The Kindred Warrior's Captive Bride

She remembered the Torgians and their serrated smiles and the Xanther who had claimed he would have her neck lengthened to match his own and force her to have surgery to make her inner parts accommodate his as well.

Every way she turned there was death and rape and more death. Every way she went was a dead end—a blind alley she couldn’t get out of.

Maybe this is just my fate, Lan’ara thought, trying to stifle a sob. I should have died in the fire with Mother and the little ones. I would have if I’d never left home. This is simply death catching up with me, taking what is his. That’s all.

It was a thought that had come to her often, in the dark hours near morning, when she couldn’t sleep. I should have died with them. I shouldn’t be alive when everyone I love is dead.

But despite such thoughts and the clear knowledge that her time was suddenly up, it was still hard to surrender to death. Still terribly difficult to lie back on the bed as her new master ordered and open herself for those needle sharp fangs.

Still, somehow Lan’ara made herself do it. Lying back on the Kindred’s huge bed, she parted her legs and threw an arm across her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see what happened next.

There was nothing to do now but accept her fate and hope that it wouldn’t hurt too badly.

Ten

What in the Seven Hells was wrong with the girl?

Need watched in confusion as her gold-flecked eyes got wide as saucers and her entire body tensed when he told her to lie down so he could heal her. Then she started shaking and stuttering as though she’d been taken with some kind of palsy. Finally, when he insisted again that she lay down, she did as he said but threw an arm over her eyes as though to shield herself from seeing something awful.

Why was she acting this way?

“Girl?” he asked, frowning at the way she was trembling on the bed. What had she said her name was? “Lan’ara?” he tried again, but the only answer he got was a muted sob.

Need didn’t understand. What was wrong with her?

“Why are you crying?” he demanded. “Don’t you want to be healed?”

Leaning over her, he gripped her by the wrist and peeled her arm away from her face, which was flushed from crying. Her big eyes, still swimming in tears, looked up at him and he saw that they were filled with terror.

“Please,” she whispered, her breath coming in hitching little gasps. “Please just…just make it quick, all right? And p-please don’t bite me where I’m already…already hurt.”

“Bite you where you’re hurt?” Need looked at her, still not comprehending.

“Please don’t bite me where the…the stick already hurt me,” she begged with a little sob. “Please, can’t you just…just drain my blood from another spot?”

“Drain your blood?” Need looked at her in horror. “Why in the Seven Hells would I want to drain your blood, girl?”

“Because you’re a leach!” she cried. “A blood-sucker. What my grandmother’s people called a ‘vampire.’ You drink girls’ blood to stay alive—don’t you?”

“What?” Need shook his head. “What would give you that idea?”

“Y-your f-fangs,” she stuttered, pointing at his mouth. “So sharp! Please, my Lord, when you bite me just m-make it quick!”

Goddess, she thought he was going to hurt her, Need suddenly realized! She had the idea somehow that he was going to bite her and drink her blood—no wonder she was shaking like a leaf!

His heart, so long encased in stone, felt like it was cracking open at the realization. That she should fear him like this made him desperately want to reassure her—but he wasn’t sure what he could say to make things right.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to gather himself—tried to think of what to say, how to explain without hurting or scaring her even more.

“Listen to me, girl,” he said at last, looking into her eyes. “I’m not a leach or a blood-sucker or a ‘vampire,’ whatever that is. I’m just half Blood Kindred, that’s all.”

But this seemed to mean nothing to her. Need could tell from the way her eyes widened in fear that all she’d heard was the word “blood” and nothing more.

“That doesn’t mean I want to bite you or…or drink your blood.” He couldn’t quite keep the revulsion out of his voice at this last idea. “Gods, no! My fangs aren’t for you, girl—they’re not for any female. Not anymore.”

She shook her head. “I don’t…don’t understand.”

“A Bl— a Kindred of my kind only uses his fangs to bite his mate,” he explained. “You’re not my mate, now are you?”

She sniffed. “N-no,” she admitted. “But you own me—”

“Yes, yes—I own you now. Stop reminding me,” Need said irritably. “The point is, my fangs aren’t for drinking blood—which is a disgusting idea by the way. They’re for injecting my essence.”