The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 2 Blood Honor and Dreams

The Elder Blood Chronicles – Book Two

by Melissa Myers

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011, 2012, 2013 Melissa
Myers

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved, except as permitted by
U.S. Copyrights Act of 1976.

No part of this publication can be
reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior
written permission of the author.

Gaelyn

The taste of copper filled her mouth, harsh
and metallic. Her eyes trailed down to the remains of the woman
cooling before her. Her stomach growled at the sight of so much
meat but she fought back the instinct to feed. She had scanned the
woman’s mind while in the womb and no matter how broken the woman
had been, she had loved the child growing inside her. In her
scattered mind, the woman had believed her a child formed of love
with a man named Hawk. The dead woman had even picked names for the
child inside her, Emily if it was a girl and Jonathan if a boy. The
woman had refused to believe a monster grew inside her. In her
mind, she had pictured a pink, squirming little baby.

She shifted uncomfortably at the thought. She
didn’t want to consider herself a monster, and yet she was no baby
as the woman had imagined. Just the few shreds of meat she had
consumed had helped her grow considerably. By human standards her
body was the size of one of their toddlers. Her mind, however, was
far advanced beyond that. She knew what the woman had known. She
had spent long hours in that broken mind, sorting through the
knowledge. Reaching hesitantly, she ran a finger across the dead
woman’s cheek, brushing back the strands of brown hair that hung
over her empty eyes. Her talon scored a narrow groove in the dead
flesh and she hastily pulled her small hand back. She hadn’t meant
to kill the woman any more than she had meant to damage the dead
flesh with her talon. It had been pure instinct that demanded she
tear herself free of the prison of flesh.

Settling back on her heels, she stared down
at the corpse, unsure what to do. She knew the others watched her.
She could feel their eyes on her back. They wondered why she didn’t
feed. If she didn’t feed soon, it was possible they would claim the
meat. It was also possible they would consider her defective.
Moving slowly, she edged to the other side of the corpse and placed
her back against the thick stone wall. The others shifted, watching
her, their eyes glimmering like dark jewels in the faint light of
the room. With hunger and disgust warring inside her, she reached a
taloned hand down to the corpse and cut a strip of flesh from the
arm. Gingerly, she took the first bite, chewing slowly and trying
to think of it as only meat and not as the dead woman that had
considered herself mother.

With each strip of meat she ate, she felt her
body pushing against its current size. Muscles developed, bones
grew, and senses became more acute. Closing her eyes, she cut strip
after strip from the corpse, relishing in the taste of the blood
and hating herself for enjoying it. It took all of her will to keep
the predatory instincts down. She could feel the growl deep in her
chest. The gaze of the others upon her hadn’t lessened and her
primal side told her to warn them away. If they came closer, she
would defend herself by talon and fang as needed. It wasn’t a fight
she would win, there were seven of them in the room. Not all of
them would walk away, though. She would ensure that.

By the time her hunger was sated, she was red
to the elbows in sticky, drying blood. Careful to keep her eyes
from the once beautiful face of the dead woman, she moved down the
wall and away from what remained. The others would feed on the
remaining meat and she had no desire to see that. Never taking her
gaze from the others, she followed the wall until it ended in a
rough wooden door. With her back to the door she slipped out and
into the dark hallway. She sniffed the air and then focused on the
inner sense that linked her with her brethren to see how many
lurked in the shadows beyond. There were more to the left than
right.

Pushing the door shut behind her silently,
she paced down the hall to the right. The dead woman had no
knowledge of the layout of this place, only a name for it, Eldagar.
By what the woman had known of Eldagar and her current
surroundings, she guessed herself to be somewhere below the
fortress in the labyrinth of storage rooms. With senses alert, she
moved swiftly and quietly through turn after turn, always choosing
the path with the fewest Blights.

She didn’t want to associate with the things.
She may be one of them, but that didn’t mean she was happy about
it. In the dead woman’s mind, pushed back to the furthest corners,
there had been memories of the Blights and what they had done to
the villages of Gaelyn. Farther back than that had been the
memories of what they had done to Hawk, the man that should have
been her father. To kill was a necessity for any predator. To
torment and torture during the kill was corruption of the hunt.
Torture was the only word to describe the way Hawk had died. With a
frown, she focused on her surroundings and left the memories for
when she was in a secure location. It wouldn’t take long for the
Blights to realize she was not like them. What they did from there
was beyond her field of guessing.

Her pace slowed as the air began to change.
The thick dank smell of the undergrounds was fading. If there was a
slant or rise to the floor she couldn’t tell, but the air seemed
fresher. She was nearing the surface. The dead woman’s mind had
contained memories of the surface, many memories. If she could make
it to the wild lands her dead mother’s memories would guide her
away from this place. She tested the air again before moving on.
There was something there, a scent that seemed out of place in this
hive. Cautiously, she moved forward silently. Something shifted in
the halls beyond. The shadows themselves seemed to stir before her.
It was a strange and yet familiar scent in the air - prey, human.
It didn’t make sense for the smell of prey to be so near the main
hive without the scent of fear or blood thick in it. She tested the
air again, searching for any signs of blood. She froze again as a
form moved from the shadows.

“Charm,” she whispered, as the dead woman’s
memories identified the ragged blond man before her. His armor was
filthy and torn and his long blond braid was matted with filth, but
still she recognized him. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud and
kicked herself silently for it. Clamping one small hand over her
mouth she held her breath as the rogue scanned the room with a
frantic gaze.

“Who’s there?” he whispered, his voice harsh
with disuse. One slender hand had dropped to the pommel of his
dagger and his muscles were tense. His gaze flickered to the window
behind him and she could tell he was on the verge of flight.

Biting her tongue, she remained silent,
watching him with curiosity. The dead woman had liked this man and
he was heading for his death if he continued down this hall. All
she would have to do is speak again and he would likely bolt. She
could practically feel his paranoia. His eyes had a wild look in
them, not fear exactly, but close. A tickle at the back of her
senses pulled her focus from the rogue. She could feel a group of
her fellow Blights approaching behind her. If they found him here,
he was dead, and her mother had liked him.

“Run, they are coming,” she hissed in a voice
barely above a whisper.

His reaction was immediate. He didn’t
question where the words came from, he simply fled. He was out the
window and moving rapidly through the shadows within a breath.
Glancing back over her shoulder once more, she snarled and followed
him through the window. The memories she had of the rogue were of a
good man, and a good man wouldn’t survive in a hell like Eldagar
without help. She would watch him and guard him. Perhaps that would
make amends to the dead woman. She hadn’t meant to kill her mother.
Perhaps if she kept this man alive, mother’s spirit would rest
easier.

Sanctuary

The clash of steel came with a rapidity that
gave it a sort of music. Jala shifted in the grass and rested her
head more comfortably against Marrow’s side. The Bendazzi lay
sprawled behind her, his sides rising and falling with the slow
rhythm of sleep. She ran a hand gently through the soft white fur
of his neck and continued to watch her husband. From her vantage
she had a perfect view of the sparring match between Finn and
Valor. Her eyes were locked on Finn, watching his every move. His
bronzed skin was gleaming with sweat despite the chill of the day.
She felt a smile creep onto her lips as she watched him. His
graceful dodges were swiftly followed by a series of quick jabs
that kept Valor on guard for most of the matches. Finn was living
art in her mind, a beauty to behold, and he was hers. The smile
grew wider. her hand absently traced the tattoo on her arm. It
signified their marriage. Even from this distance, Finn’s matching
tattoo stood out against his skin like a beacon. Her mind began to
drift with thoughts of those arms wrapped around her, the
remembered scent of him, and his breath hot on her neck. She longed
to bury her fingers in his thick tawny hair as he kissed her. A
flutter drifted through her and she felt her pulse increase
slightly. A muffled curse from the sparring yard brought her
sharply back to the present to watch as Finn stepped back from
Valor with blood dripping down his bare chest.

“What was that?” Valor demanded, lowering his
own blade. His long silver hair was plastered to his head with
sweat and he was breathing quickly. He glowered at Finn, his blue
eyes filled with irritation.

“Nothing,” Finn snapped, his gaze locked on
the wound that stretched from his shoulder and traced a ragged line
down his ribs. The sides of the wound were already mending
together. Finn healed with such a speed that most of the time he
didn’t even notice the smaller wounds. That one had to be deep to
get him to step away from a fight.

“Bloody hell it was nothing, I know you could
have parried that,” Valor pressed but Finn waved him off and moved
in for another attack before Valor could protest further.

“Care to return your attention to studies
before you get him killed?” Jail asked. He was sitting a few feet
from Jala with a look of pure amusement on his face. A large book
lay open in his lap, though he hadn’t looked at its pages at all
from what Jala had seen. As usual, his dark hair was pulled back in
a tail, revealing the tattoos that ran round the sides of his head.
She often wondered what they symbolized but hadn’t found the proper
moment to ask. Her friends cultures were so diverse she never knew
what was improper to speak of and what wasn’t.

“Leave her alone, she is in love. I think
it’s sweet,” Wisp cut in with a sigh. The Fae sprawled in the grass
not far away, with a map spread in front of her. She had one elbow
propping her off the ground with her dainty chin resting in the
palm of her hand. A long tendril of black curls fell down over one
side of her face, giving her a tousled look. “I’m seeing a lot we
could do to improve things here, but I’m not sure how we can do it
without anyone knowing who is doing it,” Wisp added, and Jala
wasn’t sure if she was talking to her or to Neph who was propped up
beside her looking half asleep.

“Wait, no, this has merit. If she gets him
killed, the damn ringing of metal will surely stop,” Neph grumbled,
and leaned forward to look at Wisp’s map.

“It will be replaced with wails of sorrow
which is infinitely louder, Neph,” Jail pointed out mildly.

“True,” Neph agreed halfheartedly and turned
his attention fully to the map. “It’s the Merro district, Wisp.
Anything we do will be an improvement there. That’s one of the
worst parts of the city.”

“It won’t be if we can just figure out how
silently to repair it,” Wisp countered.

“I say we just announce who she is and bugger
them all. This secrecy shit is getting old,” Neph grumbled, leaning
back once more to rest his weight on his arms. Of all her friends,
Neph was easily the most intimidating. Jail was larger and more
heavily muscled and Finn had a quick temper, but Neph had mastered
the art of scowling to a fine perfection. That, combined with his
dark leather armor and sharp tongue, made most stay clear of his
path.