Bloodlust (8 page)

By the time he had cooked and ate a larger portion of the bear-dog than he probably should have, for who knew when his next meal would be, the princess finally woke. She stood and smoothed the few wrinkles her nightly fight had wrought into her armored dress.

Without exchanging a word or even a nod, he handed her a small portion of meat. She accepted it, her eyes not meeting his. If she thought she could seduce him to do as she willed, how would she like it if he turned the tide around on her? Let her get swept up in the waves and be dashed upon the rocks until she died.

But no kisses. Never a kiss.

Even if her lips did like luscious this morning.

Where had that thought come from? True, he had not bothered with most goliathas, not ready to think of marriage and all it entailed, too busy with his revenge, but the realization that he did not think the brutal killer as hideous startled him.

The faint call of a burrower had Lukor scrambling to rid himself of the princess for a few moments. "I will be back momentarily." He slid behind some bushes. She averted her gaze, but he needed more time, so he added, "If you are still hungry, go and hunt another animal."

"We should press on." She glanced toward him for a brief moment.

Dark circles enhanced the purple hue of her eyes and granted him a legitimate excuse. "When one does not have restful sleep, they need all the energy food can provide."

After a curt nod, she wandered off.

Lukor grunted three times and snorted twice. The small burrower — a sandy brown furball with dark claws for digging and a pouch goliaths used for scrolls — appeared. From the small black circle on its forehead, Lukor recognized this one as Golic's. What message had his friend sent him? Having admonished Golic not to risk communication, Lukor feared the scroll contained foul news.

It did.

Heda is no longer Golempress. Bruk lasted only two days. Now Nazro is on the throne. While the cause for Heda's death is uncertain, Bruk had been murdered. I'm not sure Nazro is behind it.

Lukor used a tar stick to remove his friend's writing and carved into the scroll his own message:
Not surprised.

The four-legged creature stood on its hind legs, watching him intently. He almost did not give the scroll back to the furry burrower, but if he sent no reply, Golic would think him dead. While not all goliaths could be trusted, Golic had fought beside him. They had lost friends together, lost family. Golic deserved to know Lukor still thrived, although not even Golic knew of Lukor's mission, either the one from the golempress or his own. Golic believed Lukor to be taking some time to himself for a long-needed break. Truth was, he did need a break, but only after he had succeeded.

Even though the golempress was dead, Lukor was not ready to abandon his mission. What had started as a means of securing a route to the barbarian's land for a possible ambush — which, from their watch towers and numerous guards, was an impossibility as he had not escaped unnoticed himself — had morphed into kidnapping, not that his prey knew it yet.

Soon enough. Before she died, Ivy would curse his name. Perhaps it would be the last phrase she would ever say.

Ivy resisted the desire to look over her shoulder ever few steps. Lukor was hiding something from her. Why else would he want her to leave his side?

Still, he had spoken the truth. Her slumber had been terrible. This time, she could recall glimpses of the dream but not enough to understand who or what she saw. The desire to defend herself, the complete terror she had felt — that was all too vivid. Her palms sweated. Her palms never sweated. Not even during the heat of battle.

Her legs had carried her farther from the goliath than she'd intended. She had hoped to keep an eye on him, but the sound of nearby voices had her continuing on. Moving from breechnut tree to holly maple tree, she eased closer. Past the line of tall leafy, nut-filled trees and the smaller vine-covered, sticky trees, a crowd of goliath warriors filled a small lake, as did sparkling butterfish and tunacraws.

She licked her lips. The fish would make a tasty treat, but she couldn't risk it. The goliaths showed no signs of leaving, and she couldn't allow Lukor to become aware of their presence. He might decide not to help her and bring her to his ruler. War would start immediately.

Ivy straightened from her crouched position, and a twig snapped beneath her feet.

Despite the splashing of water, the goliaths turned as a unit toward her.

Before the closest could reach for his morning star from the bank, her arrow pierced his neck. Her next missed its mark as the goliaths rushed toward her.

Ah, close combat. Her preferred method of destruction.

Specks of water flew from the nearest goliath onto her and landed on her. The stench from its mouth, the evil glint in its yellow eyes, the dull shine on its blade — all enough to engage her Bloodlust. She hacked and sliced and swung. Clangs, screams, hisses, grunts, the beating of their hearts racing and then stopping, the whoosh of the blade arching through air, the subtle gasp of flesh opening — every sound was heightened.

Once the last heartbeat faded and ended, Ivy opened her eyes. She had killed every goliath and every fish.

How much time had lapsed? Was Lukor looking for her? Ivy dragged the goliath bodies into the water, stole a few smaller weapons — including a deadly star-shaped scalpel and a half-mooned double blade — and made her way her way back toward their camp.

Water dripped from her skirt, but thankfully, most signs of the battle had washed away when she'd dumped the bodies. Her stomach growled, but she hadn't the time to risk eating a fish. If Lukor saw it, he might want one.

His back was to her when she approached him.

"Let's go," she demanded, her voice full of authority, steely, harsh. "Please," she added more softly. At all times, she needed to be gentle and kind. Something she had to keep reminding herself. A most difficult task, considering her Bloodlust threatened to overwhelm her each time she saw him, based on the knowledge that he wanted their races to engage each other in war.

With a slow, deliberate turn, Lukor faced her, a wide smile on his face. "Yes," he agreed. "Unless you want to try resting again. I'll keep watch."

She closed her eyes a moment to keep her facial muscles relaxed. If she had to guess, he was trying to turn the tables on her and seduce her. Fair play.

Returning his smile, she shook her head. "If we do not stop, we can reach the Spirit Realm before nightfall."

"True, but to enter it during the night..."

Ivy stepped closer to him. The skirt of her dress twirled around her knees and upper calves. "Don't tell me you're scared."

"Nothing frightens me."

She believed him. Not even she did. After all, he had survived an encounter with her Bloodlust, as unfathomable as that was. "Besides, don't you know a shorter way through it?"

"A path, yes. It will still take us at least two days inside."

"Please be my guide."

He smiled at her again, and the barest traces of distress vanished from his features, making her questions its existence. The look on his features — so strange. He appeared almost nice. As if a goliath could be. Goliaths were almost as bloodthirsty as barbarians. Perhaps elves and dwarves and humans never should have crossbred in the first place.

Which of the three elder races had come about first, no one knew. Elves claimed themselves, as did humans. Dwarves said nothing on the matter. Elvish and human blood sang in brutal harmony within barbarian's veins. Dwarves and humans had created goliaths. And the savage trolls were the result of elves and dwarves — the most recent union, and one no one had thought would have ever happened.

Goliaths, trolls, and dwarves had never mingled together, nor had any bound themselves to one of their elder races. The thought of giving herself to anyone, barbarian or one of another race, made Ivy's stomach clench, reminding her of its emptiness. It was all a charade with Lukor. Nothing more. An act. She would do what she must to ensure her people's survival. Even if it meant seducing a goliath of all peoples.

Ivy did not breathe easily until those trees guarding the lake were out of sight. Lukor's head was lowered slightly as he pressed onward at a swift pace. An unusual sight. Normally, he held his chin high, almost regally.
Who is he?

"Sent a message to your people?" she asked, and bit her tongue until it bled. Speaking before thinking was a flaw of hers her mother had never managed to stamp out before dying.

"What did you do why we parted briefly?" he returned. "You keep rubbing your stomach, and not because it is satisfied."

"I found no food." None she could eat, that is. The thought of eating goliath thigh had occurred to her, but she had been worried enough Lukor could smell the stench of his people upon her clothes. She did not need it on her breath as well.

"You should have asked for more." He handed her the remnants of his bear-dog kill.

She enjoyed it as they continued their trek, although it had been cooked more than she liked. Still, its juice exploded in her mouth, the meat easily crushed between her teeth, sliding down her throat to her waiting stomach.

"Thank you." Her smile came easily, the first non-forced one.

He did not return it. "I did."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. She inhaled sharply. "Gave them word of my whereabouts?"

Could she believe him if he denied it? Surely not.

Lukor motioned for her to scale a hill in front of him. She hated taking the lead but complied.

"A friend sent me an update."

"On which issue?"

Silence answered her. After they crested and descended two more hills, she said, "Thank you for not lying to me."

He chuckled. "No answer is better than one you won't believe."

Did that mean the message and his reply truly hadn't concerned her? Was this all a ruse? An attempt to earn her trust? She would never trust a goliath. She would never trust another barbarian for that matter. 'Twas an impossibility.

Sill, silence
was
preferable to an outright lie.

Her full stomach gave her increased endurance and strength, and soon, the goliath was running to keep up. Shortly before the violet sun set, they stood before the mist outlining the border of the Spirit Realm.

She so wished they could have taken another route, but every other one tacked weeks, if not a month, onto their journey. They had no choice in the matter. Time was a great enemy of hers.

Her breathing hitched. What had once been a barren wasteland, the elves had converted into a cloud-like mass, a foggy haven for unrest souls. Most everyone who died was trapped within the Spirit Realm. Some thought no other afterlife existed, but considering some elves had surely died prior to the creation of the place, Ivy did not believe those rumors.

Still, most, if not all, of those souls were dangerous despite lacking earthly bodies. Some persons who ventured into the Realm never left. Others were never the same — went mad with grief or professed their deceased loved ones had given them insights into the future. To believe them most often resulted in death.