Demon Slave

DEMON SLAVE

by

Kiersten Fay

Published by:

Kiersten Fay

Edited by:

Rainy Kaye

Copyright © 2011 by Kiersten Fay

www.kierstenfay.com

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All of the
characters, names, and events portrayed in this novel are products
of the author’s imagination.

License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only, and may not be re-sold or given away to other
people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
recommend them to Kiersten Fay’s website above, where they can
purchase a copy for themselves.

Thank you for respecting the author’s hard
work,

And please enjoy.

Pain laced Marik Radkov’s throat as he
sucked in the freezing air. His legs burned with each long stride.
The indigee followed close behind, hollering with each launch of
their primitive arrows and spears. Marik thought about turning to
attack—he abhorred running away from a fight—but he and his
comrades had come to this icy planet with diplomacy in mind.

His captain, Sebastian, suddenly cried out
as if in pain, though nothing had hit him. Marik followed his line
of sight to the valley below, where Sebastian’s mate, Anya, stood
in what they thought would be a safe location. They’d left her
there to rest, while they searched the area for her sister, Nadua.
Now Anya was being threatened—by whom he couldn’t see through the
blanket of snowfall, but the outline of a craft rested behind
her.

His blood turned to ice in his veins as
Marik watched the strange man drag her toward the craft. He became
enraged when her body went limp and she no longer fought her
captor. Fire burned through him, warring with icy dread. He pumped
his legs harder, as did Sebastian.

When an arrow embedded itself into Marik’s
calf, slicing past bone, he hardly felt it. His mind was focused on
getting to Anya, and ripping apart whoever had her. The Edge was
growing fast, making pain nothing more than a tickle. Horns glowing
in rage, his fangs descend—ready to tear into flesh.

The snowfall, which only moments ago had
dusted the ground, had grown into a furious blizzard before he
realized. It must have hidden the approach of the small shuttle
ship that Anya was being pulled toward.

A tug brought Marik’s attention back to the
arrow in his leg. There was a rope secured to the thick end.
Another hard tug and the ground came rushing toward him as his calf
slipped out from under him. He clawed at the frozen terrain to keep
from sliding backward. Sebastian had stopped and turned to him,
pain and indecision etched in his eyes. When a demon’s mate was in
trouble, nothing else mattered. The fact that Sebastian hesitated
now was a testament to their friendship.

“
Go!” Marik ordered. His
claws sliced the layer of ice underneath him as another pull forced
him back. “She needs you more than I. You know this.” The rope went
taut once more and when Sebastian hesitated again, Marik let go. He
prayed that Sebastian made it to Anya in time.

The cold wetness of the freshly fallen snow,
coupled with the hardened frozen ground, assaulted Marik’s exposed
skin as he was yanked backward. Sebastian’s silhouette disappeared
into a wall of gray and white. Marik geared himself up to meet his
new friends. The pain in his leg became nothing as he invited the
Edge, embracing the rage and the extra strength that came with it.
He’d never been trained to use the Demon’s Edge in battle, but he’d
had more than enough experience losing himself to it over the
years.

Once invoked, the Edge would trigger the
release of chemicals, creating an intoxicating elixir that
increased strength, lessened pain, and reduced one to little more
than an animal running on instinct. Relief would come from either
lashing out violently, or sexual release. Neither would be pleasant
for whoever was on the other end of that rope.

Voices began to rise from behind the veil of
white. They spoke a language he’d never heard before, meaning
diplomacy would be impossible at the moment. It didn’t matter
anyway; Marik would soon be too far gone for rational
conversation.

The pulling ceased when the group came into
view. A small army of white haired, barely clothed warriors had
weapons pointed directly at him. Some wielded arrows and others
held swords that gleamed against the bright snow. They dressed as
though it were a warm summer’s day, rather than standing amid the
freezing storm beating violently around them.

With his claws at the ready, Marik lashed
out, making solid contact with the nearest body. A yelp, and a
crimson trail of blood urged him on. Though his captor’s skin was
bluish, their blood still ran red. Marik needed to see more of
it.

A group of the indigee leapt on him, yelling
and attempting to restrain him with their hands, while others
approached with ropes. With a roar, Marik slammed his body into
them, successfully beating them away. A man with a sword sliced at
him, the blade coming close to his neck, but Marik was quick.

Two more with swords rushed to the front.
Twisting his body, Marik managed to avoid the sharp blades. At
their backs, a group of archers notched their arrows, targeting
him.

His vision blanched red as the Edge flooded
through his veins, deadening his mind to anything but survival.

One of the assailants thrust his blade
forward. Marik easily dodged, smashing his head into the other
man’s skull. With a small grunt, the man dropped to the ground.

Through the fog, Marik couldn’t tell how
many he was fighting, just that they kept coming—which was fine by
him. He could do this all day.

Blood stained the unfallen snowflakes as
Marik continued slicing through flesh. Soon he stood on a bank of
red snow. He vaguely registered a few arrows embedded in his torso.
When had that happened?

Footsteps charged from behind and Marik
crashed his elbow into the attacker’s nose, dropping him on the
spot, but more quickly took his place.

A single voice rose above the rest, yelling
in that language he couldn’t understand, but the sound broke
through his rageful mind. Marik faltered in his step, only
slightly, but enough to lose his advantage. A barrage of hands and
ropes surrounded him, and he was thrown up against a tree. He
lashed out with his body and the ropes began to snap. Then that
voice came at him, slowing his movements once more, only this time
the voice spoke in a language he knew.

“
Stop, demon!”

Marik blinked twice. More ropes came around
him, fixing him to the cold bark of the tree, but he was stunned.
Before him stood a small, fur-bundled creature holding a bow, arm
stretched back, ready to release the arrow trained on Marik’s
forehead. The only identifying feature he could see through the
thick layering of furs and skins was the eyes—ice blue, deep as a
cavern, and sucking him in like a wild storm.

A heavy object knocked against Marik’s skull
and his vision went black.

* * *

Nadua gazed down at the unconscious
demon.

While the creature had fought, she had
marveled at his immense strength and fluid movements, even as her
men were being cut down with ease. His injured leg hadn’t hindered
him at all.

Her gaze rolled over his powerful frame. His
shoulders were packed with strength and his waist slim, the shirt
under his long jacket was thick but tight against his chest. She
had watched the cords of his muscles flex as he assaulted her elite
guard. If he hadn’t been hurting her soldiers, she could have
admired him all day.

When she had finally noticed the blood being
spilled, Nadua realized she needed to end the chaos. Loading her
bow, Nadua aimed for the demon and yelled in the Cyrellian tongue
for him to surrender. He hesitated slightly at the sound of her
voice, but continued fighting as her men gained ground against him.
She knew it would be only a matter of seconds before the demon
broke free of their hold. On a whim, she’d switched to a language
more commonly used by space travelers that she’d learned as a
child, and ordered him once again to stop. Had he not stilled when
she’d ordered, she would have put an arrow in his brain.

Now, as Nadua knelt beside the fallen beast,
one of her soldiers called out, “Your Majesty, you should not get
so close. It could wake any moment.”

Nadua only waved away the concern and
studied the demon further. His features were that of a warrior,
strong, just like the rest of him. A small scar next to his ear
that twisted down the back of his neck and disappeared under his
collar was the only defect. His hair was reddish brown and cut
unevenly short, as though he cut it himself and didn’t care how it
looked. A few arrows still jutted from his arms and legs. He hadn’t
even seemed to notice they were there.

Demon warriors were legendary, but this was
the first one she’d ever seen. And she was impressed. She could use
someone like him on her side, though she knew that recruiting him
would be impossible. The last time demons came here, they had
warred with the Cyrellians. The demons had attempted to claim
Cyrellian land as their own, and had fought fiercely for it. In the
end, the Cyrellians won, but the battle had been devastating.

“
Take him back to camp and
clean him up,” Nadua ordered. “Make sure he’s secure. I will be
conducting the interrogation when he is conscious.”

“
I don’t think that’s
necessary, Your Highness. We can call in a translator.”

Nadua speared the guard with a look that
ended his objection.

She may not be like the Cyrellians, who were
able to ignore the freezing ice storms that constantly assaulted
the land—whereas she couldn’t go outside without layer upon layer
of thick fur—but they would respect her rule.

“
I will interrogate him,”
she said firmly, then changed the subject. “What of the rebel clan?
Any sign of them?”

“
No, Your Highness. The
pack of demons must have frightened them off.”

They’d been hunting the rebels for weeks
now. She and half her elite guard—about thirty men—had been
marching through the countryside hoping to find any sign of the
rebel’s stronghold.

The rebel clan had defected long ago. It was
unclear exactly why, but there were whispers of political
disagreements. They’d been terrorizing the kingdom ever since,
invading the outer city and stealing whatever they wanted.

During their latest
assault, a young woman had been kidnapped. The parents had
implored
Her Royal Highness
to find their daughter Lidian and bring her
home.

By the frequent caravan attacks and rumored
sightings, they should be close to where the rebels made camp, but
the only evidence they’d seen was a solo rebel male, spotted just
across the plateau. The sudden arrival of the demons had caused her
group to lose sight of him.

“
And what of the other
demons?” Nadua asked.

“
It looks as though they
too have escaped.”

Tamir approached, the colors of his tunic a
proud reminder of his high rank. She could see he had something on
his mind.

“
Your Majesty,” Tamir
began. “I believe the appearance of these demons could mean another
invasion.” The sneer in his voice indicated he still harbored a
grudge, and she was reminded that he was old enough to have lived
through it.

Nadua nodded, and scanned the depths of her
mind for a vision. Unfortunately, they came whenever they came, no
matter how many tantrums she threw.