Blood-Bonded by Force (33 page)

“That was Kendra’s mistake number one,” Gwyn went on. “Her nonstop whining made her mate hate her. He won’t do squat to protect her now, and the whole of
Oţărât knows it. And you can see what happens.” She gestured behind Faith.

Faith turned to see the man who’d dragged Kendra behind the recreational building just emerging, tugging his pants up. Barrel-chested with massive thighs and a puckered scar where his left eye used to be, he sauntered toward the main horde of Om Rău.

A shiver wracked Faith’s entire body, and—

She spotted another Om Rău male intently watching Kendra’s attacker.

This man was leaning against the cave wall on the other side of the red cross building, his crossed arms displaying an array of black teeth tattoos along his forearms—a requirement for this place, it seemed. He had spiky black hair, a downturned mouth, and strange, bright black eyes—eyes that shifted over to focus on her. After a moment, his lips tipped sideways, as if they shared a secret.

“W-who is that man?” she asked Gwyn hoarsely. His face was oddly familiar, even though she knew for certain she’d never seen him before.

Gwyn thought she meant Kendra’s attacker, gesturing at him as she said, “That’s Bøllven. A real jackass. He’ll get to you at some point. That’s guaranteed.”

Faith’s brain fuzzed at the edges, her heart flatlining through a couple of missed beats. Weighing in at a hundred and two pounds, she wouldn’t have a chance in a million against a man like that Bøllven. If he wanted to rape her, she’d end up just like Kendra, kicking and shrieking. Panic filled her mouth with a flood of acid. “I can’t do this,” she said, her voice going high-pitched as she reached the end of her capacity to cope with sudden impact, like a crash dummy meeting a cement wall. Her next words stuttered out of her. “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Gwyn wrapped a hand around Faith’s ankle and gave it a squeeze. “You can,” she said firmly. “You
have
to. Listen, not all of the men here are bad. Relatively speaking, that is. You might get lucky.” Gwyn gestured to the red-haired Om Rău who’d been Faith’s transport into
Oţărât. “That’s Tøllar, one of my best scavengers. He also looks out for his women really well. He mainly needs to bathe more. Krølan’s not bad, either, and Ejøhn…actually, he sucks. Cantortħ’s pretty good, and…wait, where’s Cantortħ?”

“Dead.”

Faith turned her head at the same moment Gwyn did, and grimaced. Her shoulder sockets were really hurting now.

The woman who’d just spoken was an athletically built female with black hair hanging in dreadlocks down her back: an Om Rău by her black eyes.

Gwyn scowled at the woman. “Ħavel, I gave you a post to man. You’re supposed to be watching the children.”

“I know.” Ħavel stepped closer. “But I need to warn you that this is going to be badder than usual, Gwyn. Some Vârcolac killed Cantortħ and Frøve, slammed their heads together from what I hear. So now the men are extra riled up, but Lørke and Jøsnic ain’t gonna let anyone fight.”

“Aren’t,” Gwyn corrected. “Why not?”

Ħavel pointed to Faith. “This one’s a Royal Dragon, and that one”—she shifted her finger over to Pändra—“is one of them Rău-Fey females from topside. As special as they are, Lørke and Jøsnic want to pair them only with their pure bloodlines.” Ħavel swept a gesture at the two tallest men.

Faith blinked rapidly, switching her attention back and forth between Jøsnic and… Wait…
Lørke
. That black-haired horror who didn’t possess a shred of mercy or decency was Nỵko’s
father
?!

“Which means,” Ħavel sneered, “all of these pricks are going to take their stank mood out on the rest of us.”

The words had just come out of Ħavel’s mouth when an earth-shaking bellow rang out.

Faith cringed.

It was the one called Bøllven. He stomped over to Jøsnic and began a snarled conversation with him.

Gwyn watched the argument. “Bøllven disapproves of the decision,” she murmured. “Understandably. He hasn’t been given a shot at a woman in years.”

Ħavel snorted. “Maybe because he gets up on everyone else’s women alla time.”

Jøsnic leaned toward Lørke and spoke to him. Lørke nodded. Bøllven’s lips snaked into an expression of malicious satisfaction.

“Bøllven will be given the chance to fight,” Gwyn translated. “For this one,” she indicated Pändra, “since her ability to breed is in question.”

A red-headed toddler scampered up and hugged Gwyn around the legs.

“Ðange!” Gwyn exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?! You know you’re supposed to stay in hiding when there’s going to be a fight.” She scooped the little boy up, kissed his pudgy cheek, and handed him off to Ħavel. “Go!” Gwyn watched the two leave, then glanced at Faith. “My son.”

Proper manners probably dictated that Faith should coo about how cute the toddler was, but she was sort of hanging with her armpits stretched to the limit right now.

“He’s Jøsnic’s,” Gwyn supplied. “I’m one of his women.”

Faith blinked rapidly.
You’re
…? Her thought cut off as an Om Rău approached her with a knife. She jerked on her chain, a breath hissing out of her. But he went over to Pändra and began slicing her leather jumpsuit off.

Meanwhile Bøllven entered the center of the arena and bellowed again.

The Om Rău with the bright black eyes stepped forward from the red cross building. “I challenge.”

Bøllven threw back his head and laughed.

Lørke laughed, too, but nodded his approval.

The two combatants circled each other.

Lørke headed toward Faith, his satanic gaze fixed hungrily on her.

“Wh-what’s happening?” Faith choked.

“Lørke will take you,” Gwyn said.

“No.” Hysteria rose fast inside Faith.
He’ll be the first to have sex with you, marking you so you can have only his children
. “Please, n-no.” She clenched her bare thighs together against the sudden urge to pee, even though she doubted her body could make enough liquid for such an embarrassment. “I can’t!” A scream clawed at her chest.

“Faith,” Gwyn said. “Remember what I told you. Don’t fight him. Faith?
Faith
, calm down and listen to me.”

Faith cycled her legs in empty air. Somehow she managed to open her voice box, and screams burst from her, one after the other. Hot vomit piled into her raw throat, a terror unlike any she’d ever known blocking her breath. Strength ebbed from her, but she found voice for one last scream.

“Nỵko!”

Chapter Thirty-six

Pändra slitted her eyelids open as the last of her jumpsuit was sliced off her body. She’d been conscious, but playing possum, for most of the confab between Faith and the woman calling herself Gwyn, so she’d heard the plan to pair that smidge of a ballet dancer with the arsemonger, Lørke.

Not too keen on that, was Faith? One could hardly blame the girl. The two leaders, Lørke and Jøsnic, were frightful creatures. So this was why Raymond had never allowed Pändra to come down into Oţărât to deal directly with the Underground Om Rău. Even with her strength, she’d be hard pressed to defend herself against the two leaders should they decide to…well, do anything to her they fecking pleased.

“Nỵko!” ripped out of the ballerina, and the one called Lørke stopped.

The gang of Om Rău went quiet, too, as that name bounced around the cave, then faded. Even the two combatants stilled.

That had been the bloody wrong thing to yell.

Lørke’s eyes darkened to the shade of overturned earth, like ancient volcanic soil. “You Nỵko’s woman?”

Faith heaved on her chain, her lips bloodless and her eyes wide.

Lørke curled his mouth into what could only be termed a demon’s version of smile. “Not anymore.” Turning around, he stalked over to a bench, the lethal way he moved eerily reminding Pändra of Jaċken, and grabbed a bucket and hammer.

“Oh, crap.” Gwyn shot a worried glance at Faith, then backed away.

Faith’s head swung around. “Pändra,” she rasped out.

Lørke returned to Faith and set down the bucket below her feet. He shoved his hand into it, pulling out a small metal piece of something, his hand dripping with runny black fluid.

Teeth chattering, Faith stared buggy-eyed at him.

“Gonna have to mark you as mine,” Lørke said. “Permanently erase
Nỵko
from your mind.” The name was limned with disdain.

“P-please,” Faith chattered and choked. “D-d-don’t…”

Lørke set the point of the metal item he’d fetched from the dark liquid on Faith’s belly, several inches from her navel.

It was a tack…so the black liquid must be tattoo ink.

“No!” Faith flopped about on her chain like a carp caught on the end of a fishhook.

Drawing back his hammer, Lørke slammed the tack into Faith’s belly.

A raw, throbbing scream poured out of Faith, her neck arching back, tendons standing on end. The dancer’s entire body turned pasty in such a flash flood that for the briefest moment, Pändra thought that one tack had killed her.
But, no
. The dancer hadn’t popped her clogs. White-eyed with terror, she strained a pleading look at Pändra again. “Pändra!”

“Faith…” Gwyn tried from several meters away.

Faith ignored her. “Help me, Pändra,” she cried out. “Please.”

Venting a sigh, Pändra lifted her head and opened her eyes all the way. Aye, she supposed she owned it to the girl to help her. She should’ve saved the dancer back on that jut of cave rock when she’d had the chance, but had let her grandiose gesture of sacrifice toward Thomal distract her from it. And here she was still alive, after all—an unhappy happenstance to have woken up to. Jøsnic was supposed to have killed her with that punch back in Ţărână. He wouldn’t have wanted to snuff her, of course, preferring to save her for his use, but she’d seen Jøsnic’s eyes flash Rău red, and she’d bloody well counted on him losing control and socking her too hard. Unfortunately not.

A second tattooing tack was slammed in. More high-pitched screaming.

All right, all right, keep your hair on
.

Pändra peered up the length of her chain to the bolt securing it into the cave ceiling. The bolt was about half the size of her wrist. A real chuffer to dislodge by the look of it.
Right, then
. She gave her body a good swing, aiming to fling herself up high enough to grasp the chain with her feet. She didn’t make it. Damnation, she’d lost all feeling in her arms. And a worse shower of shite was headed her way. Jøsnic had spotted her antics and was striding toward her, his chin dropped into a threatening angle.

No more fannying around, then. She concentrated on her power, shedding the debilitating deadness in her arms and the lingering ache in her jaw from Jøsnic’s earlier knockout blow. She quickly searched for other wounds, but only found a strange iciness inside her, like her organs were coated in frost.
Ah
. Old Pändra was back, ready to hurt the first living creature who made her feel vulnerable.
Bully for her
. She needed her former self right now. ’Struth, she’d trade a year of her life for her immortality ring—which sounded kind of ironic, actually.

Grunting, she swung herself again, arching her legs far back, then forward, back, forth, until she hurled herself all the way up the length of chain this time. Latching the soles of her feet onto the metal links, she hung upside down like a chimpanzee, her long hair lashing about in a curtain of blonde streamers. Scrambling up the stretch of chain, she planted her feet on either side of the bolt.

Gawping faces turned up to the sight she must’ve made: stark bollock naked, squatting like a spider on the ceiling. Below her, she saw the smaller Om Rău take a pot shot at Bøllven. Snarling, the two combatants threw themselves into a wild scrap.

Ignoring the punch-up, Lørke foraged in his bucket for another tack.

Shite
. Pändra grabbed hold of the chain at the root and pulled on it,
hard
. Fissures snaked around the bolt. Cave dust, pebbles, and other rubble broke free and pissed down. Teeth gritted, she strained harder, muscles quivering.
Rum-rum-ka-shoom
! With the rumbling sound of a seven-point earthquake, the chain tore free.

She fell, bringing a sizable chunk of boulder attached to the end of her chain with her. Twisting a Triple Linde on the way down, she landed straight on her feet and already swinging, using her boulder like a medieval ball-and-chain mace. She whipped it at Lørke, but a group of three Om Rău stood between her and her target and—
Thunk
.
Thunk
.
Thunk
. She swiped their heads off their necks with her boulder, red streaking the air in bloody ribbons.

The boulder continued its destructive path toward Lørke, but with so much warning of imminent danger, the Om Rău leader easily ducked out of the way
.

The boulder crashed to the cave floor, jerking Pändra into a stumble as it exploded apart into a herd of tiny pet rocks.
Buggeration
.

Lørke straightened with a deafening bawl of rage, his mighty yell sending more cave debris tumbling down from the gaping hole overhead.

It also triggered the other men to go into their Rău states. Eyes blazing crimson, they began to lunge at nearby women.