BloodLust (Rise of the Iliri Book 1) Page 4

  The recruit chose a pike, the only weapon on the rack close to his height. He tossed it gingerly, getting a feel for it, before casually walking to one side of the combat arena and glancing at the Lieutenant. Cyno nodded at LT, no weapons in his hand.

  At the call, the recruit struck. None of them lacked skill. If they had, they wouldn't have made it this far, but this one never stood a chance. At the first sign of motion, Cyno plucked the weapon from his opponent's hands, hooked the butt behind his calves, and knocked the man's legs out from under him. He tossed the pike away and met the soldier's body before it even hit the ground. A wooden dagger had appeared as if by magic. With one hand on the recruit's throat, the other held the tip millimeters from his eye.

  "I yield," the guy whispered.

  "Damn right ya do," Cyno snarled, "and do na ever look down yer nose at me again or I may actually put some effort inta it."

  The Blade stood, nodded calmly at the Lieutenant, then retrieved his shirt. Dressing, he made his way to the far wall, keeping the applicants fully in his sight. A shocked silence hung in the air. Sal believed it when Cyno implied that he hadn't even tried yet still took the spoiled brat down in seconds. She wished she could move like that! Staring at him, she wondered how long it would take to acquire such skill. He looked like a man in his late twenties but moved with grace that took decades to perfect.

  Reaching his face, she realized his eyes were waiting, and she struggled to keep her expression neutral. Their gazes danced for a few seconds before a smile crept to his lips, flaunting his sharp incisors and double canines – just like her own. He nodded at her before glancing to the First Sergeant.

  Cyno wants me to tell you he'll teach you, Arctic's voice said. He figures that's what your inspection meant at any rate.

  It is! Please let him know I've never seen anything like that, he moves like perfection, she thought back while another Black Blade walked into the center of the ring.

  The lithe man grinned when he received the message. Inside her mind, she felt more than heard a click, and a harsh voice entered. Thank ya fer the compliment. His blue eyes sparkled at her across the courtyard and Sal noticed his pupils were oblong instead of round. Never been called perfection b'fore, and Shift says ya move like a demon possessed yerself. Ya make it past this and I'll show ya ever'thing I know.

  Thank you! Sal thought, meaning it.

  Do na thank me yet, little one. First, ya gotta prove that ya can take what we're offerin'.

  Sal nodded at him and the link dissolved. While they spoke, Shift had entered the ring and called up Riblour. He fought with pike and short sword against the applicant's great sword. The wood rang against each other but Shift beat back the recruit step by step. Unlike the grace of the previous two fighters, Shift fought with power and determination, but when the recruit changed tactics, so did he. His now agile steps matched Riblour's, dragging the battle on. The recruit held up to the prowess of the Black Blade, but Sal thought Shift was toying with him. He danced and dodged, Riblour swung and jumped, slowly being pushed across the gravel. Eventually Shift brought the game to an end with such finality they all knew he'd been tormenting the soldier. The men shook hands civilly and left the ring.

  "Risk, our medic," LT introduced the next Blade.

  A man with feline-like grace stepped into the ring. His silvered skin offset pale gold hair that emphasized amber eyes. He is a crossbred, Sal thought, remembering him from the first day. Risk's oblique features and unnatural coloring marked his iliran ancestry clearly. He reached for a staff from the rack before addressing the recruits before him.

  "I have nothing to settle with any of you." Like Cyno, his voice was richly accented. "So I'll take whoever wants to try me."

  The recruits muttered to themselves, a hum of voices growing while they chattered. A few eyes looked her way, before one man stepped up. "I'll try," he said.

  This recruit was older, an obvious veteran of the wars. His face streaked with scars, his shoulders well-muscled, he waited for Risk's nod before making his way to the rack to select a pair of hand axes. At the call to lay on, Risk and the veteran casually moved toward each other, neither rushing to throw the first blow. With a feint, Risk scored a tap on the veteran's arm and the combat began. More blocks and feints, but in the end, the veteran's claim to fame was a solid hit on Risk's shoulder before being knocked to the ground, defeated.

  The same held for the next bout. Razor chose Saong, a large and well-muscled man. Their bronze skins rippled and sweat gleamed under the lanterns. In moments, the Blade finished like the others, with his opponent yielding. Only one remained: Zep.

  He stalked to the center of the ring, his braids sweeping over the leather on his shoulders. Black bracers on each forearm were his only concession to sleeves, barely a shade darker than his skin, and they showed signs of true combat. Zep locked eyes with her and nodded.

  Sal stood, amused voices whispering behind her. They hoped to see her fail, and like everyone before her, she had no intention of that.

  Waiting for her beside the weapon rack, Zep chose a pair of curved, wooden light swords. Sal looked over the options, hefting and discarding a few that failed to deliver on the promise of their appearance. Behind Zep, a matched set of sabers called to her. She glanced at him, and he stepped aside for her to reach the weapons. They felt right in her hands, light and balanced slightly toward the hilt. When she turned to make her way across the ring, Zep's hand shot out, pulling the cap from her head.

  "Let's just leave this here, shall we?" he sneered. "See what we can do when that hair of yours is flung around, begging someone to grab it?"

  The recruits laughed softly, but Sal wanted to growl. Her long ponytail swayed against her back, and she turned to face him without moving away for the advantage distance offered. Zep squared his stance, finding an easy balance, and looked down at her. Her head didn't even reach his shoulders. His chest was twice as wide as her body. They stood face to face, close enough to touch, Zep's jet skin contrasting with Sal's alabaster.

  "Maybe I should be petting your ears," he taunted so only she could hear. "Such cute things, the way they wiggle like that."

  "I hear it's a human fetish," she remarked snidely. "Sir."

  He glared until the call from the Lieutenant came to lay on.

  Those words were like a flame to fuel. Action erupted instantly. Zep swept a foot out to knock Sal's legs out from under her. She hopped in place, drawing her knees close, while striking out with one of the blades, brushing his arm as he leaned out of her reach. Instantly, his sword moved to take advantage of the opening and Sal blocked it with her off-hand. Never retreating, they bent, danced, and leapt in perfect timing. The watching recruits gasped, but she blocked out everything except Zep's next move. The speed of his swings increased to match hers. No matter how hard she pushed, using all of her iliran-born agility, he interrupted her next attack, ready to push her defense.

  The gravel crunched and scuffed under their moving feet. Both were soon covered in a fine sheen of sweat and dust, but they never took their eyes off each other. He poked and she prodded. For every sway she made, he'd lean, and for each step he took, Sal matched it. Minutes ticked past and neither sword touched skin. He grunted when he dodged and she growled as she attacked. The sweet human scent tried to distract her, but she refused to lose control again.

  Zep's hits became harder as he tried to force her weapons out of his way, but he would not retreat. She could feel her strength fading and looked harder for an opening – or a way to make one – but the attacks kept coming. His dark eyes were as angry now as when the fight started, and his body showed no signs of fatigue. Having tried everything else, she thought of Cyno's quick ending. If she lost, she was no worse off than any other recruit. If she could just score a touch, she'd be far ahead of most of them. Sal tossed away the idea of winning this fight and settled on simply not embarrassing herself.

  Zep struck at her neck with his right hand, but rather than dodging, s
he threw her back against his chest, moving inside his guard. As she spun, she passed her main sword into her left hand alongside the first, settling the tip against the inside of his thigh, the other pointing up to block her body. Her empty hand snatched Zep's curved weapon, wrenched it free, and aimed his sword above her head. The wooden blade paused against his neck.

  They both froze. Sal could feel Zep's heart pounding against her back. She could smell the sugar in his sweat, so close to her, but no other emotions. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Zep spoke up.

  "I yield," he said, calmly.

  The onlookers gasped and Sal dared to look at his face. Gone was the smoldering anger, replaced with genuine respect. Pulling herself from the confines of his strong arms, all too aware of his hot body against her back, she wasn't sure what to do. Clumsily, she offered the wooden weapons to him. He took the swords and turned away, completely at ease.

  The eyes of the recruits smothered her when she crossed the ring to ease her tired body against the fence post once more. The respect felt good but the surprise in their eyes brought a whole new resentment. Before she could dwell on the faults of her human competition, the Lieutenant addressed them again.

  "Now that you've seen my Blades in action, you know what is, and will be, expected of each of you. Few of you could match them in combat," he said with a nod to Sal and the veteran, "but you will have to be as good as any of them to pass these trials. If you cannot improve – and quickly – there is no shame in resigning your application. It will not be looked on poorly if you do and choose to apply again at a later date. Razor is bunked in cabin ten. He will arrange transportation for anyone who chooses to rethink his preparedness.

  "You have the rest of the night off. The pub is behind the barns, next to the arena. We will meet again tomorrow at 1300, this time at the arena. Enjoy yourselves, and really think about why you are here." He strode out of the courtyard in the direction of their cabins.

  Chapter 5

  Sal staggered into her room and began peeling the form-fitting clothes from her body before realizing she wasn't alone. The smell of a human permeated the air. With her shirt unbuttoned, she folded her ears against her skull and pulled her arms from the sleeves. Tossing it to the floor, she turned to her bed, thankful for the standard issue tank all female military personnel were expected to wear. Zep eyed her intently.

  "Go ahead. Don't let me stop you," he said. "I won't complain about seeing a woman out of her clothes."

  "What are you doing here?" she snapped, tired and aching to the core of her being.

  "I owe you one. Whether you realized it or not, I made a bet with you that I could throw you off your game, and you won. I figured I'd pay up and buy you as many drinks as you can throw down at the pub. Besides, it won't hurt for you and I to be seen together... pleasantly."

  "Mhm. A few drinks. Seriously, sir?" she asked. "I'm tired, I'm bumped and bruised, and all I want in this world is to pass these trials. Unless your drinks can miraculously make these aches leave in time for whatever we'll do tomorrow, then the only thing I'm interested in is a hot bath and a long sleep!"

  "Well, I can offer two things to mollify you. First, all you'll need tomorrow is your brain. Second..." he trailed off, and she heard him yelling mentally, but couldn't make out the words since it wasn't directed at her. "I can get someone to help those bruises, too."

  The link clicked in her head when Shift joined the conversation, I can help with that, but Zep, you owe me one. The image of a woman's cleavage flashed across her mind and Zep laughed.

  You don't like her anyway, man, Zep shot back. So I think you're the one that owes me! He dropped the link and looked to her. "Ok Sal, you grab that bath you want so bad, and I'll make myself presentable enough to be seen with you. Oh, and wear the red one. It's in the closet." He walked confidently out of her room without waiting for a response.

  When the door closed, she shook her head and pinned the lock, amused at Zep's arrogance, then stripped out of the last of her clothes. After scrubbing the worries of the day from her body, she returned to her wardrobe and pulled it open. A selection of new clothes hung beside her uniforms. The "red one" Zep referred to was a fitted jacket and corset combo, complete with tails. Black and red brocade formed the corset; the jacket was made of a brilliant red velvet. The pants matched the ensemble, a delicate red pattern woven throughout. The clothes were beautiful and of a quality she'd never worn.

  She pulled on the skin-hugging outfit and was lacing the corset when she heard the knock. Crossing the room in her stockinged feet, Sal unpinned the lock and welcomed Shift in. He stopped in his tracks, looking her over.

  "I'm glad I didn't miss this. Wow, Sal. You look amazing!" His words made her smile.

  He walked all the way around her, making appreciative noises before pushing her to a chair. "Ok, business first. You're gonna want to be sitting for this."

  Kneeling before her, he grabbed her hands and looked deep in her eyes. Sal felt like a player in a bad proposal until it hit her. The world jerked sideways and her vision split. The room doubled: two wardrobes, two walls, and more importantly, two Shifts. Suddenly, she realized how he earned his name. It felt like he'd shifted reality. When he released her hands, she swayed, waiting for the room to settle and her vision to return to normal. Sal tried to concentrate on her breathing and closed her eyes while the vertigo passed.

  "That's the best I can do," he said, "but you're an easy patient. The bruises should be gone, and no, the aches won't return tomorrow."

  "Thank you, Shift," she managed to say. "I do feel better." It was true. The vertigo passed and her aching muscles felt fit and ready to use. The bruises no longer screamed beneath the corset. "I guess that's your special trick, huh?"

  "Yep. So you finish getting ready and make Zep look like the big man he thinks he is. Oh, and use the riding boots, they'll go perfectly, and you'll want to break them in."

  How did the Blades have such intimate knowledge of her wardrobe? They treated her like their latest toy, a doll for them to dress up.

  Something like that, Shift agreed as he closed the door behind him. In reality, it's because Razor will requisition a set of armor for you, if you make it far enough. Risk looked up your stats in your file and we all found a reason you needed something nice. Oh, and if you don't want us in your head, you're going to have to learn to stop sending. You always leak your feelings loud and clear.

  She sighed but wouldn't let it prevent her from enjoying feeling beautiful for once in her life. Sal pulled the riding boots on like Shift suggested and sent a thought across the street to Zep. She took one last look in the mirror. The brilliant colors made her look washed out, but she had a few cosmetics. Her white iliran skin was smooth and, after Shift's efforts, blemish free. Grabbing kohl, she lined her lids, unsure if she approved of how it accented her white eyes and lashes, making them look so stark. A few swipes of dark mascara helped even out the look. Just as Zep entered her room, she found a tube of brilliant red lipstick. Sal stained her lips before turning to acknowledge him.

  Dressed in a double breasted and ornately piped jacket that hugged his broad chest, with pants of almost liquid leather, Zep stood one step inside her door, his mouth hanging open. After a few false attempts, he finally managed, "The red was a good choice."

  She'd never been complimented like this before. The Black Blades treated her like she was beautiful, attractive, and almost human. No matter how she tried to deny it, she enjoyed it. She'd always been aware of how her features differed. Her ears sat on the top of her head and swiveled like a rodent's. Her nose was convex rather than dished. Her eyes were too large, her teeth looked more like they belonged in the mouth of a dog than a person, and of course her milk white skin and hair. About the only thing she had in common with humans was that they both walked on two feet, yet even Zep found her attractive. They weren't just being polite; she could smell the desire on them. She liked it, but the feelings confused her.

 
; Zep gallantly offered his arm and she took it with a shy smile. Together, they made their way to the pub, the music and laughter audible before the building could be seen. He escorted her to a quiet table at the back, the walls deflecting the sound from the main room enough for a conversation to be held in levels other than screaming. Leaving her for a moment, Zep wound his way to the bar, returning with two drinks. He slid one to her and sipped at his own. Sal openly watched the people roaming about.

  Most were obviously soldiers. A few were civilians, their mannerisms and posture giving it away. The soldiers moved like warriors, some with the swaying gait from too many hours in the saddle, others with the catlike grace of infantry. A second story was barely visible from their table. The decor in bold stripes and bright colors made the rooms look even more spacious.

  Zep leaned over, touching Sal lightly on her wrist, then pointed beside her. Following his finger she saw the Lieutenant, a drink in hand, laughing with a group of women before pulling himself away and heading up the stairs.

  Even LT takes some time to relax. You need to learn how to enjoy yourself a bit.