BloodLust (Rise of the Iliri Book 1) (44 page)

Her lips curled, the smile nearly feral, but it was still a smile.  "Let us show them.  Help us prove that we're as good as you."

"What else?" he asked.

"There's a crate of documents in storage at the Stonewater Stables.  It's in iliran.  We want to get them to the University of Prin."

"That I can do.  What else?"

"Stay the fuck out of our way."

Ran laughed.  "Oh, now that I can't promise."  He shot her a devious glance.  "I plan to do a whole lot more than just get out of the way.  Lieutenant Blaec Doll will receive orders any minute now that increase your unit size to ten.  He has authorization to begin recruitment to find two additional Black Blades - and quickly, before orders come down to prevent it.  The trials will have to be held in Prin, though, because Parliament has requested a meeting with him."

"Why are you telling me this?"  Sal made no effort to hide her suspicion.  "I'm not authorized for that information."

"You are now.  Unfortunately, he's only allowed to raise you up three ranks within a year.  He used that up when he made you a Corporal.  With your, um - I think he used the word expert - handling of the Black Widow Company's threat, he asked me for the second favor."

"How does this affect my clearance?" Sal asked, confused.

Ran continued as if she hadn't interrupted, "I can't promote you unless I truly believe that you are qualified for the position.  No iliri, well, no purebred, has ever held a rank over Corporal in our history.  Our little chat today was my way of seeing if you could take it."  He smiled and shoved a small box at her.  "I think you can.  I'm impressed, Sal.  You're nothing like I expected.  You're twice as lethal and ten times more intelligent, even if you confuse the hell out of me.  So, I'm promoting you to Sergeant and raising your clearance to first level."

Sal looked between him and the small box.  She opened it slowly and looked at the chevrons inside, then back to the general.  "Damn it, Blaec," she whispered to herself.

"You got Blaec Doll to suck up his pride twice.  That's something.  According to him, you're the best recruit he's had, and your records show you're a damned monster on the field - no offense."

"None taken, I assure you."

"I'm also moving you to Second Officer of the Black Blades."

Sal sprang to her feet, her ears pinned back to her head, shocking the general into sitting up.  "You have no right!"

"I was asked to," he said.  "I'm not meddling in your, I think Blaec called it pack?  I'm not about to start moving around your pack structure, Sal.  I'm just handling a few things he can't do himself in our human laws."

"Blaec is making me third?"

"Yeah.  Said he would have made you second, but you convinced him Arctic is still better."

She looked back at the chevrons in her hand and sank into the chair.  "Fuck," she whispered again.

"Oddly, I don't think that has anything to do with it.  I admit, I wondered."  He laughed when she took his joke as nothing more than a fact.  "I'm behind you, Sal.  You, the Black Blades, and all of the iliri in the CFC.  I'll stick my neck out as far as you need me to, and we all know that I have pull where your pale skins don't, I just ask one thing in return."

"What?"  She didn't bother to look up.

"Help me.  We don't know much about your kind.  You've been secretive for too long."  He sighed.  "I know it was because you had to be, but it hasn't helped.  Humans are scared of that which they don't understand.  Give me what I need to help you, all of you?"

"I can't do that."  She glanced up, unable to meet his eyes, and shook her head.  "I'll tell you some, but I won't tell you all of it."

"Why not?"

"You seem like a decent man, Ran.  You're pretty good for a human, but you're still a human."

"Will I ever earn your trust?"

Sal thought about that for a long moment.  "I don't know."  She lifted the documents he'd given her and flicked the edge.  "This is a good start, though."

"Good.  Then get to Prin, hold your trials, and show them what you're made of, Sergeant."  He stood and offered his hand.

Sal rose and took it.  The feel of his skin was warm and comfortable, nothing like most humans.  Her head cocked to the side and her eyes were locked on their grip.  Her small, milky-white fingers were dwarfed by his wrinkled, umber palm, but she didn't have the instinctual urge to jerk away.  Slowly, she looked up, directly into his deep brown eyes.  He didn't blink.

"I believe you're trying," she said, the words devoid of emotion.  "I'll give you a chance, but we've learned not to trust your kind.  You like to kill us too much."

The General chuckled and slowly looked down.  "I always knew you'd be different.  Good luck, Sergeant.  I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

She turned, marching out as proudly as she'd entered.  When she reached for the door to the hall, she paused.  He'd just given her back her dominance.  He'd dropped his eyes, and from the tone of his voice, he'd known exactly what he was doing.  Slowly, she looked back to find him waiting.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome..."  The door was almost closed behind her, but she heard his last word.  "Kaisae."

Books by Auryn Hadley:
(Excerpts to follow)

Eternal Combat:

Flawed (Prequel, coming 2016)

Challenge Accepted

Fragged (coming soon)

The Wolf of Oberhame:

When We Were Kings

When We Were Dancing

When We Were Crowned (fall 2016)

Rise of the Iliri:

BloodLust

Instinctual (coming May 2016)

Adding Ink:

One More Day

Two of a Kind

Three Sheets to the Wind

Sign up for the Mailing List to get the latest news on releases and discounts.

Click here!

When We Were Kings

The Wolf of Oberhame, Book 1

Chapter 1

Her heart pounded hard enough to echo off the stone walls around the arena.  Above, the crowd jeered, ready to see blood.  Leyli took a breath, the sound loud in her ears as her eyes moved to the pile of swords in the center.  The rules were clear: kill or be killed.

Time crawled.  Acid burned at the back of her throat.  Her chest felt like it would explode from the stress of her beating heart.  Clenching her sweaty palms did little to stop the trembling in her fingers.  She had to wake up soon.  This had to be a bad dream.  She couldn't die like this!

Four men stood in the arena with her.  They were scared.  Sold into the gladiatorial games to pay their debts, they all waited for the call.  None of them were fighters.  The only thing they had in common was that their lives mattered little to the rest of the world.  Their new job was to quench the blood thirst of the masses.  They would either die or live to try again.  If they survived long enough – which only one man had ever done – they might earn their freedom.  If not, their lives would be spent to keep the populace amused. 

Above, the crowd was thrilled with the idea.  She was terrified.  Leyli had watched her brother practice the sword, but he'd always been covered in padding to prevent injury.  In her entire life, she'd never seen true violence.  For twenty-two years, she'd been sheltered behind rich fabrics and gilded doors, but she could do this.  Her family were fighters.  Her brother's sword trainer had a voice that carried, so she'd heard enough.  Don't hesitate.  Strike the vitals.  Stay out of reach unless you're sure you can make the kill.  Do not tempt fate.  Relax.

The air slid from her lungs and she forced tense muscle to soften just as the gong sounded.  The men rushed forward.  Sandals dug into hot sands and they screamed, hoping to terrify their opponents.  Panicked, Leyli ran for the side.  Let them kill each other.  There was only one man she stood a chance against while he was still fresh: the old man to her right.

His eyes were trying to watch the other fighters as she hit him hard from the side.  The pair of them crashed into the sand, and he swung, missing her by a mile.  Clenching her hands together, she brought them down on his face, screaming out her rage.  Bone snapped and blood rushed from his nose as he struggled, but she was in the better position.  Fear gave her strength even as he hit back.  She just had to hit harder.  She just had to keep hitting until he stopped, but she couldn't forget the others.  They were armed, and she only had this one chance.

Over and over she pummeled the grandfather until he stopped moving, then she ran.  The diaphanous pink gauze of her night dress tangled around her legs, but she refused to slow.  The three men only had eyes for each other, and a trident lay within reach.  Her lungs burned, her eyes squinted against the glare on the sand, and her chest hurt from the hammering she'd just taken, but she
would
survive.  She was the King's daughter.  She was stronger than all of this.  The Domn of Lanmont would not dispose of her so easily, or with his hands so clean.

The trident's handle was rough against her palms, tiny grains of sand biting into her flesh.  The pronged end was heavy, but Leyli didn't slow.  Rushing forward, she rammed it into the closest man's back, his eyes on the pair dueling for their lives.  With a strangled cry, he collapsed, wrenching the weapon from her hands.  Desperate, she grabbed his fallen sword.  Victory lay in surprise.  No one thought the delicate girl in the soft pink dress would be a threat.  None of them had prepared for this, and there were only two left.  She couldn't give up now.

The men fought.  The one on the right swung, his blade slicing deep into the other man's arm.  The one on the left stabbed, piercing the first man's chest.  Heaving the sword over her head, time slowed.  Leyli's eyes were locked on the thick muscle across the closest man's shoulder, the rhythm of his pulse throbbing in his neck just above it.  With all her might, she buried the blade deep, feeling the bone beneath, but this time she didn't let go. 

She screamed like a wild animal and pulled, wrenching it out of the body while flinching away from a blow that never came.  The first man was already dead.  In the sand around her lay four corpses.  Blood stained her dress.  Above the stone walls, people stood, their fists reaching for the sky, their mouths open with cheers.  The only thing Leyli could hear was her own heart, still beating as the reality of what she'd done tried to catch up.

She'd killed three men.  By her own hand, she'd taken the lives of her own citizens.  The sword fell from limp fingers and her knees turned to water, but she refused to crumple.  Instead, she took a breath.  It was so loud in her ears. 

"Move, bitch!" a guard yelled, holding a spear in her direction.

Slowly, the words pushed through the terror drowning out her mind.  Leyli looked at him, then at the solid walls.  The guard pointed at a small black opening, then gestured again with the spear.  His mouth moved, but her ears heard only cheers, her mind unable to keep up.  They were celebrating the death of innocent men.  Men whose only crime had been a lack of money.

"Start walking or I'll put this spear into your guts and let you die slowly."  He gestured a third and final time as the crowd began to calm.

She stepped back.  The sand burned her feet through the thin leather soles.  Her throat was so tight she couldn't catch her breath.  Her heart ached from working so hard, and a pain burned in her side.  All she wanted was to lay down, but Leyli walked. 

At the gate, two men grabbed her, shoving her into the shadowy hall.  Sand gave way to stone, their steps rebounding from the ceiling.  Scared and confused, she stumbled forward.  The guards weren't cruel, but they weren't forgiving.  They just hauled her toward an open cell, metal bars making up the front wall, then pushed her through the door.  She hit the dirt and stayed, too shocked to even try to stand back up.

From the cell beside her came a voice.  "There's a chamber pot in the corner.  When you retch, try to hit that.  You'll be glad you did later, and I won't have to smell it."

She looked, trying to adjust to the darkness after the glare of the arena.  Just as her stomach rebelled, her eyes found it.  Lurching forward, she made it – barely.  Her long brown hair spilled around her face, but Leyli didn't care.  She just heaved out everything she could, but nothing would purge the memories of those dead faces.

When her stomach finally gave up, she leaned back and sighed.  For a moment, she didn't move, but once she knew her intestines would stay still, she scooted back to lean against the wall.  Even climbing onto the feeble bed seemed like too much work.

"You going to cry?" the man beside her asked.

She huffed a wry laugh.  "Not yet."

His chuckle was warmer, almost sympathetic.  "Good.  Save it for tonight.  You'll go out three more times today.  Unless you die.  Keep your muscles loose and your mind clear."

"Done this before?"

He paused before answering.  "Once or twice.  Get rid of the skirt.  Shame won't kill you, but getting tangled might."

Leyli leaned her head back against the cool stone wall.  "Why are you helping me?"

"Because someone helped me on my first day.  I also won't fight against you, today, so I don't care if you live or die."  He sighed as the guards moved toward his cell.  "You get to rest for this fight and one more, then you're up again.  Use your time wisely.  I suggest praying."

The men escorting the gladiators were all well armed and muscled.  They looked like soldiers, but not the common type.  Four of them converged on the cell beside her, and Leyli heard the command.  "You're up.  Let's go."

Her neighbor chuckled like it was some kind of joke.  "What's the game?"

"King of the hill.  Theodian, Bernadino, and Tore all have their champions in against you."

The cell clanked open and the guards encircled the man.  Leyli looked as he passed her chamber, striding forward like he owned the place.  Broad and tanned, his right arm was covered in metal scales to the elbow.  Leather straps held the armor on.  A small patch rested over his heart for minimal protection.  Ornate vambraces were buckled over his forearms.  Matching greaves covered his shins, but his clothing was just a Rhian style leather-strip skirt held on by a wide belt.  Silky brown hair was pulled away from his face, falling to his shoulders.  He was gorgeous, the kind of man that women dreamed of and giggled over.  He also looked like a true gladiator.

He turned, and their eyes met.  His were hazel, almost green, and so calm.  She'd seen that look in her father's eyes when he made a decision he hated.  Resigned.  The gladiator looked at her like he didn't expect to see her again.  She wasn't sure if it was his death he was preparing for, or hers.

"Fight well," she said softly. 

He ducked his head in acknowledgment, but didn't bother to reply.  Evidently, he'd given her all the kindness he had left. 

That's when she realized his advice actually meant something.  For a man to live long enough to earn his armor in the games meant he fought well.  Leyli pulled herself to her feet and stretched before her muscles could freeze up.  Next, she had to do something about her dress.  She'd been raised to be proper, not foolish.  Right now, her virtue came in second place to her life, but without any tools, all she could do was tear the fabric.  Thankfully, it wasn't a durable material.

She tried, but couldn't quite rip off the length of it.  When one of the guards walked past, she dared to call out.  "Pardon me?  I'm assuming I'm not allowed a weapon, but can you tear this?"  She held the cloth through the bars.

The man's eyes ran across her body, but he stepped closer.  "Gonna show off those legs, honey?"

"Yes, sir.  If you'll help me get rid of the extra."

He grinned and pulled a dagger, cutting a notch in the weave.  "That should help.  Might be a bit short."

"Won't matter if I'm dead."  She smiled at him, hoping it might work in her favor later.  Then she realized he could have information.  "Oh!  Do you know who the man is in the cell beside me?"

He cocked his head slightly.  "The Lion?"  He gestured to the open door.  "He's out there right now.  That's the Lion of Lenlochlien.  One hundred and ninety-seven victories.  Don't worry, they won't put you against him today."

"Thank you, sir."

"Rip that skirt high enough, and I might slip you a dagger at the gate."

She blushed.  Leyli had been taught to be demure and respectable.  She'd never even kissed a man that wasn't her father!  The only people who saw her bare legs were her maids, but she wasn't stupid.  A dagger in her hand was an advantage she couldn't pass up.  Like the Lion said, shame wouldn't kill her.  She also wouldn't care about it if she was dead, and if she lived through this, she'd learn to get over it.  She was strong enough to ignore the jeers and comments.  They wouldn't cut half as deep as a sword.

She tore the dress away, leaving only a finger's length under her buttocks.  She had tunics that covered more.  While she was pulling off the decorative sleeve caps, the crowd erupted in cheers.  A minute later, feet rang out on the stone ramp.  When Leyli looked up, she wasn't surprised to see the Lion.  What shocked her was the gore across his body.

His eyes found hers, then swept over her legs.  The corner of his lip shifted.  It certainly wasn't a smile, but she figured that was as close as she was going to get.  Then he moved to the front of her cell.

"Turn, I'll pull the other.  Tie your hair up, to keep it from your eyes."  She obeyed, shocked that his guards didn't try to stop him.  The Lion lowered his voice.  "Take the weakest.  Leave the stronger to wear themselves out.  The excess cloth?  It's a noose.  Never give up anything you can get your hands on. 
Anything
can be an advantage."

She licked her lips, trying to remember all of that.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome.  Are you scared?"

"Terrified."

Finally, he smiled.  "Good.  Use it." 

He tugged the last of the chiffon from her arm, then tucked it into one of the bracers he wore.  She glanced up and their eyes met.  No words were needed; his expression said it all.  Rage simmered, but it wasn't alone.  Fear lurked as well, proving that death wasn't something a person got used to.  The Lion blinked, then turned for his cage.