Blood Reign (#4): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) (8 page)

As a mixed-blood, Tharell tolerated the distance of Faerie better than Domi. He maintained a close proximity to Jacqueline and the unborn child she carried.

Scott and Lucius of the Singer Combatant wove their way expertly through the dense forests to which they kept. The Feeler, able to identify the aura of the Red Were who had taken the others, was in the middle of the tight knot of males.

The Canadian border was not far. He spared a glance at Domi, and the other warrior’s watchful care over the mixed fey-Singer troubled him.

It could not end well.

He brought his mount up, and she softly neighed at the abrupt halt, as though in question. She flicked her tail in agitation. He patted the animal's side to quiet her, and the flies stayed away. Tharell thought the noxious insects an irritation he could do without and fashioned a spell of camouflage over the group. It was a trifling thing; an infant could have conjured it. Tharell believed in not wasting magick. Keeping flies away as they traveled was a frivolous waste, he readily admitted, yet the journey possessed enough challenges. It was what he could easily do, so he had.

“Tharell,” Domi called out.

Tharell looked over his shoulder, Domi looking very bright against the pine-colored forest. Surreal. “Jacqueline needs rest.”

Tharell swept his gaze at the valley like emerald water before them. It was more than a meadow, a wide expanse that gradually rose to another patch of forest. He did not like the lack of cover. They would be vulnerable.

He and Domi did not fit within human norms.

“Let us wait,” Tharell agreed. Not because he thought Jacqueline needed rest or not, dusk was at hand and he looked like a cloud of midnight in the shroud of darkness. Domi was bright but grew dark as the night deepened.

Tharell squinted, sighting a narrow creek. If only they had a Diviner, then they would know where the water was and if it was safe to consume.

Tharell felt a presence behind him. He slid off his horse and faced Scott.

The Singer was not shy. He spoke his mind quite readily, as most of his kind was wont to do.

“Speak.”

“I'm going to, fey. I feel the presence of our Queen.”

Tharell turned slowly around. “Impossible. They were taken days ago. They should be nearing the Alaskan border by this time. We're chasing their tailwind.”

“Yes, I'm aware what makes sense, but Lucius has the same blood summons as I. So”—Scott held up a finger—“that means she's traveling backward.”

“Domi!” Tharell said, ignoring Scott. “The Combatant speaks of blood summons.”

Domi cast a glance like a hook at Jacqueline, as if to assure her safety, and came to Tharell.

As he drew nearer, Tharell had a rare pang of envy. To be a pureblood Sidhe, with the coveted bright coloring.

The only bright thing about Tharell was his eyes.

Domi broke into his uncharitable thoughts. “Tharell?”

“Julia's escaped.”

There was a heartbeat of assimilating this new information. “How?”

Tharell lifted his shoulders. “The Singer Combatants have conferred and are in agreement.”

Domi's chin fell into his palm, his perfect green face puckering in a wrinkle of concentration. He turned to Jacqueline a second time.

“She is vulnerable,” he said finally.

True. If Julia had escaped, the Reds would never give up.

Thus far, the fey had managed to escape being outright enemies with the other supernaturals. However, it had been a near thing with the Singers. To begin a war with the Red Were was not good.

Domi's gaze followed his own as he took in the two Combatant, Jacqueline, and the Singer Feeler, Angela.

Depending on who came with Julia, it could be an unwinnable battle. The Reds were known for their abilities during engagement.

Hard to kill, difficult to outmaneuver.

“I will be useless, Tharell.”

Scott and Domi regarded Jacqueline together.

“It's weird how different she is.” 

“I did not know her before. Only as she has been in Faerie,” Domi said.

“I knew some of it.” Tharell spoke to Scott's comment, electing not to expound. Tharell had a feeling her offspring would not well receive the sexual displays she and Tony put on in the beginning.

“She needs my protection,” Domi said.

Tharell frowned at Domi's priorities.

“Will the Were hurt a female with child?” Scott asked, surprised.

Tharell understood violence against females was taboo across all supernatural races. There seemed to be a shortage of the fairer gender inherent to some degree in them all. Tony might be the only exception, as the occurrence was quite rare. There was nothing beyond that thankless Were.

“Lets's go,” Scott said from behind. Deep pools of shadows grew on the fields, turning their blond shoots to upside-down spider legs in the lengthening darkness.

“Yes,” Tharell agreed.

Domi gave a reluctant nod. He stood next to Jacqueline, slowly giving her water from an animal-skinned flask. She took a small pull, moving a shaky hand across her brow. Even from this distance, Tharell could see the paleness of her skin. She had not fully recovered. Had she but a few more weeks in Faerie, she might have been fully rejuvenated. As it were, she was half-undone.

Tharell’s belly fluttered inside like a butterfly trying to escape its prison. He knew what that sensitive precursor usually meant.

War.

Tharell would not wait for battle to find him. Rather, he preferred to bring his sword to the fight. They would take the Rare One from anyone who would have her. Losing was not an option he entertained.

Tharell's horse made its way through the grass.

The tall stalks whispered along the underbelly of the beast, sounding like an endless rain which fell without cessation. The entire group rode without speaking. A cloud of precognition hung over them. He recounted the abilities of the Combatant: Scott was a Deflector of impressive ability, he wished Victor was also part of their troupe. He had heard the tale of vampires exploding under his tender mercies. Lucius... it occurred to Tharell, he did not know. It deepened his trepidation, it was a rudimentary oversight. His first priority should have been to establish the arsenal at his disposal. Before Tharell could attempt to worry about the Combatant's unknown skill set, Scott spoke.

“Julia is here... close by.”

That's when they all saw the sky on fire, lit up by shots.

Gun smoke saturated the air, and it thickened all their breathing. Domi laid his hands over Jacqueline's shoulders, and she took a shaky inhale. Tharell thought it wise, as no one wasted magick on one sickened member of the group dragged along like baggage because they couldn't breathe.

The group drew tighter.

“It won't hold, Tharell,” Domi shouted over the gunfire.

Goddess help us.
“It won't matter. The spell is all that we have for her.”

Domi hauled the fragile Singer behind him. He waded into the melee of battle.

Tharell saw how many there were, and his mind stalled at the tally.

Humans, numbering thirty were charging after a huge Were and the solitary reason behind their trek.

The huge, half-breed Red Were was barreling ahead of the small army that followed, bleeding out of several holes like a running slice of Swiss cheese.

Clearly, there was no time to heal the wounds.

The Rare One was riding his front like a monkey while bullets littered his back.

Tharell did not often encounter beauty outside of Faerie, which rivaled the sithen's magickal interiors.

Seeing the Were run at top speed, his arms and powerful legs pumping as his mate clung to the front of him, was one of those times.

The humans were gaining as Jason was slowing.

Some held implements that glinted silver in the night that had finally fallen around them like an ominous shroud.

Tharell gave a signal that made Domi move even as he gave it. The Combatant didn't wait.

Their Queen was in peril; a biological initiative began instantly.

Savagery was all that was left for them to execute.

The pair turned into creatures of legend more frightening than the Were or anything Tharell had ever seen.

Numbers might not matter as much as ferocity.

“Jules!” Jason gasped as her head bobbed from sprinting.

“Yes!” She managed to respond without biting off her tongue.

“Let go!” he yelled, and she did. The hardest thing was knowing the combined forces of the US Border Patrol and Canadian Mounties were after them. Jason's blood and sweat slicked her fingers.

She trusted.

Julia let her arms slip from around his neck.

Jason flung her in the air.

He launched her into space, and she hurtled through nothingness. She forced herself not to use one bit of talent for whatever impact she encountered.

She wasn't half as brave as she thought. Julia kept her eyes clenched shut.

She landed, blowing into a figure from behind as he caught her.

They collided into a tree.

Julia opened her eyes, and the sharp scent of forest along with needles like green rain fell on her face. She coughed them out of her mouth and rolled off whoever caught her.

Scott looked up at her.

There was a sense of the surreal when she tried to compartmentalize his role at that moment.

Protector.

With a great whooping cough, he expelled dirt, needles, and blood from his mouth. A lopsided smile accompanied a groan. “Gain some weight?”

The war was raging around them, but Scott had time to quip about her landing. It was wonderful and filled her with hope.

Julia smiled as he bounded up, and he drew her to standing.

She'd missed him.

The music of gunfire and fists hitting their targets overpowered regular conversation. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. Scott's gaze ran down her body as though she hadn't answered, then he shoved her behind him.

Julia saw what he saw in great detail. The battle was practically on their heads.

Tharell riveted her. Like purple water, he moved in between the humans as though they stood as debris in the river of his violence.

The fey were a thing of terrible beauty. Domi and Tharell worked in tandem like perfectly orchestrated dancers.

They moved past one another. Domi swept his weaponless arm out, and Tharell gripped it, spinning Domi behind himself in a half circle.

Domi took three heads during the move.

The Mounties' blood matched their uniforms as they fell to his long sword. The red and gilded braiding littered the soil with blood and death, the earth an eager sponge for their lives.

Atrocities happened before her eyes because humans had accidentally stepped into the  mix of their supernatural war. It was profoundly unfair.

The Americans wore the dull moss of their station, blending perfectly with the forest that retained its color through the dusk. Three came for Tharell.

The knife entered where Julia knew a kidney to be. The only sign Tharell gave was the tightening of his eyes, glowing with ethereal blue fire.

The three who had come, including the sword bearer, fell. The human casualties grew, filling her with sadness.

The green fey was guarding Jacqueline, and Julia's lips flattened in anger.
What the hell was she doing here?

Julia scrambled away from Jason as the Reds suddenly appeared, running in the opposite direction.

She wasn't getting taken again. No matter what.

She would rather die than live under that again.

“Jules!” Jason yelled. She could hear the panic, but it wasn't greater than hers was.

She sprinted as if her life depended on it.

Head honcho, the one who'd played Fed but who was really the pack master of the Alaskan den, landed in front of her.

Tom Harriet.

He sprayed dirt around him from the abruptness of his stop, and Julia's momentum drove her forward. She executed a perfect somersault, as she'd done a thousand times as a kid, tumbling right between his legs. His seven-foot-tall half-wolfen body was the perfect height for the maneuver. When he tried to snatch her from behind, Julia reacted.

She kicked out blindly. She nailed his nutsack squarely, and he fell to his knees.

Julia bounded up and raced further, the sounds of battle growing quieter.

When she couldn't take another step because she didn't have enough air in her lungs, she stopped.

Julia was in the middle of the woods.

Alone.

Without the protection of the group or Jason.

She was lost.

Yes, she'd escaped the battle, taking out the leader of the Red Were for the moment and buying herself time.

Julia looked down at her feet.

Bare.

An owl hooted in the distance as her stomach let out a growl.

She had just made the gravest of mistakes.

And she had only herself to blame.

*

“Where's Jules?” Cyn asked, looking around frantically.

Slash noticed the Rare One was missing and groaned. He searched for Jason.
Why had he lost sight of Julia?
Something serious happened, he'd bet.

Truman backed up until they all formed a loose circle. Angela occupied the center. The Combatant all presented their war forms, not unlike the half-wolfen Weres’ sizes but deadlier. Slash didn't know if the threat of the morphed Combatant and the fey would be enough. The humans were in various states of dying or dead, but the real threat was now approaching.

And they knew Slash now. He'd given the secret of his pureblood status away to escape them earlier.

Slash scanned the contingent of wayward Reds and found his pure blood fighting for a dominance struggle in a bid to secure the Rare One, protect Adrianna, and survive.

Dominance won, of course. There was nothing to be done with instinct, as deeply ingrained as taking breath.

Slash did not see the pack master. The one he recalled put most of them to sleep with a well-placed dart to the shoulder.

That flat-out pissed Slash off.

Fight for territory, fine. But
fight like a
wolf
, not a coward.

Truman enlightened Slash to some of the players’ identities. “Listen, Ford, where's the dickhead pack master that's responsible for taking things that don't belong to him?”

Like the Rare One,
Slash thought.
Ford
, Slash guessed, came from the half-wolfen pack that faced him. He automatically drew in front of the fey warriors, the Combatant, and Jason and Truman. “Where is your pack master?” Slash said.

Ford's eyes stared back at him like bottomless pits. “Why? Want the job?”

Slash considered it for the length of a heartbeat. “Yes.” He moved deeper into the meadow to meet his adversary.

Where they were and what was about to transpire made Ford’s FBI-issue look more ridiculous.

“Slash, don't—there's too many,” Adrianna said.

He didn't turn around. “It's the only way.”

She circled around him. His guts clenched. Her nearness possessed a scent he thought he'd never smell on a female directed at him.

Desire.

Mixed with dominance lust, it was a perfume as heady as any he'd ever smelled. He had to exert an ugly self-control.

She put her forehead at his chest.

The talons at his fingertips remained extended as he wrapped her skull with a hand only half-human.

“Be with me,” Adrianna whispered against him, and Slash shut his eyes.

He let the fantasy envelope him for as long as his next breath.

“There is no
being
unless I fight for dominance. Right here. Right now.”

Adrianna nodded, and when she didn't move, Slash positioned her away from him.

It felt like an amputation of his soul.

Ford's smile was cold. “Just think, when I beat your ass, the bitch is mine.”

The growl erupted out of the depths of Slash's body. Uninvited, unbidden, resolute.

His talons tingled, begging to gore Ford. 

“No—Slash, he's baiting you,” Adrianna said.

The other Were remained silent.

Ford turned eyes to Adrianna. “You're
so
going to like me, bitch.”

Adrianna flipped him off with a slender middle digit.

“That's about the size of yours, you dick weasel!”

Slash smiled. He enjoyed remaining quiet if the one who spoke for him had just the right words for the situation.

Ford moved forward. “You will
submit
, female.”

Adrianna made a low noise somewhere between defiance and amusement in her throat. Then she added the middle finger from her other hand.

“Not on your life.”

Slash thought he could arrange that.

Ford glared at Adrianna then turned to Slash. “It's not just me. There are others who will fight you.”

“I know.”

“Knew you were a ball-less wonder,” Truman told Ford as he and Slash circled each other.

His gaze flicked to Truman. “But I'll be a ball-less wonder that’s dominant to
you
.”

Slash reacted instantly, swinging his talons out and going for the jugular. Ford feinted to the left, and the body knives missed his Adam's apple by a hairsbreadth.

“Doubt it, chump.” Truman crossed his arms.

Cyn sighed. “I don't want to see him naked, and be underwhelmed and all that.”

Ford looked at her, and Slash struck again, piercing the vulnerable part of the body where thigh meets crotch in a precise strike.

Slash did not liken himself to a brutal fighter unless necessary. He would not tire himself when there were more Were to fight.

Cutting the femoral artery was effective.

Rapid.

Ford moved in for an obvious charge and stalled, a surprised look overtaking his face.

The other Reds shifted and muttered nervously.

Slash approached confidently as a river of blood shot out of Ford's body.

Ford didn't react when all four talons burst out the back of his neck. He was too busy dying from blood loss.

He careened backward, and Slash, a grim reaper without a scythe, jerked his talons. They came out of Ford's neck in a thick suctioned pop of flesh. 

The talons sliced again, punching Ford with the knives that tipped his fingers.

Then nothing.

Slash stood.

He flung his right hand at the waiting Reds who would take the one hope the species had of unification.

Drops of blood and sinew from Ford's body fell like plops of gruesome rain. Some landed on the Were themselves.

They made no move to wipe away the proof of the Alpha's death.

“Any takers?” Slash asked.

Two more broke from the ring of Reds, a pureblood Red amongst the challengers.

Slash's heart ticked faster.

His eyes fixed on Adrianna.