Blood Vow (Blood Moon Rising) Page 2

  “Where what began?”

  “The persecution.”

  The red mist that was Gilda tightened into a funnel cloud rising above them, furiously rotating, the sparks of her anger raining down upon them.

  “Fail and the Lycan nation fails with you!” she foretold.

  The specter whirled around them before shooting skyward, then disappeared into the cloudless night.

  Dumbfounded, Rafael stared into the black sky.

  “The persecution began in the thirteenth century,” Lucien said.

  Rafe looked at the quiet ring, then to his brother. “Longshanks gave this ring to Peter Corbet for his services.”

  “Did he gift him with a sword as well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where did Corbet come from?”

  “He was a Marcher Lord,” Anja said, stepping toward them.

  “Marcher Lord?” Rafael asked. Why did that term sound familiar to him?

  “The Marches border Wales and England,” she explained.

  Lucien nodded. “Those forests were heavily populated with wolves. It was there the killings began.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Rafe said.

  “I’m going with you,” Anja cried, digging her nails into Rafael’s forearm. He growled a warning. She refused to release him. “Please, Rafael. Don’t abandon me.” Her pleading crystal-colored eyes begged him. “I am your chosen one.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry that it was all a mistake. That in light of Lucien’s admission that Mara was a Slayer, he’d been justified in killing Lucien’s chosen one, and therefore was not bound to their marks. He still belonged to Falon and she him. But he didn’t say it. Instead, Rafe nodded, doing what he always did, the honorable thing. He allowed Anja to keep her dignity by going with them and, for purely selfish reasons, Rafael wasn’t going to turn away the extra help.

  “Thank you, Rafa,” Anja said, leaning in to kiss him. Rafe subtly pulled away, resenting her use of Falon’s pet name for him.

  “Maybe none of you will go anywhere,” a deep vitriolic voice said from above them.

  Two

  THE HACKLES ON Rafe’s neck rose as he looked up the stacks of containers surrounding them. Scores of silver-tipped arrows were aimed directly at them. Slayers, he silently cursed. They had approached with the stealth of coastal fog. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the insignia on their leather scabbards. These were not regular-issue Slayers.

  The insignia was part raven, which delineated them as clan Corbet, the most powerful of all Slayer clans, but Rafe was not familiar with the additional griffon part of the insignia. His eyes narrowed to slits as he quickly assesed this new threat.

  There was no mistaking them for anything but Corbet. The entire bloodline bore the same physical characteristics. Tall, blond, athletically built, and signature cobalt blue eyes. But unlike the Slayers he’d known, the ones that stank like shit, these had no odor. He glanced at Lucien.

  Their black magic hides their stink, Rafe said to his brother.

  Lucien nodded imperceptibly. By their long hair and archaic garments, I would guess they’re from the old country.

  That explained it. The new-world Corbets clung to the original Slayer credo—“Kill Wolves”—the new millennia making their job easier. These Slayers, however, were still stuck in the middle ages. Their hair was long, some of it braided, and they were dressed in traditional warrior garb of yore, from the intricate chain mail all the way down to their leather-strapped boots. And unlike the new-world Corbets, these Slayers did not carry automatic weapons but clung to their ancestral weapons of broadsword and bow.

  “Someone forgot to take out the trash,” Rafe sneered.

  “Say a final prayer to your false gods, Lycan,” the largest and evident leader said from where he stood in front of the dozens of men behind him.

  In tandem, neither showing fear, Lucien and Rafe stepped forward. “Who are you?” Lucien demanded.

  “Your ride to hell.”

  Shift! Lucien and Rafe mentally shouted at the same time. They did, both managing to grab their swords in the grip of their wolven jaws. As Rafe hurled his, Lucien leapt and swept his in a roundhouse move, cutting the leader down at the knees before he could pluck his bowstring. The packs shifted behind them and the fight was on. Arrows rained down upon them, but unless one caught a wolf directly through the heart, the wound wouldn’t be fatal. A wounded wolf on adrenaline could do a lot of damage. Even to chain-mailed warriors.

  Side by side, Rafe and Lucien, their vision blurred by their bloodlust to destory all things Corbet, tore a wide swath through the layers of their mortal enemy in a furious haze of violence, broken bones and torn flesh.

  With a savagery born of the desperate will to survive, the wolves tore chunks out of the Slayers, littering the dock with blood and bodies. But for every Slayer torn apart, two more came at them. Like flies, they reproduced.

  In the water! Lucien commanded his pack.

  They snarled in protest not wanting to retreat.

  “All of you, now!” Rafael shouted. It was the only way to preserve what was left of the packs.

  As the packs disappeared into the cold dark bay, Lucien and Rafael held back, continuing to fight, too far from the edge of the dock to jump without being sliced to pieces. Back to back, as they always had until the blood feud turned them against each other, Rafael and Lucien snarled and fought as a circle of Slayers tightened around them like a noose.

  Deep laugher reverberated around them. Lucien had wounded the leader, yet he had managed to rise, as did many of his wounded soldiers. Only the decapitated soldiers lay turning to dust on the dock.

  Like the vultures they were, the Slayers circled them.

  “Who are you?” Lucien demanded.

  “I am John Corvus,” the Slayer said, bowing from the waist.

  Corvus? Who the fuck is that? Rafe cursed.

  “From the maternal line of Peter Corbet,” Corvus offered. “We’ve kept a low profile, but been busy across the pond.”

  The old-world Slayer stood straight and tall, his blue eyes glittering with malice and pointed his bloodstained sword at Rafe then Lucien. “Speaking of maternal lines, I had the recent pleasure of destroying what was left of yours.” He threw his head back and laughed. “There will be no rising for the Basque pack of Mondragons, and no rising for either of you.” He hopped down from the container as if Lucien’s blade had never touched him and strode arrogantly toward them. “Your journey in this life ends right here. Right now.”

  The noose tightened. Over him, to the container, then into the bay, Rafe said.

  I’m right beside you.

  As they leapt, the Slayers jumped high into their path, but they were thrust backward by a gale-force wind that slammed between the age-old enemies flattening each to their own side. Rafe cursed and stood up, and as he did, he was forced back again.

  “They are mine, Corvus!” a booming voice exploded from beyond the darkness.

  Rafael’s skin skittered along his sinew and muscle. The last time he’d heard that voice he was ten years old. He would never forget it. It belonged to the one who’d slaughtered his parents. They had all thought him dead these last twenty-four years.

  “Thomas Corbet.” Lucien sneered, grabbing his sword. “I have waited twenty-four years for this day.”

  Rafe snarled beside his brother, grasping his double swords so tightly the bones in his hands cracked. He was not a scared ten-year-old this time but a seasoned warrior with long overdue revenge burning white-hot in his heart.

  The eldest Corbet brother and only surviving one, landed beside Corvus, his blue eyes glittering in righteous hatred. He was as Rafe remembered him. Tall, powerfully built, and arrogant. His black aura radiated potent dark ma
gic.

  In response to Corbet’s necromantic power, the ring on Rafe’s hand warmed, startling him. The heat intensified.

  Do you feel it, Lucien? Rafe asked his brother.

  I feel it.

  Not understanding the power of the ring any more than he did after Gilda’s ambiguous explanation, but knowing it was his for the using, Rafe focused on the Slayers who stared mesmerized by the flaring stone on Rafe’s left hand. Only Corbet and Corvus were unaffected and unafraid of its power.

  Corbet extended his hand to Rafael. “The Eye of Fenrir belongs to me.”

  “You’ll have to kill me to get it,” Rafe threw back at him.

  Corbet smiled, the gesture malevolent to its core. “That can easily be arranged.”

  Lucien raised his sword. “Try and take it then.”

  Corbet’s smiled waned. “Unfortunately, I need both of you alive at the moment. But trust me when I say, once your usefulness has expired, I will have the ring, and both of your heads on each of my swords.”

  “I have come all this way for these two, Thomas, they are mine!” Corvus insisted, turning on his cousin.

  As if he were schooling a child, the master Slayer looked dismissively down at Corvus. “I am the elder of the paternal line, the world leader of all clans. I decide what will be done with the twin alphas.”

  “Allow them to live so that they can slaughter more of our clan tomorrow?” Corvus spit.

  Corbet’s blue eyes morphed into deep shiny onyx, the ultimate Slayer tell, as he turned his full attention back to Rafe and Lucien. “So long as I live and they live, I have the power to resurrect every Slayer that has fallen beneath a Lycan bite since the first rising.”

  Foreboding riveted through Rafael. If Corbet was able to raise his dead, the nation was doomed.

  Corbet threw his head back and laughed at his cousin’s shocked expression. “Kill you today, Corvus? I will raise you from the dead on the eve of the Blood Moon rising!”

  “Impossible!” Corvus challenged.

  Corbet smiled tolerantly. “Cousin, you really must trust me on this.” He speared Lucien and Rafe with a deadly glare. Raising his hand above his head, Corbet whirled his fist as if he held the end of a lasso. In the air a heavy silver chain materialized, lengthening with each rotation of his hand.

  As he reared his hand back to cast it around Rafe and Lucien, Rafael leapt high into the air to the right. Lucien jumped high to the left.

  The chain caught Lucien’s ankle. Corbet laughed and yanked hard, pulling Lucien roughly from the air, sending him sprawling to the concrete deck.

  “Come now, Lucien,” Corbet purred, pulling Lucien toward him. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  Rafael dove into the frigid water of the bay below.

  Three

  FALON WAS FREE-FALLING. Her arms and legs spread, the heat of the air currents buoying her body from a dead drop. Loud whooshes of air tugged at her hair. Hundreds of deep whispers reverberated around her. She struggled to open her eyes. But each time she opened them, an intense burning blazed through her.

  Luca! Rafa!

  Falon! they shouted back to her, their voices desperate and far away.

  It felt as if an eternity had come and gone. Where was she?

  Her descent quickened, the air cooling. Her teeth chattered and her limbs trembled.

  “Help me!” she cried.

  Answering whispers swirled around her.

  Familiar—the aimless gray souls that followed her in all of her conscious states.

  Tell me what to do! Falon screamed as she continued to plummet.

  “Return our lives,” they cried.

  How?

  “Spill the two bloods.”

  What?

  Did they mean she must kill Lucien and Rafael? It was an impossible request, for she would never sacrifice them.

  “Spill the two bloods beneath the Blood Moon rising.”

  Where? she cried as hopelessness swept through her soul.

  “Where it all began.”

  Where what began? What did they mean?

  “The Lycan nation.”

  Falon screamed as her body was snatched out of the air by the jaws of the biggest, baddest wolf of them all.

  Fenrir.

  * * *

  “RUMORS ABOUND, RAFAEL. And if they are true, I don’t blame you for abandoning your brother,” Corbet taunted from the dock above him. “With a lie, your brother stole your chosen one. He beguiled her, then marked her as his own.” Corbet threw his head back and laughed uproariously.

  Rafe swam to the piling beneath where Corbet stood. He inclined his head to his men, indicating they should all grab ahold of it. “Rumor has it she’s pregnant with his child.” Corbet laughed again. “Is it true?”

  Rafe snarled, his beast jealously gnashed at his belly.

  Go after Falon, Rafe, Lucien pleaded. Hurry, before it’s too late.

  Rafe hesitated. If he went after Falon, Lucien would surely die—and if he were dead . . . The ring flared—in protest or agreement, he wasn’t sure.

  “I’m going to skin your brother alive strip by strip, just like I did your mother.” Corbet chuckled. “Do you remember, Rafe, how she begged me to stop? How your father, the proud arrogant Arnou begged and pleaded that I spare the beautiful Tamaska’s life?” Corbet’s voice tightened.

  Rafe’s beast snarled viciously.

  “Let’s see if the imperious Mondragon begs for his life.”

  Though Lucien had not uttered a sound, the copper scent of his brother’s blood wafted down to Rafe. He steeled himself as he felt the intense burn of Lucien’s agony. The ring flared painfully on his hand. In contrast, the beast within Rafe quieted. It was always its most quiet when it was most deadly.

  Go, Rafe! Go while this bastard is preoccupied! Lucien called to him.

  Rafael’s vision blurred momentarily before clearing to precise clarity. There was no question in Rafe’s heart what he would do. He had always looked out for his younger brother. Just as he would now.

  “Argh!” Lucien roared in pain.

  “Oh, that was a long one,” Corbet chuckled. “Let’s make it a set.”

  Lucien roared again in pain. And something in Rafael snapped.

  Lucien watched with macabre satisfaction from where he laid crucified to the dock, impaled by half a dozen silver Slayer swords. Corbet held up a long strip of flesh from his belly, blood dripping from the raw strip of exposed flesh he just tore it from.

  Falon! he called. Rafe is coming for you!

  Corbet tore another strip of skin from him. Lucien bit back a groan, praying Rafe had left, praying— “Argh!” he screamed as Corbet slowly pulled yet another strip.

  Tensing for another excruciating cut and tear, Lucien started. Like a lightning bolt, Rafe struck Corbet, sending the bastard tumbling backward against one of the wooden crates containing the poison Slayer swords, the impact cracking open the thick wooden slats. Swords spewed onto the concert deck. Rafe grabbed the swords impaling Lucien’s forearms and thighs and yanked them out. He turned, hurling them at the encroaching Slayers hitting his mark both times. Grabbing two poison swords, he tossed one to Lucien. Grabbing several more he distributed them to his men, then grabbed Lucien by the arm and leapt back into the bay with him. The cold water felt good on his wounds.

  As they surfaced moments later, Anja’s blood curdling scream tore through the night.

  Fuck! Rafe cursed. Corbet had her. Why hadn’t she jumped into the water with them?

  “Would you like me to do you a favor Vulkasin?” Corbet taunted. “I understand you have marked one Lycan too many.” He laughed. “If I eliminate the lovely Anja, then your archaic honor will not have to be tested and your precious Falon will indeed be yours.”
He laughed again. “What will poor Lucien do then?”

  Anja screamed again.

  “Makes you wish you hadn’t rescued brother dear, now doesn’t it?”

  I’m going to tear that bastard apart one piece at a time, Lucien hissed.

  “You have to the count of ten, Vulkasin, to offer up yourself or your brother in exchange for this lovely Lycan bitch.”

  Lucien looked at his brother. You can’t exchange yourself for her.

  “Ten.”

  I can’t allow her to be tortured by Corbet, either.

  “Nine.”

  The ring flared. Corbet will not be able to kill me, not with the power of the ring.

  “Eight.”

  What if he takes it from you?

  “Seven.”

  I would have to give it to him; he cannot take it.

  “Six.”

  Damn it, Rafa!

  I’ll make the exchange. I owe it to her. You take the packs and go after Falon. I’ll catch up.

  “Five.”

  I’m not leaving you here. He’ll kill you.

  “Four.”

  Go damn it!

  “Three.”

  Rafe!

  “Two.”

  Tell Falon I loved her!

  “One!”

  “I’ll make the exchange, Corbet!” Rafael said, leaping onto the deck.

  Damn you, Rafe!

  Go, Lucien. Now, before it’s too late!

  Ignoring his brother’s command, Lucien swam deeper beneath the dock. The packs followed.

  “Rafael Vulkasin, the mighty alpha whose honor has kept him from true greatness!” Corbet bellowed, his voice reverberating beneath the pilings. “Do you know why you will lose the battle of evermore?”

  Silence.

  Lucien moved farther away from the dock, giving the impression they were leaving.

  “You will lose because you allow your honor to get in the way of what needs to be done.” He laughed. “Take this little Lycan here. Did you really think I would release her?”

  “You have no honor, Corbet,” Rafe snarled.