Change of Darkness Read online

  Genlie was looking about herself, her brows narrowed in confusion.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked hoarsely.

  Kovi’s only response was to pull Genlie closer to him, hugging her to his chest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘I SEE MY spies were not wrong about you after all.’

  The deep voice was new to Siray, and she shifted on her knees slightly so she could twist and identify the speaker, although she was partially distracted by the sudden raging hunger in her stomach.

  Straight down the middle of their formation, the innermost line of soldiers had parted to face inwards, standing stiffly at attention.

  And walking through this newly formed aisle of deferential soldiers, with slow, measured steps, was a tall figure wearing a hooded cape.

  The height alone helped Siray to identify this person as one of the three who had been watching her from the balcony before the fight had started. A feeling of foreboding went through her despite the speaker’s neutral tone.

  And as the individual drew closer, passing the last pair of soldiers in their guard of honour, they lifted a hand and pushed back the hood of the cloak that had been shadowing their features.

  It was a male, with long, dark hair that brushed his shoulders. His bearing was regal, and he wore close-fitting fighting gear beneath the black cape with the attached hood that draped across his shoulders. The only markings on his gear were two large golden crosses, emblazoned on the spots where the cape was fastened to his tunic.

  The male walked to a spot a short distance away from where Siray and the others remained huddled around Genlie, two soldiers parting from the closest end of the formation to follow behind, their hands on their weapons.

  ‘If I hadn’t already been convinced you were the one from the way you fought, then the ability you have just demonstrated certainly confirms it.’ The male eyed her closely, and his eyes seemed to say prize.

  Siray eyed the male right back, her expression cold, while her mind worked furiously to fill in the missing links. The male’s age was hard to place, but it looked like he had two or three cycles on her—maybe a bit older than Baindan. His tone was amicable and polished, and he was handsome in a dark, mysterious kind of way.

  Siray stood up slowly, her legs a little weak, already disliking and distrusting the male before her. ‘What do you mean, “the one”?’ She had to keep him talking, keep his attention on her. That way the others could use the delay to figure out what to do while Genlie got her wits back about her. Not that this male seemed at all interested in her friends—his eyes stayed fixed on her, never leaving her face.

  He folded his hands behind his back. ‘You are the one—my chosen female counterpart, who will stand beside me and help us win this war.’ The stranger’s voice was pleasant but firm. ‘You are, in essence, my mate.’

  Siray’s mouth dropped open, shock coursing through her from head to toe. She struggled to find her voice, to deny the terrible claim, but it was Baindan who managed to get the words out first.

  ‘She is not your mate,’ he practically spat at the male as he quickly stood up next to her.

  For the first time, the stranger’s dark eyes shifted from Siray … and moved to Baindan. They assessed and measured, from Baindan’s mussed head to his sandy boots, then disregarded him, turning back to Siray. ‘You are my mate, because we are the same. We have the same rare gifts that mark both of us as separate from everyone else—above everyone else.’ The male walked towards her slowly, his eyes holding hers. ‘The Mother doesn’t gift just anyone with the form of the sevonix—only those who she wishes to lead.’

  Siray swallowed, not liking where this was headed. But the male had said lead … ‘Who are you?’ Maybe learning more about him might help her navigate a way out of this.

  ‘I am Lord Chezran.’ The male said this quite simply, still in his smooth and pleasant voice, dipping his head slightly to her.

  Siray also couldn’t help but notice Baindan stiffen beside her at the name, something that Lord Chezran clearly picked up as well.

  But that wasn’t the only thing that drew Siray’s attention. She hadn’t missed the eyes of the otherwise expressionless soldiers behind the male widen slightly as their lord dipped his head to her.

  This, and Baindan’s rigid posture, told her two things. One, the male in front of her was known to Baindan, and was obviously enough of an enemy that his body had reacted to the name even as his face maintained the same focused but unrevealing look.

  And two, the reaction of the soldiers, minor as it was, told her that they had never seen their lord bow his head to anyone.

  She didn’t mull over the two observations for long before the pieces came together swiftly. ‘You’re the leader of this army. Of the Faction.’ She said it with quiet certainty, swiftly running her eyes over the lord again to reassess everything in light of these new facts.

  ‘I am,’ Chezran acknowledged.

  Siray glanced behind her quickly. Kovi seemed shocked, but Genlie and Zale had, if anything, grown more serious.

  So they also knew the name. Odd, then, that she didn’t know it. Or did only highly trusted members within the Resistance have this intel?

  Baindan, it seemed, couldn’t stay silent any longer, and his body shook slightly with barely controlled anger. ‘He is the reason that so many of our people have died. For his war. For power.’

  Lord Chezran finally deigned to acknowledge Baindan. ‘Only ever working with half the picture … always the same with you Resistance types.’ The male’s tone was still smooth but held a deep note of contempt in it.

  Baindan took a breath to return the lord’s barb, but Chezran spoke before he could.

  ‘I know what you must currently think of my cause, but I assure you that once you have joined me and understand what it is we are fighting for, you will gladly work with us.’

  Siray shook her head, almost laughing out loud at the idea of ever working with these people. These butchers. ‘I’ve already seen what you fight for. And your methods,’ she added coldly, waving her hand around at the arena.

  ‘A necessary process,’ Chezran said matter-of-factly. ‘For what we must do, we must have only the strongest amongst us.’

  ‘Only the strong survive?’ she quoted back at him dryly. She thought that might annoy him, but instead his lips just quirked up at the corners a little.

  ‘As true now as it was at the start.’

  Siray shook her head again in disbelief. Did Chezran really not understand the devastation he was causing on their world? The innocents he was killing? ‘I will not join you,’ she told him firmly.

  Chezran didn’t react but merely continued to look at her for a long moment. ‘Do you know just how rare the form of the sevonix is amongst our people, Siray?’ He took a step closer to her. ‘In the last five generations, it’s only occurred three times—and on each occasion, there was one male, and one female, with the gift.’

  Siray snorted. ‘Well, your information is wrong. This time—’

  ‘Yes, your friend,’ Chezran interrupted. ‘I am told he did not survive. Shame, as I could have used his abilities in some way.’

  The dark-eyed male did not sound regretful at all over Deson’s death, and Siray’s hands balled into fists at her side.

  Lord Chezran took another step closer. ‘Only one sevonix pair survives each generation, if that. And each time, the pair are chosen, in consultation with the Great Mother and the Ruling Council, to lead. Do you know why?’

  Siray didn’t respond but just continued to hold Chezran’s gaze. Keeping her face expressionless when hatred was heating her very skin was hard, but she managed by digging her nails into her palms. And although she loathed herself for it, she was greatly interested to know why so many Kaslonian leaders had been able to take the form of the sevonix.

  Chezran moved towards her again, planting his feet just a body length away. ‘Because those who take the form of the sevonix are the strongest, and the most
intelligent, of our people. They are natural strategists. And we are what this world needs.’

  Then he Changed. It happened so quickly that Siray flinched when an enormous sevonix appeared before her—it seemed Chezran had made the act of Changing an art form in itself—an ability that would be highly useful in battle.

  But the thing that really stole her breath was Chezran’s size in that feline form. While Deson’s sevonix form had been somewhat larger than hers, Chezran’s was significantly so, his coiled muscles visible even beneath the dark fur, his shoulders a handspan above where her own would be in the same form. And even motionless as he was, some intuition—maybe her own sevonix instincts—observed him for what he was. A warrior in a predator’s body, whose graceful stillness even now filled her mind with warnings. And yet something about his form called to her …

  In the next instant, Chezran was himself again, standing gracefully tall, relaxed. Yet his eyes had taken on a new edge. ‘You sense it, don’t you, my treasure? My power calling to yours. And that extra ability of yours to heal …’ His voice trailed off admiringly. ‘It is something even rarer.’ Chezran raised his chin. ‘You are gifted, Siray, and belong with me. Your mate.’

  All interest left Siray and her stomach recoiled. ‘I am not your mate,’ she said with vehemence. ‘Whatever you say otherwise, and no matter how pleasantly you say it, I see you for what you are—cruel, power hungry, and willing to tear this world apart for your own purposes.’ She shook her head, her anger growing. ‘I will not join you.’ She raised her chin defiantly, confident there was nothing he could say that would persuade her otherwise.

  ‘No?’

  Quiet thunder sounded in Chezran’s voice, and Siray took a small step slightly backwards and to her left … where Baindan wrapped one arm around her protectively. It had been automatic on Siray’s part, but now Chezran’s eyes locked with understanding onto Baindan, and she wished she could take back that slight shift in position.

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Chezran took them both in for a moment. ‘You wish to form a formal bond, but you are not yet mated. I can tell. Yet even if the link that binds you both is strong … he is not your chosen mate.’

  Siray couldn’t stop the minor movement of her brows at Chezran’s comment, even as his words made heat flare in her cheeks as he so casually talked about such an intimate thing. She didn’t dare turn her head to look at Zale, but she could feel the awareness on that side of her alter, as the obviousness of the shift in the relationship between Baindan and herself was made clear to all.

  Once again, Chezran didn’t fail to pick up on the adjustment in Zale’s stance and attitude. ‘Yet another admirer,’ he said, scrutinising Zale. ‘Not that I fault either of you for your regard, but you both must know, must be aware, that you are not worthy of her.’ Chezran’s eyes flared. ‘She is mine, and I claim her as such.’

  Tension began singing through Siray’s body. Chezran had made a formal claim on her—and now Baindan and Zale either had to back down or fight.

  There was no hesitation from either, and Baindan gently pushed Siray backwards and stepped forwards, placing himself between her and Chezran.

  Moving just a fraction slower, his expression revealing the disappointment flooding through him, Zale also moved forwards and stood shoulder to shoulder with Baindan, the two of them facing Chezran like a wall.

  ‘You have no claim here. We will fight, if we must.’ Zale’s words were steady and determined, but the quiet pain beneath them hit Siray like a blow.

  Zale knew that she had chosen Baindan, but he still was going to fight. To save her.

  Hope kindled within her. Both Zale and Baindan were experienced fighters. No matter how good Chezran was—even though judging by those muscles, he must have spent cycles training with his own soldiers—two on one were good odds.

  Yet even in the face of Zale’s response, Chezran only chuckled. ‘There will be no fight. Because I have already won.’

  Siray frowned, unsure what he meant.

  Chezran waved a hand towards Baindan’s and Zale’s wrists. ‘Or did you forget the reason why you are unable to currently Change?’

  Baindan looked downwards, and Siray followed his gaze. To the silver cuff on his wrist. She blinked. It was identical to the one she had noticed Zale wearing when she had freed him from the platform. What was it?

  ‘Fight me if you will,’ continued Chezran, ‘but you will fight as you are now— without the strength, speed, and other advantages that your forms give you.’

  Siray looked up, her body tensing with renewed anger. This is why the others hadn’t been able to Change—the cuffs were some new kind of technology that inhibited the ability to switch forms. A sacrilege against their way of life.

  And if Baindan and Zale couldn’t Change, they would be torn to pieces—

  Pressing her lips together, she put a hand on each male’s shoulder and quickly slipped between them, evading their reaching hands as she placed herself just a pace away from Chezran. ‘They won’t need to fight for me,’ she said in a ringing voice.

  Chezran’s eyes opened a little wider, and he titled his head, a small, victorious smile sliding across his face.

  The anger inside Siray burst into full flame. ‘I can do it well enough myself,’ she growled, and her growl deepened as she Changed, leaping forwards as her claws sprang forth.

  But even as she sailed through the air, ready to sink her teeth into Chezran, he Changed again and sprang. Not away, as Siray had anticipated, but straight at her.

  Their heavy bodies collided in midair, but Chezran’s much-larger bulk knocked Siray down to the ground, and before she could upright herself, she felt a heavy paw slam into her chest and the scratch of teeth at her throat.

  She froze. Couldn’t think what to do as she felt the long fangs scrape against the skin beneath her fur, over the place where life pumped through her veins.

  Chezran growled as he held her there, her life his to take as he pleased, his snarl a rumble that Siray could feel in the ground.

  Her sevonix mind seemed to tremble at the sound.

  From the corner of her eye, Siray saw that Baindan and Zale had jumped forwards, but the black-clad Faction soldiers had been ready for them, and four of them leapt from their places to grab the arms of the two males before they could interfere, their sneering faces conveying their contempt for the pair.

  Then Chezran released Siray’s throat and Changed back, keeping one hand on her throat as he knelt there beside her. With the other hand, he brought out a slim blade the length of his forearm, not dissimilar from the blade that had come so close to killing Genlie.

  He spoke softly, but loud enough for Siray and her friends, and the guards holding them, to hear. ‘I could kill you right now, Siray, for your refusal. But I do not want your death. I know you. I know our kind. You would defy me to the end while you thought you were right. So, I also know the only way to get you to join me.’ He leaned closer over her face, his eyes showing no uneasiness at being so near to her sharp teeth. ‘Come with me,’ he whispered, ‘and I will leave your friends alive.’

  She stopped breathing. It was no idle threat, Siray knew. She could see it in his eyes. His dark, mysterious eyes, which showed no glimpse of madness, just uncompromising will.

  This was it, then. There was no other way out. Rowp, Deson, Jorgi, Loce. All gone. And she had almost lost Genlie. Of their own accord, her eyes flicked to the side, where two pairs of eyes, one set grey, one golden, were locked on her as they continued to struggle against the tight grips of those holding them.

  She touched both of those eyes briefly with her own, lingering finally in stormy-grey depths. She could not bear to part from Baindan, but worse was the thought of losing him—or any of the others. There was no need to make a choice, as there wasn’t one to make. She hoped he would understand.

  Baindan’s eyes widened slightly as she held them for one last moment, then she turned away, staring back up into eyes of darkness. For the moment,
she would play along with Chezran’s wishes. Until her friends were safe.

  She Changed.

  ‘I will come with you,’ she agreed quietly, her words causing Baindan to take in a sharp breath behind her.

  ‘Excellent,’ Chezran said smoothly, standing while he made the blade in his hand disappear back into the folds of his cape. He offered her his hand, which she ignored, pushing herself up to her feet.

  Once again, instead of being annoyed at her defiance, the lord only smiled, as if he was pleased by her independence.

  ‘And before we leave your friends, I have something for you.’ Chezran turned away and waved at a nearby soldier, who hurried forwards. ‘A gift, if you will.’

  Siray brushed herself off and stood slowly, part of her still marvelling at her healed body, and part of her calculating whether she should just Change and sink her teeth into this self-styled lord before he knew what was happening.

  But some kind of instinct halted the urge before she could act on it, and as Chezran turned back around to her, holding a small box, she saw an amused look on his face as he regarded her.

  He knew—somehow, this heartless male knew—what was going through her mind.

  Still giving her that small smile, Chezran held out the box towards her, placing one hand on its lid. ‘For you, as a token of our new alliance.’

  Siray almost snorted out loud. It would be as short an alliance as she could make it—once she found a way out for her friends.

  Chezran opened the lid … and despite herself, Siray couldn’t help but stare, stunned, at what was inside.

  A gold necklace, with ornate detailing and a large purple gem on a drop chain, lay on silky white material. But it wasn’t just the beauty of the jewel, or its extravagance, that almost made her forget where she was. It was the fact that she recognised the piece.

  She looked up at Chezran, her amazement genuine. ‘But, this is …’

  ‘The lost necklace of Reorana,’ the lord finished smoothly.