. A roar from above spooks the beast and it staggers over with me on it. A shadow drac swoops through the trees, claws digging into the horse and rendering it useless—knocking me to the ground as it’s rider falls under its weight. I know it was Shayde who saved me, but I can’t stop. Looking up as I get to my feet, another shadow drac winds its way through the trees, chasing Shayde with determination in its yellow eyes.

  Sheathing my sword, I pull my bow to the forefront. Notching an arrow, I light the tip with mage fire. One by one I launch arrows into the sky—knowing that they will have no effect on shadow drac scales, but maybe I can provide enough of a distraction for Shayde to gain the upper hand. Flaming arrows bounce off of the drac’s underbelly, agitating it. The drac suddenly changes its course, heading straight towards me. I turn and run, knowing that it could snap me in half easily. I knock people out of the way and slog my way through mud and blood. I can feel the flap of the massive wings in the air behind me.