Drake snarled and skittered a few steps back, alarmed for the first time. There was so much meat in the courtyard now, and much of it smelled strange. Pungent. Wrong.
It was the larger meat. They smelled like frogs, and he did not like frogs. They tasted sour. Yet as he cleared his head and padded again toward the man meat, another string of flame ignited before his eyes. He leapt backward at the same time he spotted its source.
It wasn’t a wall of fire. It was a chain of fire, and it was attached to the hand of the nearest small meat. She smelled terrified and delicious. He wanted to devour her whole.
Yet as he rushed for the small blond meat, another chain of fire burst into his path. Again Drake halted. He cast back and forth as two chains of living fire whipped around him in wide ovals, surrounding him, taunting and threatening him from all sides. Something in his head screamed “Jump ropes!” but he ignored it. It was the weakness inside him.
This fire was wrong. Even with his lust for blood, he knew he could not ignore its heat. It felt hot enough to melt his bones. He did not dare charge straight into it.
He slashed experimentally with one claw, then howled as the proximity seared his fur. He snapped at the flame and spun about in alarm. He even attempted to leap before a third chain of fire whipped over him, forcing him to flatten himself to the ground.
Snarling, panting, and glaring up at the hated fire chains, Drake could only crouch down. Three chains of fire now coursed around him in all directions, so hot he could barely breathe. He was feeling tired now as well, more exhausted with each moment.
As he curled in close to himself, the chains moved a bit further away. The moment Drake attempted to rise again, the chains closed in once more. Yet once he curled up into a crouch, they eased away once more. He found the warmth much more pleasant at a distance.
None of the new meat shot him. It all cowered at the edges of the courtyard. They were likely all too afraid to approach, and why wouldn’t they be? He was the apex predator here.
He had a full belly. The sleepiness he’d felt was overwhelming now, and while some part of his still ferocious mind longed for more hunting, a little voice inside him begged for sleep. Something else, something not dire rat, assured him this new meat would not harm him.
It was fine to rest. It was fine to sleep. So Drake closed his eyes and went to sleep... and when he opened them, he was lying in a fluffy bed with a clay bowl beside it. Which was good, because he managed to grab the bowl before he once more started puking his guts out.
Tiny fragments of bone. Warm morsels of human flesh. He was aware of all this and more as he vomited into the bowl, and he simply could not seem to stop. The pain was tearing up his insides, and he felt true terror as he realized some of this blood... might be his own.
Still, it all. Had to. Come up. Drake gagged and spit as a warm hand rested on his back, and the warmth made the nausea and discomfort less intense. He dry heaved a few more times, spit repeatedly, and finally managed to ease on his back once more.
Standing beside his bed was a scaled man with a wrinkled bald head and scales along his neck and cheeks. Raylan, his shaman. Gloomwood Manor’s healer. He was in good hands, and all the assassins who’d come after him were very, very dead.
Curtains screened him in on all sides, but the ceiling was the same as every ceiling in Gloomwood Manor. Dark blue paint surrounded by midnight black slats, with a faint pattern of trees etched into it. This must be yet another room in his massive manor.
He was wearing clothing, but it was simple silk and cloth resembling a bathrobe, not silverweave. He suspected the silverweave he’d worn was now torn to shreds, which was going to cost him a fair amount of coin. Still... losing expensive clothing was better than being dead.
“Lydia,” Drake managed. “Emily?” Both had been shot multiple times with crossbow bolts.
“Both resting and recovering,” Raylan assured him. “The bolts did not go deep, but they were poisoned. Their feathersteel and my talent for diluting poison allowed them to survive. They will remain in my infirmary another day, but both will recover fully.”
“Poisoned?” Drake eased his neck to the side and spit in the bowl again. “Me?”
“Whatever poison they used was not enough to overcome your unique metabolism.” Raylan slowly shook his head. “To be frank, lord, the strength of your rarity is remarkable. From what accounts I could gather, your wounds healed almost as fast as they were made.”
Drake coughed and groaned as his stomach clenched. “But the hangover sucks.”
Raylan pressed two palms to his stomach. “Allow me to help with your discomfort.”
As soothing cool flooded Drake’s body, the pain in his guts eased away. It was a good thing they had magic fingers in this world, because he doubted they had X-ray machines. He imagined swallowing a bunch of human bone fragments would do a number on his intestines.
Knowing Lydia and Emily had survived was a massive relief. Had he murdered anyone other than the assassins before Olivia’s chainfire trapped and contained him? Most of the courtyard battle was a blur, but he didn’t think so. Yet if Olivia hadn’t been there to stop him...
Drake sat up on the bed and tested his body. As with the morning he’d woken up in a camp full of dead men, his body felt largely unaffected by the brutality to which it had been subjected during his battle with the assassins. He could get up and walk out of here if he wanted, but he decided to hang out in bed in his bath robe for a little while longer.
“Did I kill anyone other than those assassins?” Drake asked.
“No,” Raylan said. “When Olivia responded to the commotion and led the others into the courtyard, you were already focused on the outsiders.”
Drake nodded in relief. “I need to talk to my other battle maids. And Zuri.”
“I will summon them at once, lord. Please, rest here.”
“And some water? I could use some water. No, make that mead.”
“Of course, lord.”
As Raylan moved to leave, however, Drake snatched his arm. The man glanced at him in alarm, then visibly relaxed as he caught the mild expression on Drake’s face.
“Thank you,” Drake said. “For me, for Lydia, and Emily. For using your rarity the way you do. I don’t know if the old lord ever thanked you for healing us, but I will. Thank you, Raylan.”
He released the man’s arm. When he did so, Raylan smiled. “You are welcome, lord. Now, I will summon who you asked for.”
“Oh, and make sure they bring the good stuff from Lord Skybreak. My mouth tastes like man guts right now. I don’t want to taste that any longer than I have to.”
As Raylan hurried away, Drake eased back against the headboard and stared at the engraved ceiling. What a day. He’d just been attacked in the middle of his own manor... and he suspected he’d brought it on himself when he allowed his people to do whatever they liked.
Someone in the manor had obviously betrayed him.
As before, so much of his survival rested on chance. If he hadn’t talked to Zuri last night, and she hadn’t delivered his bracelet this morning, and Lydia and Emily hadn’t decided to duel in armor, and Lydia hadn’t flutterstepped in between him and three crossbow bolts...
His luck wouldn’t last forever, and Drake was sick of being hunted. Sick of these attacks. Sick of lying back and taking them like a good little lord. It was time to find whoever kept coming after him and fuck them up. A crucifixion beneath a cold sky would be a good start.
But first, he needed to know how these assassins had gotten into his manor.
He was not the least surprised when Olivia cautiously tiptoed into the space inside his curtains. She’d likely been waiting outside, standing guard as loyally as his other battle maids. Her features were tense and her hands clenched with worry.
“Lord? May I... are you all right?”
“I’m all right.” He smiled at her. “You did a great job.”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
“With the fire, Olivia. If you hadn’t been there to corral me, and I’d hurt someone I didn’t want to, I’d be real unhappy about that. You were amazing out there, so thank you.”
She bit her lip. “Lord... what if I’d hurt you?”
“You’d never do that.”
“But I can hurt you. I can even kill you now! What if you’d leapt into the fire before I pulled it back? What if I lost control and singed your face off? What if—”
“Stop,” Drake ordered.
She immediately stopped speaking.
He smiled to ease the sting. “None of that happened because you wouldn’t allow it. Lydia told me how hard the old lord pushed you, and about the stables. You still used your rarity for five days with barely any sleep. I doubt many could manage that.”
She clutched her hands together, staring with a mix of worry and hope.
“You did good,” Drake said. “So, relax. And while we’re waiting, tell me what you know about the people who attacked us today.”
She nodded vigorously and refocused. “There were four assassins, lord.”
He knew this, but he wasn’t going to rush her.
“They entered through the tunnel into the kitchen. We believe Arno opened the doors for them, including the door out in the silverwood.”
“Arno? My blood thrall?” Drake didn’t remember the name off hand, but he had seventy-six names to remember and only so much time to study.
“Yes, lord. He is... was... your blood thrall.”
“I take it Arno is no longer among the living.”
“No, lord.” Olivia clenched her fists. “If he was, I would burn him to death myself.”
“Simmer down.” Drake frowned. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but remember. Sometimes, I’ll want to interrogate people.”
Olivia’s eyes widened, and then she once more nodded vigorously. “Of course, lord.”
“So Arno let the assassins into the kitchen.” Someone had paid him off, or threatened him, or abducted a family member, maybe. “Did the assassins hurt anyone else?”
“Yes, lord.” Olivia winced. “Four of your blood thralls were on duty in the kitchen at the time. Irving, Hunter, Penny, and Selene. All were murdered before they could raise an alarm. Also, a zarovian patroller was killed in the hallway leading to the inner courtyard.”
“Fuck,” Drake cursed quietly. He didn’t know any of those names, and he felt like an ass.
Other lords might simply think of their people as servants and not give them another thought, but those names—Irving, Hunter, Penny, Selene, and that zarovian—were his people. His to protect. They were all dead by the hands of his unknown enemy, and that pissed him off.
He was also guiltily glad to hear that Meryl was not among the dead. It wasn’t just that he knew her by face and name. It was also because she made such delicious meat.
That was another reminder of what he’d lost. Rarities. Everyone who served here had rarities, and now four people and their unique skills were lost to him forever.
It felt cold to think of such losses when the lives lost meant so much more, but perhaps he was finally thinking like a manor lord. People were also resources, and he could mourn both their lives and the skills they brought to his manor. Moreover, he would avenge them.
“And the assassins?” Drake asked. “Any clues on the bodies as to who hired them?” He doubted professional assassins would be stupid enough to carry around notes saying who hired them, but people in this world were strange.
“I am...” Olivia hesitated. “The bodies were badly mangled. There wasn’t...”
“I understand.” He had savaged the assassins so badly there hadn’t been much to search.
Olivia’s features grew firm. “You saved Lydia. You saved Emily. Thank you, lord.”
Drake wanted to remind her he had also saved himself, but he supposed she was right. He had wanted to save Lydia and Emily as well. That made him feel a bit better about feeling nothing about the assassins. He still worried he was getting too blasé about killing people.
When he glanced down at his wrist, he found the agony bracelet gone. It must have snapped off when his wrist went rat, which was why he hadn’t continued to feel its effects after he shifted. Or perhaps once he went dire rat, the bracelet no longer recognized him as its target?
Either way, this method of triggering his rarity remained far from ideal. While today’s battle in the courtyard had been a successful field test—the pain of an agony bracelet could make him rat out—he could also only use that trick once unless he wanted to buy a whole crate of agony bracelets. That was a problem, but it was a problem for tomorrow.
For now, he’d focused on making sure no more assassins snuck into his manor.
The sound of a door opening sent Olivia spinning about. Drake caught the sight of flames in her hands before he cleared his throat. “I called them. Stand down.”
The flames went out. “Of course, lord.” Yet Olivia still stood in front of his bed, hands raised, until a female hand gripped and carefully pulled back the curtain.
Beyond was a brown-haired woman he’d never seen before, but given she was dressed in a maid uniform, he knew who she must be. Nicole.
He was finally going to meet his fifth battle maid.
Drake snarled and skittered a few steps back, alarmed for the first time. There was so much meat in the courtyard now, and much of it smelled strange. Pungent. Wrong.
It was the larger meat. They smelled like frogs, and he did not like frogs. They tasted sour. Yet as he cleared his head and padded again toward the man meat, another string of flame ignited before his eyes. He leapt backward at the same time he spotted its source.
It wasn’t a wall of fire. It was a chain of fire, and it was attached to the hand of the nearest small meat. She smelled terrified and delicious. He wanted to devour her whole.
Yet as he rushed for the small blond meat, another chain of fire burst into his path. Again Drake halted. He cast back and forth as two chains of living fire whipped around him in wide ovals, surrounding him, taunting and threatening him from all sides. Something in his head screamed “Jump ropes!” but he ignored it. It was the weakness inside him.
This fire was wrong. Even with his lust for blood, he knew he could not ignore its heat. It felt hot enough to melt his bones. He did not dare charge straight into it.
He slashed experimentally with one claw, then howled as the proximity seared his fur. He snapped at the flame and spun about in alarm. He even attempted to leap before a third chain of fire whipped over him, forcing him to flatten himself to the ground.
Snarling, panting, and glaring up at the hated fire chains, Drake could only crouch down. Three chains of fire now coursed around him in all directions, so hot he could barely breathe. He was feeling tired now as well, more exhausted with each moment.
As he curled in close to himself, the chains moved a bit further away. The moment Drake attempted to rise again, the chains closed in once more. Yet once he curled up into a crouch, they eased away once more. He found the warmth much more pleasant at a distance.
None of the new meat shot him. It all cowered at the edges of the courtyard. They were likely all too afraid to approach, and why wouldn’t they be? He was the apex predator here.
He had a full belly. The sleepiness he’d felt was overwhelming now, and while some part of his still ferocious mind longed for more hunting, a little voice inside him begged for sleep. Something else, something not dire rat, assured him this new meat would not harm him.
It was fine to rest. It was fine to sleep. So Drake closed his eyes and went to sleep... and when he opened them, he was lying in a fluffy bed with a clay bowl beside it. Which was good, because he managed to grab the bowl before he once more started puking his guts out.
Tiny fragments of bone. Warm morsels of human flesh. He was aware of all this and more as he vomited into the bowl, and he simply could not seem to stop. The pain was tearing up his insides, and he felt true terror as he realized some of this blood... might be his own.
Still, it all. Had to. Come up. Drake gagged and spit as a warm hand rested on his back, and the warmth made the nausea and discomfort less intense. He dry heaved a few more times, spit repeatedly, and finally managed to ease on his back once more.
Standing beside his bed was a scaled man with a wrinkled bald head and scales along his neck and cheeks. Raylan, his shaman. Gloomwood Manor’s healer. He was in good hands, and all the assassins who’d come after him were very, very dead.
Curtains screened him in on all sides, but the ceiling was the same as every ceiling in Gloomwood Manor. Dark blue paint surrounded by midnight black slats, with a faint pattern of trees etched into it. This must be yet another room in his massive manor.
He was wearing clothing, but it was simple silk and cloth resembling a bathrobe, not silverweave. He suspected the silverweave he’d worn was now torn to shreds, which was going to cost him a fair amount of coin. Still... losing expensive clothing was better than being dead.
“Lydia,” Drake managed. “Emily?” Both had been shot multiple times with crossbow bolts.
“Both resting and recovering,” Raylan assured him. “The bolts did not go deep, but they were poisoned. Their feathersteel and my talent for diluting poison allowed them to survive. They will remain in my infirmary another day, but both will recover fully.”
“Poisoned?” Drake eased his neck to the side and spit in the bowl again. “Me?”
“Whatever poison they used was not enough to overcome your unique metabolism.” Raylan slowly shook his head. “To be frank, lord, the strength of your rarity is remarkable. From what accounts I could gather, your wounds healed almost as fast as they were made.”
Drake coughed and groaned as his stomach clenched. “But the hangover sucks.”
Raylan pressed two palms to his stomach. “Allow me to help with your discomfort.”
As soothing cool flooded Drake’s body, the pain in his guts eased away. It was a good thing they had magic fingers in this world, because he doubted they had X-ray machines. He imagined swallowing a bunch of human bone fragments would do a number on his intestines.
Knowing Lydia and Emily had survived was a massive relief. Had he murdered anyone other than the assassins before Olivia’s chainfire trapped and contained him? Most of the courtyard battle was a blur, but he didn’t think so. Yet if Olivia hadn’t been there to stop him...
Drake sat up on the bed and tested his body. As with the morning he’d woken up in a camp full of dead men, his body felt largely unaffected by the brutality to which it had been subjected during his battle with the assassins. He could get up and walk out of here if he wanted, but he decided to hang out in bed in his bath robe for a little while longer.
“Did I kill anyone other than those assassins?” Drake asked.
“No,” Raylan said. “When Olivia responded to the commotion and led the others into the courtyard, you were already focused on the outsiders.”
Drake nodded in relief. “I need to talk to my other battle maids. And Zuri.”
“I will summon them at once, lord. Please, rest here.”
“And some water? I could use some water. No, make that mead.”
“Of course, lord.”
As Raylan moved to leave, however, Drake snatched his arm. The man glanced at him in alarm, then visibly relaxed as he caught the mild expression on Drake’s face.
“Thank you,” Drake said. “For me, for Lydia, and Emily. For using your rarity the way you do. I don’t know if the old lord ever thanked you for healing us, but I will. Thank you, Raylan.”
He released the man’s arm. When he did so, Raylan smiled. “You are welcome, lord. Now, I will summon who you asked for.”
“Oh, and make sure they bring the good stuff from Lord Skybreak. My mouth tastes like man guts right now. I don’t want to taste that any longer than I have to.”
As Raylan hurried away, Drake eased back against the headboard and stared at the engraved ceiling. What a day. He’d just been attacked in the middle of his own manor... and he suspected he’d brought it on himself when he allowed his people to do whatever they liked.
Someone in the manor had obviously betrayed him.
As before, so much of his survival rested on chance. If he hadn’t talked to Zuri last night, and she hadn’t delivered his bracelet this morning, and Lydia and Emily hadn’t decided to duel in armor, and Lydia hadn’t flutterstepped in between him and three crossbow bolts...
His luck wouldn’t last forever, and Drake was sick of being hunted. Sick of these attacks. Sick of lying back and taking them like a good little lord. It was time to find whoever kept coming after him and fuck them up. A crucifixion beneath a cold sky would be a good start.
But first, he needed to know how these assassins had gotten into his manor.
He was not the least surprised when Olivia cautiously tiptoed into the space inside his curtains. She’d likely been waiting outside, standing guard as loyally as his other battle maids. Her features were tense and her hands clenched with worry.
“Lord? May I... are you all right?”
“I’m all right.” He smiled at her. “You did a great job.”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
“With the fire, Olivia. If you hadn’t been there to corral me, and I’d hurt someone I didn’t want to, I’d be real unhappy about that. You were amazing out there, so thank you.”
She bit her lip. “Lord... what if I’d hurt you?”
“You’d never do that.”
“But I can hurt you. I can even kill you now! What if you’d leapt into the fire before I pulled it back? What if I lost control and singed your face off? What if—”
“Stop,” Drake ordered.
She immediately stopped speaking.
He smiled to ease the sting. “None of that happened because you wouldn’t allow it. Lydia told me how hard the old lord pushed you, and about the stables. You still used your rarity for five days with barely any sleep. I doubt many could manage that.”
She clutched her hands together, staring with a mix of worry and hope.
“You did good,” Drake said. “So, relax. And while we’re waiting, tell me what you know about the people who attacked us today.”
She nodded vigorously and refocused. “There were four assassins, lord.”
He knew this, but he wasn’t going to rush her.
“They entered through the tunnel into the kitchen. We believe Arno opened the doors for them, including the door out in the silverwood.”
“Arno? My blood thrall?” Drake didn’t remember the name off hand, but he had seventy-six names to remember and only so much time to study.
“Yes, lord. He is... was... your blood thrall.”
“I take it Arno is no longer among the living.”
“No, lord.” Olivia clenched her fists. “If he was, I would burn him to death myself.”
“Simmer down.” Drake frowned. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but remember. Sometimes, I’ll want to interrogate people.”
Olivia’s eyes widened, and then she once more nodded vigorously. “Of course, lord.”
“So Arno let the assassins into the kitchen.” Someone had paid him off, or threatened him, or abducted a family member, maybe. “Did the assassins hurt anyone else?”
“Yes, lord.” Olivia winced. “Four of your blood thralls were on duty in the kitchen at the time. Irving, Hunter, Penny, and Selene. All were murdered before they could raise an alarm. Also, a zarovian patroller was killed in the hallway leading to the inner courtyard.”
“Fuck,” Drake cursed quietly. He didn’t know any of those names, and he felt like an ass.
Other lords might simply think of their people as servants and not give them another thought, but those names—Irving, Hunter, Penny, Selene, and that zarovian—were his people. His to protect. They were all dead by the hands of his unknown enemy, and that pissed him off.
He was also guiltily glad to hear that Meryl was not among the dead. It wasn’t just that he knew her by face and name. It was also because she made such delicious meat.
That was another reminder of what he’d lost. Rarities. Everyone who served here had rarities, and now four people and their unique skills were lost to him forever.
It felt cold to think of such losses when the lives lost meant so much more, but perhaps he was finally thinking like a manor lord. People were also resources, and he could mourn both their lives and the skills they brought to his manor. Moreover, he would avenge them.
“And the assassins?” Drake asked. “Any clues on the bodies as to who hired them?” He doubted professional assassins would be stupid enough to carry around notes saying who hired them, but people in this world were strange.
“I am...” Olivia hesitated. “The bodies were badly mangled. There wasn’t...”
“I understand.” He had savaged the assassins so badly there hadn’t been much to search.
Olivia’s features grew firm. “You saved Lydia. You saved Emily. Thank you, lord.”
Drake wanted to remind her he had also saved himself, but he supposed she was right. He had wanted to save Lydia and Emily as well. That made him feel a bit better about feeling nothing about the assassins. He still worried he was getting too blasé about killing people.
When he glanced down at his wrist, he found the agony bracelet gone. It must have snapped off when his wrist went rat, which was why he hadn’t continued to feel its effects after he shifted. Or perhaps once he went dire rat, the bracelet no longer recognized him as its target?
Either way, this method of triggering his rarity remained far from ideal. While today’s battle in the courtyard had been a successful field test—the pain of an agony bracelet could make him rat out—he could also only use that trick once unless he wanted to buy a whole crate of agony bracelets. That was a problem, but it was a problem for tomorrow.
For now, he’d focused on making sure no more assassins snuck into his manor.
The sound of a door opening sent Olivia spinning about. Drake caught the sight of flames in her hands before he cleared his throat. “I called them. Stand down.”
The flames went out. “Of course, lord.” Yet Olivia still stood in front of his bed, hands raised, until a female hand gripped and carefully pulled back the curtain.
Beyond was a brown-haired woman he’d never seen before, but given she was dressed in a maid uniform, he knew who she must be. Nicole.
He was finally going to meet his fifth battle maid.
