Chapter Five
Beck
I have to force myself to look away from her. It’s as
if I’m already caught by the thread of psychological bonding that will tether
us to our own sweet Meg forever.
That bond is the thing that will save me and my brother, but
right now it’s a distraction. The fact that she’s out there makes me…antsy. I
can’t protect her yet, and that anxiety sits in my gut.
I have to tamp it down. I can’t afford to get emotional now.
Cian isn’t the only one feeling our lack of a bondmate. He’s simply far more
dramatic about it. He always has been. My hold on my temper has been slowly
dissolving over the last few years. My rage seems to build after a fight rather
than dissipate as it should.
I’ve become brutal when I don’t need to be.
Just weeks ago, I was hired to clean out a group of bandits
plaguing the road to the marketplace. When I was surrounded by them, I went a
little crazy. I killed all thirty, and only barely managed to hold off killing
the females traveling with them. My rages are getting worse.
Cian might fade from existence like a candle being slowly
snuffed out, but I fear I’ll go out in a blaze of blood and death. Dante is
under strict instructions to use vampire technology to kill me if necessary,
but I doubt my cousin will be able to do it.
Meg is the answer to all my problems. I bow formally to the
woman I intend to wed. At least she isn’t trying to run. Yet. I’m sure I’ll
have to deal with that eventually. I felt a small piece of her soul when I
touched her. She’s a stubborn young woman. She’s also a lonely woman. I don’t
need to see into her soul to know how alone she is. Lonely and scared.
What did she leave behind on the Earth plane? Has she left
behind a husband, or worse, children? She’s of an age to have children. My
conscience hurts at the thought of leaving a baby without a mother, but there’s
nothing I can do about it. She will learn there is no way back to her plane.
Only a Planeswalker can take her, and she won’t like the cost of the trip.
I shake off thoughts of her and try to concentrate on the
battle ahead. I take a deep breath and feel the sand beneath my feet. I let the
warmth of the sun stroke my skin, centering myself. I trained in an arena like
this one back when I had loyalists who thought they could get me back on the
throne. Fighting in a place like this is second nature. The vampires will
struggle in the beginning because they train in far more modern settings. It
won’t take them long to adjust. I never underestimate the vampires. They may
seem soft because their true passion is business, but they are fierce
predators. When the fight begins, they will be in touch with their primal
natures.
“Your Highness,” a young Fae says, not quite meeting my eyes
as he walks toward the exit.
He’s the first of ten men who walk past me. Their
disappointment hangs around me like an albatross. They paid their money and
laid their hopes on the line, too. I can’t afford the guilt I feel. I have to
do whatever it takes to save my brother.
“Bastard,” one of the vampires spits as he walks up. His
fangs are out, a sure sign of his rage. “Don’t even try to pull that shit on
me, Finn. You aren’t a late entrant. Those fucking gnomes kept you out of sight
until it was too late. None of us would even have tried, knowing you were going
to be here.”
I go still, though I watch every move the vampire makes. He
looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place the name. “I paid my money like the
rest of you. I’m not responsible for the list of competitors.”
The vampire sneers, and now he has others backing him up.
The sidhe are all gone, but the vampires are still standing against
me. “Right. You don’t have any sway with the gnomes.” His voice is filled with
sarcasm. “They still see you as their king. Are you taking a cut?”
Anger thrums through me, a familiar but dangerous friend. A
few of the smarter vampires take a step back. “I only want the woman. I’m not
getting anything out of this except her.”
Meg is watching. I should have forbidden it, but I don’t
have the right yet. I can’t lose control or she’ll be terrified of me. She
probably still will be.
“We’ll see about that.” The vampire’s fangs are already long
in his mouth as the referee enters.
The vamps retreat. They talk amongst themselves as the gnome
needlessly explains the rules.
Everyone knows them. No technology is allowed. Ancient
weapons are the only ones permitted. The vampires are able to use their fangs
and claws. If Cian was here, I would be allowed to use our psychic connection.
Other than that, there are very few rules. Mercy must be given if asked for. If
a combatant requests quarter, the warrior fighting him must give it. The fallen
fighter will leave, and the battle will resume. If no quarter is asked, then
death is an acceptable outcome.
I focus on the weapon in my hand. It’s my sword, once my
father’s. It is one of the few things I managed to save as we fled Tír na nòg.
It has been said that my uncle mourns its loss. The sword in my hand is the
traditional weapon of the Seelie King. No amount of money or power can replace
what it means to my culture. Some claim that as long as I still carry the
sword, there is hope.
I’m not sure about that. A large part of me simply wants to
live out my life in some form of comfort. The idea of being king is nothing
more than a vague dream. I only want to save my brother and find a stable life.
Winning Meggie is the first step.
A roar goes through the crowd as the referee holds up a
small black flag. A battle horn sounds, and the tournament begins.
There isn’t a burst of fighting. The vampires have used
their time well, plotting and planning how to take me out. The vampires stalk
me, attempting to distract me while some of their brethren work their way
around to my back. I can read this game plan. They intend to surround me. They
will work together to take me out, and then they’ll fight each other.
They don’t understand how I fight. I very much prefer it
this way. Chaos is the true enemy. If I know they’re all coming after me, I
know exactly who to kill—every blasted one of them. Adrenaline begins to course
through my body like an old familiar drug in my system. I hold my sword calmly
at my side, patiently waiting for them to get into position.
“Fucking idiots! He loves the pack rotation,” my cousin is
shouting. It shouldn’t surprise me that even in a crowd of peasants watching a
fight, Dante stands out as obnoxious.
The term he used is a technical term for this type of fight.
The vampires are circling me like a pack of wolves. I happen to be particularly
talented when it comes to defending against a pack rotation, but Dante doesn’t
need to point that out.
I make the mistake of glancing my cousin’s way. Dante has
left his seat and stands at the edge of the railing. The problem is he’s not
alone. Meg is right beside him, her face sheet-white as she watches the men
surrounding me.
She feels the connection. I just know it. A surge of hope
spills over my rage. I expected the connection. I opened myself to it slightly,
but if Meg felt it, too, it must be strong. It’s the only explanation for why
she’s standing there, looking like her world is about to fall apart. She knows
we belong together. She might not be willing to admit it, even to herself, but
the bond is already being formed.
This can work. If I treat her gently, she might be happy
with me.
And then all thought flees and instinct takes over.
Something comes at me from my left, fast. I have a bare second before the
vampire is on me. I lean over, trying to time it perfectly and get the right
angle. The vampire hits my back, and I shove up with everything I have. The
motion sends the vamp flying through the air, knocking down a rival on the
other side of the circle. I swing up on my feet, because they’re going to
attack from the other side next.
Vampires are fast. They talk fast and move even faster when
they need to. When battling a vampire, it’s more important to rely on my
instincts than my eyes. Sometimes a vamp can move faster than the eye can
track. It comes down to anticipating the next move. Vampires are immensely
logical creatures. They train extensively and tend to do everything by the
book. It’s why Dante has trouble fitting in. Dante thinks more creatively than
the majority of his brethern.
In this case, the vampires’ slavish devotion to the method
is about to come in handy.
In my mind, I number them one through fifteen. Eight tumbles
straight into Two across the ring the vampires have formed. Both are struggling
to get back to their feet. It gives me a chance to concentrate on the next
assault, which will come from Twelve and Five.
I thrust out with my sword, catching Twelve in the belly as
I kick out in perfect precision, shoving Five back. I twist slightly to take
out Ten and Three in the same fashion.
Instinct takes over as my sword becomes bloodied. I am no
longer thinking about Meg or Dante or even Cian. The sword and I move in
perfect harmony. The blade becomes an extension of my being. In so many ways, I
enjoy this place. I relax, letting my hearing confirm the order in which they
will attack. I dance as they play out the scenario, my sword finding purchase
in their strong bodies.
Every time I sink the sword into another body, my hunger
grows. This. This is my curse. This is the payment for avoiding the bond. I
want to kill. I need to kill.
The horn blares, calling an end to this round of fighting.
It’s an intrusive sound. An unwelcome sound.
I breathe deeply, fighting the instinct to attack the gnomes
as they run onto the field to pull off the injured competitors who have called
for quarter. They wouldn’t come out at all if they knew what was going through
my rage-addled brain. I want to skewer the little ones. They would look so good
on my blade. A dark voice in my head whispers to me. It’s their fault.
They’re on my killing field. They should expect death. They’re dragging off my