CRAVE (Exiled Book 2) Read online

  Crave

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Crave

  Exiled, Book 2

  Victoria Danann

  Copyright 2016 Victoria Danann

  Published by 7th House Publishing

  Imprint of Andromeda LLC

  Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  The big male standing in front of him reached out and said the word ‘crave’. Then his eyes were drawn downward to where the end of a long knife protruded through the male’s chest. Crave knew the word sounded familiar, but his mind was far too muddled to process that it was his own name. He looked into the eyes of the male who was breathing his last, blood running from his body like a fountain.

  Crave would have laughed out loud if he’d had the time to do it. First, because he was free. He didn’t understand why or how he’d gotten free, but his mind was working well enough to inform him that he was unbound and out of the pit for the first time in, what might as well have been, forever; because he didn’t remember a time before the torture. Second, because for whatever reason, someone had just killed the male in front of him who, although he didn’t recall the face, must have been one of his tormenters at some time or other and, no doubt, would have been again if someone hadn’t killed him.

  There was no opportunity to revel in either victory because there was a female running toward him with a crazy look in her eyes, screaming something, he couldn’t tell what. Maybe she was just screaming. He was sure she’d witnessed the escape and was sounding an alarm, coming to capture him and take him back to the pit, or worse. Perhaps she even thought he’d been responsible for the death of the male lying lifeless at his feet. He wished he had been.

  His body was slow from the years of inactivity, neglect, and torture, but his will to be free spurred him toward action. Crave stepped around the body and pulled the long knife out of the male’s back. The weapon had just come free when the female reached him. His muscles were sluggish, but years of battle training kicked in. He rose just before she reached him and slashed the knife across her face.

  The big male who’d been right behind her looked at Crave with shock on his face just before he’d dropped to his knees to see to the female. When Crave turned to run, he found himself surrounded by angry faces with no way out, but one big difference. He had a knife. The anger facing him wasn’t new. He’d seen nothing but hatred and anger directed his way for over two years.

  He swiped at the air with the knife and tried to clear a path, but was taken to the ground by sheer numbers of Exiled overpowering him before anyone else was hurt. Fury exploded in Crave’s head as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. He would not be taken prisoner again if he could help it. He’d force them to kill him first. So he roared as he fought against the ropes, writhing, twisting, trying to kick himself free as they burned and cut into his flesh.

  At the same time a young female was also being subdued. She’d been yelling something, had tried to come for him, but had been stopped by more angry faces. He didn’t know who she was, but knew that she must have wanted to hurt him very badly to fight so hard. She was panting hard and refused to take her eyes away from him even as they were pulling her away. So far as he was able to reason, he concluded that she must hate him even more than the others.

  Serene was cradled in Free’s arms as she sobbed. The pain of the cut that had opened a gash across both cheeks and sliced nose cartilage in half was a distant second to the pain of having lost her first son to death in battle and, by all appearances, having lost her second son to madness.

  Likewise, Free’s thoughts were a whirlwind of grief. He couldn’t focus his agony on one thing. There were too many tragedies at once. Carnal’s death, Serene’s injury at Crave’s hand, and her own paralyzing anguish. His primal instinct to protect his family was shattering his heart and mind from the inside out, leaving him with the worst thing that could happen to a male like himself, a feeling of helplessness.

  There was plenty of misery to go around. It had taken three warriors to keep Dandelion from interfering with securing Crave. Of course that was not the only concern. After what had happened to Serene, they had good reason to believe he’d hurt Dandy if he could.

  Free heard Thorn bark a gruff order to take extra care and give her the respect due a Promise denied reunion with her intended mate. At that moment she lay prone on the ground, bound with the same kind of ropes that held Crave, doing her best to make sense of what had happened and hold back the hot tears that wanted to rush downward and mingle with the same sand that had soaked up Carnal’s blood.

  Rebel, who’d been trained in field medical, was tending to Serene as best he could under the circumstances. He wanted to get her back to Farsuitwail before setting her nose and giving stitches. The Exiled had something that passed for a surgery at Newland, but their facilities and education didn’t compare to what he’d seen of human medical support.

  He didn’t think scarring could be avoided, but there were degrees of disfigurement. Either he thought the humans could do a better job or he didn’t want to take responsibility for what Serene would see when she looked into the mirror for the rest of her life. Either way, he made the call to use temporary care and send her to the doctors in the city.

  “These bandages will hold until we get her to the hospital at Farsuitwail, but we need to go now and we need to go fast,” he said to Free.

  Free held his gaze. “Get those trailers cleaned out and get them up here.”

  The three carts were emptied of ammunition and driven up the hill to the village, if it could rightly be called that.

  Rebel rose to his feet quickly and began shouting orders. Squatting down next to Serene, wanting to be near but knowing he couldn’t do much more, he saw that Free was looking in the direction of where Crave was being held, bound with ropes.

  His son was like an animal, wild-eyed and screaming in defiance. It was evident that his mind had been severely damaged while in captivity. It was exactly what his family had always feared and was the reason why each of them, his mother, father, and both brothers had secretly hoped he’d met a quick and painless death then traveled in light to the Summerland. They wouldn’t have been able to live each day imagining the horrors he might be enduring otherwise. Because his captors, the Rautt, had a reputation for creative cruelty.

  Seeing Free’s troubled eyes on Crave, Rebel looked at Crave and said, “We’ll sort that out, Free.” Looking back at the Extant, he added, “A great shame about Carnal. Everyone liked him, respected him, were prepared to accept him as the next leader, when the time came.”

  Free didn’t meet Rebel’s eyes. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement and hoped that, in his numbness, his embrace was giving some small measure of help and comfort to his wife. Because he wasn’t entirely sure he was still in his body.

  Serene refused to leave until she’d seen Carnal’s body lovingly placed into the first and Crave, raging against the ropes that held him and trying desperately to free himself, though a sane person would have known that was impossible, was forced into the second cart and secured so that his thrashing wouldn’t turn the vehicle over in transit. She boarded the third cart with Free. He sa
t with his back against the forward wall to cushion her as she lay back against him. Then someone threw a canvas tarp over them to keep the desert sun off.

  Serene said to Free, “Make sure they put a tarp like this over Crave. I don’t want him left exposed to the sun.”

  Free looked at Rebel who nodded assent to the silent directive. “It will be done.”

  It would have been impossible to live with Serene for a quarter of a century and not be aware that her love for her sons was limitless. Still, he was still amazed, events being what they were, that her first concern was not for her wellbeing or the grief she undoubtedly needed to express for Carnal. Her first concern was for the safely and health of Crave, the son who was alive and rescued because of Carnal’s determination and insistence.

  “Make sure Charming knows his parents are going to the hospital in the city,” Rebel announced to whoever was listening.

  Free told the driver, a human he didn’t remember meeting, “Go fast across the sand where it’s smooth, but when we get to the other side of the barrens, slow down. I don’t want her jostled too much or there’ll be more bleeding.”

  The man nodded and looked a little scared about the prospect of being responsible for the comfort of the hybrid’s wounded wife.

  “Get out of the way.” Free heard a gruff voice and looked around. Thorn had more or less picked the man up and shoved him away from the three-wheeler hooked to the trailer that held Free and Serene. He threw his big leg over the motorcycle and, with the sort of authority that didn’t require anyone else’s approval, started down the hill.

  Once on the desert flat land, he quickly overtook the other two trailers, partly because he was in a hurry to get Serene to the hospital and partly because he didn’t want their sandy dust to make its way into the open gashes on her face.

  The motion of the cart on the sand told Free that they were flying across the desert, pushing the three-wheeler to the limits of its capability. His thoughts made a continuous circle. Carnal. Crave. Serene. Carnal. Crave. Serene.

  Now and then he also saw a flash of Dandelion’s devastation as well, coupled with the heartbreaking scene of having to forcefully subdue her when she should have been joyfully celebrating Crave’s rescue and return.

  He knew the last of his concerns should be that Serene’s beauty was gone forever, and he didn’t care for himself. He had a thousand reasons to love her that had nothing to do with her looks.

  His worry was more about how it would affect her and how she would feel when she came to terms with the fact that her own child had disfigured her. For that matter, he was worried about how he would feel when he came to terms with the fact that his own child had disfigured his mate. Of course, his mind told him that Crave was not himself and would never hurt his mother if he was. But it was Crave’s hand that held and struck with the long knife, and that was a picture Free would never be able to forget. He imagined that he would relive it every time he looked at Serene for the rest of his life.

  He alternated between telling himself, “One thing at a time,” and wishing with all his might that he’d told Carnal to go back to bed and go back to sleep, that they’d never set out to cross the barrens in a rain storm to free themselves from the burden of protecting humans from Rautt.

  Then he tried to discipline his thoughts, again, forcing himself to repeat it like a silent chant that only he could hear.

  One thing at a time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ten years earlier.

  Crave was on the training field with the other boys his age and a few who were a little older, like his brother. They snuck away to the field after training hours for a pickup game whenever they could. It was fine with their parents. The rigors of extra play made them stronger and kept them out of trouble.

  The game was called scruffal. It involved feathercocks and sticks with a loose cradle of net weaving at the ends. It would be hard to say if Crave was good at it because he loved it or if he loved it because he was good at it.

  His friend, Rowdy, accidentally pitched the feathercock over the wall that surrounded the training field.

  “I can’t fly, numbutt,” Crave laughed. When Rowdy shrugged and started toward the end of the field, Crave, who was closer, said, “Never mind. I’ll get it.”

  He jogged through the opening at the south end that faced the village and went around the western wall toward the spot where he thought it was most likely to be. The first thing he spotted wasn’t the feathercock though. It was a girl sitting by herself on the ground, back to the wall, her face buried in her knees that were drawn up, arms hugging her shins.

  The feathercock was lying on the ground about twenty feet away from her. When he jogged toward it, she heard him and lifted her surprised face. It was clear she hadn’t expected to be discovered because no one had a reason to be on the other side of the western wall.

  He saw that she’d been crying, and it was a good guess that embarrassed her because she quickly hid her face again and gathered her knees in even tighter.

  Of course he knew who she was. It wasn’t such a large colony that everyone didn’t know everyone else, and she was the same age. She was even in his class at school, but he’d never spoken to her and she’d never made eye contact with him.

  Her name was Dandelion. She had long blonde hair and the distinctive features of the feline dominants. Like him.

  He scooped up the feathercock, put it in his net, and launched it back over the wall. It was his intention to run back the way he came and resume the game. He even started in that direction, but something made him stop and look over his shoulder at the little female who was practically curled into a ball.

  After kicking a pine cone, disgusted with himself for acting sappy, he went back to where she sat and flopped down so that he was sitting cross-legged in front to her.

  She lifted her face just enough for one eye to peek out.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Sitting,” she said.

  “You’re not just sitting. You’re sitting and crying.”

  “Am not.”

  “Liar.”

  “Well, I’m not crying anymore.”

  “Then why are you hiding your face?”

  “I can do what I want.”

  “Yeah. I know. Why are you hiding your face?”

  “Because I was crying. Before.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you care, Leader’s Son?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  She raised her face and looked at him. “Why not? That’s what you are, isn’t it.”

  He studied her. While it seemed to be true that she was not crying at the moment, it was evident that she had been crying a lot. Before. Her face was red and her eyes were swollen in an unattractive way, but there was something about her that called to him.

  “It’s not what I want to be known for,” he said quietly, studying various twigs and stones on the ground around them.

  That made her laugh out loud in a derisive way that he didn’t really care for. “What you want to be known for?” she challenged. “You think you’ll be famous?”

  Crave shrugged and looked away. “I’m famous now. You know who I am.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything. I know who everybody is.”

  His reply was a shrug and a repetition of his original question. “So what are you doing?”

  Dandelion fell silent, but Crave didn’t leave. After he’d finished mentally cataloguing the sticks and stones within arm’s reach, he pretended to examine the net weaving at the end of his scruffal stick.

  At length she said, “I don’t want to go home.”

  When he looked up, she’d turned her face the other way, like she didn’t want to see his reaction.

  “Why?”

  “My parents are famous.”

  “I know.” And he did. Dandelion’s parents were both known for being exceptionally fierce and accomplished warriors. “So why were you crying? Before. Tell me.
”

  “Why?

  “Because I want to know.”

  “That’s nosy.”

  He shrugged again. “Names like that don’t bother me.” He noticed that her face was gradually becoming less pink and that, when her eyes weren’t so puffy and red rimmed, they were the same striking yellow as his mother’s.

  When she opened her mouth to speak, her lips screwed up and tears started to flow again. “They dismissed me from warrior training. I’m not fast enough. Not good enough.”

  “Don’t say that.” Crave suddenly felt protective, which he knew was strange. He had an urge to challenge whoever had made Dandelion feel so bad about herself and make them prove that they were ‘good enough’ to judge who should and who shouldn’t be in warrior training. He reached for something to say and finally stumbled upon, “You’re just good at other stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  She looked genuinely interested and he wished he had an answer ready.

  “Well… You’re good at getting me to talk.” She blinked three times, wiped at her eyes and her mouth turned up into a small smile. She was coming to the conclusion that getting Crave to talk was a good talent to have. At approximately the same moment, Crave reached the conclusion that his main purpose in life was to make the little sad girl smile. “I’ll be right back.”

  He jumped up and ran around the wall and out of sight, but she knew he’d be back because he’d left his scruffal stick.

  Crave ran to the spot where he’d seen a patch of yellow blossoms earlier on the way to the training field. He didn’t know why he’d remembered them because he didn’t usually notice such things, but he was glad he did. He kneeled on the grass and pulled a lone flower away from its leafy green base, then jumped to his feet and jogged back to where he’d left the girl.

  Sliding onto his knees in front of her, he said, “Here.” He held the little blossom out toward her. She reached for the flower and took it. “Dandelions are pretty. And hardy. And strong. They make the world nicer.”