Blood Rebellion

"You know where they are? Tell me or I’ll have you killed," he threatened.

"You know, threatening me probably isn’t the wisest thing you’ve ever done," I said calmly. This guy was a sadistic shithead, who liked killing female and young werewolves. He, his courtiers and knights skinned them and took the pelts. The whole thing sickened me. He knew they would turn back to humanoid after the full moon. He knew.

"You have one last chance to tell me what you know, or you die."

"So, killing female and young werewolves isn’t enough for you? You’ll go after anybody?" I asked.

"You are disobeying your king. That is a death sentence."

"But you’re not my king," I pointed out.

"You stand upon the soil of my kingdom," he snapped.

"Okay, you have me there," I said and levitated myself six inches off the ground.

"Kill her, she is a sorceress," the king shouted. A spear was thrown, and then another. I turned myself to mist and both weapons sailed right through, landing in the dirt behind me.

"Nice try, but you shouldn’t do that again," I said after rematerializing.

"Kill her!" The king was now so angry that spittle flew from his mouth. That’s always so attractive. Five more spears were thrown. I misted again and this time I didn’t wait. Horses reared as heads were lopped off. The ReaveHounds, which were abominations created by dark spells, well, they died, too. There wasn’t a thing left alive inside that clearing when I was done—the horses had all run away. I shook blood off my claws afterward and got a good look at my clothing. It was a bloody mess.

"He who lives by the sword, dies by the claw," I toed the king’s body—his head was about two yards away. Marrik would have to find a new king. Well, couldn’t be any worse than the old one. I folded away.

* * *

"Hello, Grandfather. I’m sorry I look such a mess." Wylend Arden, King of Karathia, was sitting in front of a fire in his bedchamber, looking over accounts. He looked as young as I did. Or Griffin, for that matter. At least he and Griffin looked to be related. I favored my mother’s side of the family.

"Granddaughter, where have you been?" Wylend was out of his chair and staring curiously at my bloodied clothing.

"It’s not mine—the blood, that is," I waved off his concern. "Do you know someone named Gart?"

"Yes. A Rogue Warlock and high on my wanted list, is our Gart. Why do you ask?"

"Because he transported twelve thousand Ra’Ak-enhanced humanoids to Beliphar. They’ve pretty much taken over, now."

"You’re sure of this?" Wylend was staring at my face instead of my bloody clothing.

"Yes. The leader of the twelve thousand—somebody named Felix, put five million Alliance Credits together and paid Gart for the favor."

"That is interesting news, Granddaughter. May I offer you the use of my bath and perhaps some clean clothing?" Wylend kept his hazel eyes glued to my face. I realized then that Wylend wasn’t used to people just showing up in his private study, dressed mostly in blood and the occasional piece of trachea. Again—none of it mine.

"That might be nice," I said, absently picking a stray bit of flesh off my shirt.

"Come this way." He led me through a sitting room and past a library, then into a huge bath beyond. This bathroom was larger than most people’s houses. Everything was trimmed in gold and the tiles had gold and silver veins running through them. The tub was immaculate and large enough for a few Olympic events. I didn’t see a shower anywhere. Well, it might not hurt to soak for a little while.

"Go ahead and run your bath, I’ll send someone after clothing." My Karathian Grandfather was smiling at me. He might have looked proud, even. I had no idea why. I turned the taps and water poured into the tub.

I sat in warm water up to my chin, cleaning blood and bits of this and that out of my hair when my clothing arrived, via Erland Morphis. I should have known.

"I got these from your closet inside the palace and never set off the alarm," Erland was quite proud of himself. He laid everything on a dressing table nearby and sat on the wide edge of the marble tub. "Now, what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into?" He folded arms over his chest. I gaped at the second most beautiful man I’d ever met, realizing that I cared about him. And he wasn’t yelling, either, which was a real plus. His question (and tone) had been a conversational one.

"Where do you want to start?" I asked with a shrug.

"Start with why you came in covered in blood and guts and go from there," he suggested.

"I wiped out the King of Marrik and his ass**le entourage."

"And the reason you wiped out the King of Marrik and his entourage?" Erland was withholding judgment until he had the full story. I was caring more about him as time went on. Gavin’s shouting and cursing would have sent echoes through my grandfather’s palace if he’d been present.

"They threw spears at me." I ducked under the water and rinsed my hair.

"Here," Erland handed a small towel to me to get the soap and water out of my eyes.

"Thanks," I said and wiped my face. He took the towel when I was finished.

"And they threw spears at you because?"

"I went to tell them that I’d taken their werewolves to Harifa Edus—they were only hunting them down and killing them anyway, so I thought it would be polite if I informed the king about what I’d done. He and his guards got a little testy with me and threw spears. Twice."

"Then you are completely justified, although it isn’t very attractive to have blood and bits of flesh in your hair and on your clothing. I took the liberty of turning all of your clothing to ash for you, by the way."

"Thanks," I said. "I wasn’t sure what to do with it." I finished washing myself, even the naughty bits, although it might have been a little uncomfortable having Erland watch. He wasn’t budging and I was too tired to make him move. "How about a towel," I said, when I finished with my bath.

"Step out and I’ll wrap you up," he said.

"Erland," I whined.

"Lissa," he whined back.

"Fine," I muttered sarcastically and pulled myself out of the tub. Erland had a big, fluffy towel in no time and he did wrap me up before drying my hair. He was picking it out with his fingers afterward before setting me on the dressing bench and going through it carefully with a comb.

"There, that looks better." He was still going through my hair with his fingers, drying it with some sort of spell. It was curling in his hands. "Do you know how much women pay to get hair this color?" He was smiling at me as he worked.