Raised to Kill

The thought came as a little shock to her, popping into her brain like an unwanted guest who had been lingering at the door for hours. While listening to her new husband’s incredibly sensuous Song and during all their talk of music, she had almost forgotten her true mission.

I must not forget! Allara told herself sternly. No matter how beautiful his Song is, he must die. He is the evil one—the enemy!

But it was terribly difficult to remember that when he was looking at her with those gorgeous golden eyes and talking so easily with her—just as though she really was his equal, though he was a man and therefore high above her.

He has put me under a spell, Allara thought. With his Song and possibly his scent, too. Because the warm, spicy fragrance of her new husband’s skin was strong in her nose. It seemed to make her body react almost like his Song had, causing her forbidden places to throb. How could she kill him when he made her body react like this? How—

At that moment, a new voice was amplified by the loud-talking stick. It was from a human woman Allara had not met yet—someone with short, dark hair and green eyes.

But it wasn’t the woman’s appearance that bothered Allara—it was her Song. It was terrible.

“Just a small-town boy,

Born and raised in South Detroit,” the woman sang.

He took the midnight train going a-nywheeeeeere…”

Her Song wobbled terribly, pitching sharp at first, which gave Allara the feeling of someone poking her with many small, sharp pins and then falling flat, like a heavy weight on her stomach.

“Ugh!” she exclaimed, unable to help herself. Never had she heard such a Song!

“What’s wrong?” Brand looked at her sharply, as though he was worried about her.

“Her Song—not a single note is true!” Allara told him, looking at the woman. “I think…” She dropped her voice, so as not to cause offense. “I think she may be be one of those who has no Voice—a Voiceless one.”

“But I can hear her voice just fine,” Brand objected. “I mean, she’s not exactly on key, but—”

“Excuse me, but we’re going to leave unless you want us to stay for some reason?” It was Selena, the leader of the string quartet, standing beside them. She winced as the woman sang,

“Some will win,

Some will lose,

Some were born to

Sing the bluuuuuues…”

“Ugh—I think somebody’s a little bit tone deaf,” she whispered to Brand. “Not to be mean,” she added quickly. “So please don’t take offense.”

“No, of course not,” Brand told her. “I don’t know the woman at all—I think she might have come in with the cake. Maybe she’s an assistant to Lauren.”

“Well, whoever she is, I think she might have had just a little bit too much of that fizzy blue drink you’re serving,” Selena murmured.

“Don’t stop believin’!”

Hold on to that feeeelin’!”

The woman bellowed, her terrible Song amplified by the loud-talking stick until Allara could hardly stand it.

“Please, husband,” she said turning to Brand. “May we go too? I cannot bear much more of this Song—it hurts me.”

“Wow, your people really are sensitive to music,” Selena remarked. “But don’t leave your own wedding reception early just because of one tone-deaf drunk! Believe me, there’s always at least one person who ties on one too many and doesn’t realize they can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

But the Song showed no signs of stopping and Allara felt as though she was being assaulted. Tiny pins stabbed her skin and the weight on her stomach grew and grew. There was an acrid taste at the back of her mouth and all the cake she had eaten was suddenly churning in her gut.

“Please,” she begged, unable to help herself. “Please, husband—I fear I will be ill!”

“Okay, baby—if you want to go, we can go.” Putting an arm around her waist, Brand helped her up and led her away from the tent. Kat gave them a worried look but he only shook his head and made a sign to her that all was well.

At least, that was what Allara thought he was doing. She was too ill to pay much attention. As they left the tent, the woman’s voice went high and shrill, drilling like a sharpened stick into her ears.

Allara stumbled at the awful sensation and nearly fell but suddenly strong arms were swooping her up and she was being cradled to Brand’s broad chest.

“Hey, you weren’t kidding, were you?” he asked, looking at her anxiously. “That woman’s voice really was making you sick?”

“She has no Voice—she is one of the Voiceless,” Allara whispered faintly. “Please, husband, take me far from her.”

“Of course.” He carried her rapidly across the smooth green and purple grass, holding her as easily as though she weighed nothing at all.

As the woman’s voice grew fainter and fainter, Allara began to recover and come back to herself. She became much more aware of what was going on and the fact that her new Kindred husband was cradling her in his arms like a small child.