On the walk to the training rooms, Kieran took the time to answer my questions about the fortress, and drakens in general. His answers were non-judgmental, and he treated me with respect. Was it sad how easy it was to earn my trust or did it speak to how horrifically I’d been treated in my life? I didn’t feel like examining it too closely.
“If you think you can mate with human women, why aren’t you out there building your species again?” I asked.
Kieran paused, obviously choosing his next words carefully. “The biological need to raise young, to find our mate, it’s overwhelming, Wren. It’s so strong that it keeps us from ending our own torment in this mountain, do you understand?”
I did understand. That was odd, wasn’t it? Growing up in the breeding manor, I’d sworn never to have children if I could help it. I’d seen women die, bleeding out while Clarice could do nothing to stop it. I saw the damage a child could do to a body, and any damaged woman had lost all her worth.
What little we had, anyway.
But now? Now it didn’t seem ludicrous. What would it be like if those women had been allowed to keep the child in their arms, instead of having them brutally ripped away? In a way I understood Kieran’s need. For me, it was less about the child, and more what a baby would represent—hope. Raising a child here would be an acknowledgement of the freedom I now possessed. It was an opportunity no other human woman had.
I found myself considering it. Wait, what? I shook my head, attempting to banish such foolish notions. Perhaps there was something going around in the air here—baby fever. Well, I wouldn’t let their biological urges dictate my life. I pushed all urges out of my mind.
“Well, I suppose,” I finally managed. “As long as you’re still alive, I suppose there’s hope it may get better.”
“Exactly,” Kieran said with a flourish, a dimple appearing in one cheek.
I narrowed my eyes but decided to move on. “Will Ronan be training with us?”
Kieran grinned easily. There was that damn dimple again. “He is never far from me. He is actually much more skilled with knives than I am. The sword is more my strength.”
That made sense. Kieran was larger, whereas knives would better suit Ronan’s smaller frame. “Are you related to him?”
Kieran snorted, the sound echoing loudly off the stone walls. “No, we are not related. As I said, the biological need to find a mate is overwhelming. Finding others helps to quell our baser urges. There is a reason he and I are allowed more freedom with you than the others.”
My face went red at his implication even as I was intrigued at the thought of two men together. How did that work, exactly? Was it pleasurable for both? It had never occurred to me that something like that was even possible.
Kieran shot me a heated glance as if he knew exactly where my mind had gone. Mercifully, he said nothing. It wasn’t much longer until we arrived in a large, stone room that was about half the size of the arena. Ronan was already there lighting the torches along the wall with the one he carried.
He walked to the far wall and inspected a few of the weapons that hung there and said,
“Usually, this time of day is when I train, but you are more than welcome to take part.”
I lifted my head in thanks and allowed him to lead me to the wall.
“We’ll do knives, of course, but you’ll want something with a bit longer reach eventually. A knife won’t help you against something like the skolex! Anything look good?”
My eyes traveled over the shining metals, the blades and jewels glittering in the torch light. I tried to focus, but all I could see in the reflections was Benedict’s dark blood flowing down into the sandpit as he faced the skolex alone. I studied my own reflection from the blades, thinking. Benedict was a walking contradiction. One moment, rude as hell, and then the next sacrificing his body for his own people. It was clear he wasn’t uncaring. He just didn’t care for me.
“Well?” Ronan asked.
I sighed and considered. There were traditional long swords, a few short daggers, and some blades in between. I truly had no idea where to start. “What do you recommend?”
Ronan wrinkled his face, deep in thought. “Honestly, we should gauge your strengths and weaknesses before deciding.”
I nodded. That made sense. “So, what—’
“Start running.”
Ronan slid into his draken form, lunging at me with his claws and teeth. I didn’t have time to shriek, I just ran as anger and adrenaline fueled my speed. I praised the gods I’d picked a short dress today and had the foresight to wear the breeches as well. Kieran’s booming laugh echoed throughout the room, and I swore loudly. For the next fifteen minutes, Ronan chased me around the room, running me ragged until I couldn’t breathe, and my legs gave out. I tumbled to the ground as Ronan pounced on me playfully.
“Mercy! I beg for mercy!” I joked, raising my arms to shield myself. As he fell on me, he scrambled to pull in his claws and teeth, and in a split second he was back in his human form, pressing me into the dirt floor. Ronan’s gold eyes bore into mine, glowing in the dim lighting of the training room. He shifted against me, and something hard poked into my thigh. My eyes widened in realization right as he leaned down to kiss me.
Ronan tasted like spiced honey, and heat flowed all along my body as he deepened the kiss. It was darker than Kieran’s; more demanding and instinctual, but just as satisfying. He pushed himself against me, trying to claim my entire mouth.
When his fangs slid out from his gums, I stiffened. “Ronan, easy.”
Kieran approached us carefully in his draken form. Ronan grabbed me by my hair and twisted it painfully, pulling me in close to shield me from the other draken. It was a role reversal from the other night, but it was obvious Ronan didn’t have as much control as Kieran did.
“Put me down,” I pleaded, all thoughts of arousal gone as those sharp fangs hovered only inches above my neck. The gold in Ronan’s eyes flashed, then there was a blast of air and he was gone, leaving a stinging sensation on my chest. Kieran ploughed into him, throwing his body across the room. I gasped as four red lines opened along my neck and chest. The sensation started as a small sting then blossomed into a sharp pain.
Kieran crouched protectively in front of me. Across the room Ronan hissed and growled, circling to try and find an opening around Kieran to get back to me.
I sat up carefully, one hand pressed to my chest. I was quickly covered in blood, which ran freely down my chest and ruined my dress. I glanced up, and both drakens were frozen, their hungry eyes locked onto me.
“Come on, not again,” I said.
I froze. Should I try to get away? Move slowly?
“Kieran, Ronan, don’t.”
They circled around me, hissing at each other but never once breaking their gaze from my bleeding chest. I had never been more terrified in my entire existence, and for the first time in my life, I gave into the instinctive need to scream for help.
The sound that left my body was otherworldly; a long, loud screech that shook the walls of stone and physically knocked Kieran and Ronan on their asses. Kieran and Ronan advanced on me again. They never got the chance to pounce, because three drakens roared into the room, clashing immediately with Kieran and Ronan. Then four more came, and then more, and suddenly it was a melee as drakens fell upon each other, viciously battling for dominance.
I tried to crawl away and found myself picked up and thrown. My arm broke as I landed awkwardly, barely managing to whimper as white-hot pain engulfed me. A large talon stepped on my leg, and I screamed in agony, making that same animalistic, desperate screech. A draken with bright blue scales turned and grabbed me by my broken arm, ignoring my screams and lifting me high in front of him. His fangs descended towards my neck and I grabbed the dagger from my sheath with my good arm, the blade catching him across the face.
The draken shrieked and dropped me, breaking a few ribs when I met the unyielding ground, unable to brace myself with my broken arm.
I screeched again in desperation, unable to see as the fighting escalated all around me. Another distressed warble pushed itself from my throat, and an answering consciousness rumbled back to me. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew that real help was coming.
There was a swirl of darkness before me and quite suddenly Benedict was there, tearing into each draken he could get his hands on. His wounds were still fresh, but it didn’t stop him as he viciously cleared a path in front of me.
“It’ll be over soon,” he said.
D’Arcy was there as well, positioning himself in front of me. He faced outwards and shielded me from the other drakens with his massive turquoise wings. I curled up into a ball, just wishing it would end.
The shrieks and cries of the other drakens lessened until all I could hear was Benedict’s deep growl. D’Arcy lowered his wings, and everyone was gone except for him, Benedict, Kieran, and Ronan’s unconscious body.
Kieran implored them, “We’re sorry. We just wanted to teach her—’
“You utter morons! Did you not think she would bleed while training? Had you already forgotten how this one had already proved he couldn’t handle her spilled blood?” Benedict’s anger was a tangible force that kept me pressed down to the floor in fear.
Kieran’s mouth wavered, but he offered no defense.
“You will stay away from her,” Benedict ordered.
Kieran bristled, shooting an indignant look to D’Arcy. “If she chooses—”
“Get out!” Benedict roared, the claws on his feet scraping against the floor and drawing sparks.
Kieran’s lips thinned into a straight line, but he didn’t say anything else. He bent down to grasp Ronan’s body, and he lifted him easily over his shoulders. He left through the same archway he’d brought me.
D’Arcy stepped forward. For as angry as Benedict appeared, D’Arcy was exuberant. “This would have made a great task—’
Benedict turned his furious glare on D’Arcy, who visibly deflated. “Leave.”
“But I thought—’
“Now!”
D’Arcy jerked, then spun on the spot and disappeared. I started to hyperventilate, realizing that anyone who cared about me was gone, and I was alone with an angry, raging draken who hated me. It didn’t matter that he’d saved me twice now. All I sensed was the raging current of emotions pouring from him. I curled tighter into myself, praying none of it would be directed at me. He sighed, and it was an odd, regretful sound that made me peek at him warily.
“I am not angry with you. For once.” His eyes blazed with an amethyst fire. “Though to be fair, you are quickly becoming the biggest pain in my ass.”
I flinched as he moved towards me, but he only knelt beside me, gently supporting my back as he took in my injuries. Not all men will hurt you. Not all men cause pain.
“Ah,” I slurred back with bravado, “you notice a pain in your ass, at least.”
An amused grunt burst from his lips, then it was gone. “Everyone can’t help but notice you. That seems to be our main problem.”
All I cared about was making some of the pain stop. My head flopped to the side as the wound on my chest continued to bleed, and I doubted my arm was supposed to be at that angle.
“You gonna lick me again? ‘Cause it hurts.”
Benedict’s lips hovered above my chest, but his reply was just a snort. “Just to be clear, I’m only doing this because you asked me to,” he insisted, but it lacked the venom his insults usually did.
I didn’t give a shit. All I cared about was stopping the pain. I tangled my fingers in his hair and jerked his head to the blood on my chest. He sucked in a panicked breath, then his lips found the wound. His hands moved to steady us both, one holding the back of my neck, the other gripping my waist. The most glorious numbness spread throughout my body, the worst of the pain fading into nothingness as his tongue danced across my skin. His fangs grazed the area around my wound, and a bolt of arousal shot through my core.
I pushed it away in panic, and tried to focus on something else, something rational.
“Why did they all come? What happened?”
I held onto him as the cuts on my chest healed, itching as scar tissue developed and stretched. Benedict rested his head in the hollow of my neck, nearly vibrating with tension. Did my blood taste that awful?
“You let out a distress call. Every draken in this castle heard it and tried to answer. It caused panic because none of us have heard a distress call since the last . . . since . . . ”
My mind raced, not understanding. “A distress call? But what—’
The pad of his thumb ran softly over my lips, silencing whatever else I had to say. He sniffed my neck, and I tried and failed to not enjoy the sensation of him so close to me. It was the blood loss, I told myself.
“I need to heal you before you die. Your arm and ribs are broken, and you likely have internal bleeding. I can’t heal that with my tongue.”
“You could try.”
He barked a laugh, and it tugged a smile from me.
“Now I know you’re dying.” He shifted against me and pulled me into his lap. I moaned as my body protested each movement, barely noticing when Benedict lifted the inside of his wrist to his mouth and bit down. Inky, dark blood dripped from his wrist, and he held it up to my mouth. I pulled away from him.
“You have to drink it. It’s the only way you won’t die.”
That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I’d be free of him, free of the pain, and free of this awful, worthless life. Kieran’s eyes swam before me, and I could already sense his disappointment if I were to die.
If you die, then it can’t get better, can it?
But it was Benedict’s blood I had to drink, not Kieran’s. I clamped my lips shut, shaking my head stubbornly.
Benedict growled in frustration, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you that much of a coward?”
That was rich, coming from him.
Still, I couldn’t die without trying to set the record straight. “You. Are. Mean.”
He rolled his eyes, unconcerned with his own blood being wasted on the floor.
“Mean people don’t try to save annoying, little humans. You are the one who has done nothing but yell and scowl at me since I brought you here.”
“ ‘S not—’
With a frustrated growl, he put his wrist to his own mouth, seemingly drinking his own blood. What was he doing? Without warning he kissed me, my mouth dropping open in shock. His blood seeped in my mouth, coating my tongue and swelling into the hollows of my cheeks. I swallowed reflexively as he pinched my nose shut, and his arms tightened around me as I tried to jerk away. His thumb stroked a light pattern as he hissed soothingly, trying to coax me to swallow more. I moaned as more of the pain faded away, and something in his demeanor changed as he let go of me. He kissed me for real then, his teeth biting and nipping as I groaned against him, but this time it had nothing to do with pain. His blood sang in my veins, healing and soothing, and having no business tasting as good as it did. It was blood after all. It tingled on my tongue, spiced yet sweet, cooling the fires of pain in my body.
My arm felt fine, so I lifted it and ran it down his chest as our lips tangled, reveling in the unique texture of the scales covering his skin, yet careful of the wounds from his battle with the skolex. He clutched me tighter to him, kissing me so intensely that I thought he would simply devour me.
If Kieran’s kisses were honest and Ronan’s were frantic, Benedict’s were possessive. His growl reverberated in my head, shooting down into that warm spot below my belly, and curling my toes with need.
My hand was in his hair, and I grasped the silky strands between my fingers harshly, pulling him closer even as the nails of my other hand dug into his back.
The others might not like the pain, but I knew Benedict would; he understood that part, didn’t he? He pressed himself into me as my nails dug harder. The warm buzz of his blood faded away, and the pain returned. I broke the kiss and grabbed his wrist, yanking it to my face.
Benedict’s eyes swelled with arousal as I willingly sucked the blood from his wrist, intense need and power coursing through my veins. His breathing hitched and his pupils dilated as he took in the sight of me, his blood dripping from my chin. Something in him broke, and I was thrown back onto the floor as he ground his hips into me, his mouth frantic yet brutal. I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and greedily drank that down, too. My entire world was him: every sensation, every stroke and caress, every drop of blood I could squeeze from his veins was another piece of him inside of me.
Benedict moved to my neck, his lips and fangs carving a road down my collarbone and above my breasts, leaving marks but no blood. The rough planes of his tongue drifted lazily over the scars on my chest, discarding the ripped patch of fabric aside as he searched for any unhealed patches of skin. My hips thrust against his, and before I could meet him, his mouth went lower as he ripped my dress further, exposing my breasts. His teeth nipped and bit, the pain a delicious aphrodisiac as his pelvis continued to push against mine, over and over again. He sucked hard on one nipple and I cried out, twisting my fingers in his hair. His free hand attacked my other breast, and I threw my head back in bliss between his sucking and pinching.
I cried out again, but the sound was animalistic, a shriek of intense pleasure that resonated deep within my chest. Benedict twitched at the sound, grabbing my neck and squeezing. There was something so deliciously feminine about having his power unleashed on me in this way, and though something may be deeply wrong with me, I wanted more.
“If you make that sound again, you won’t be leaving this room without becoming mine.”
His voice was so rough with desire that I panted, and I tried and failed to find fault with what he said. I shook my head, remembering I was supposed to hate him. More to the point, he was the one who hated me, wasn’t he?
“Let me go,” I said.
He squeezed my neck again, not to hurt me, but just to remind me of his position of power over me. I cursed as my body immediately went limp in submission. Some part of me wanted this, craved it even, and that part of me was much stronger than my rational brain. How long would I keep fighting it?
“As you wish,” he said.
I went rigid in confusion as the cool air replaced the heat of his body.
He was backing away, his eyes pained as he nearly stumbled in his effort to get away from me. “My apologies. I got caught up in . . . instincts.”
I raised my face to him. “Instincts?”
He held out his hand, his face devoid of any emotion. I knew then that whatever had just happened, whatever we had just shared, was gone. Benedict was all rigid muscles and tightly controlled stiffness.
“Let’s get you to bed. The third Game is tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I whispered back, confused and sad.
