Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

  Her tooth.

  Her eyes met his as she fell, widening despite the significant pain she must’ve been feeling. He ignored her, hurdling her body, driven by anger and violence and the fury of the monster that was now part of him.

  And he a part of it.

  Gathering the strength in his shoulders, abdomen, and back, he focused his fury into a ball of force, rolling it down his right arm, past his elbow, through his forearm, and into his fist, which he drove into the barbarian’s face. It was only as he heard the crunch of bones shattering that he realized he’d never even considered drawing his own weapon.

  No need, the monster said as the barbarian collapsed like a felled tree. We are the weapon.

  Tarin dropped to his knees, raining down blow after blow after blow on the creature who would seek to harm Annise. Its features dissolved under the onslaught, until its face might’ve been an odd cut of meat at the butcher’s shop.

  Still Tarin hammered, his mind a red-hot ball of rage, and though he could hear the call of someone important to him, it seemed to come from a great distance away.

  The kick was well-placed, connecting between his shoulder blades, knocking his center of gravity off kilter and sending him face first to the ground. But he was not Tarin now—not only. He was more, and recovering from such a blow was elementary, his muscles responding to the new threat immediately. He dipped his shoulder and rolled, coming to his feet and whirling about in the same motion, prepared to strike back.

  He froze.

  None but Annise could’ve stopped him so swiftly in his tracks. For she was connected to both he and his monster in a way he might never truly understand. She was also the one who had kicked him, breaking the spell of violence.

  He tried to speak, but instead a low growl scraped from the back of his throat.

  “Tarin, I need you,” Annise breathed, and though there was untold emotion in her voice, it was corded with strength and determination.

  “I…” he managed, though even his own voice sounded foreign to his ears.

  “You are Tarin. You are mine. And I am yours. And I need you.”

  “I…am…yours.”

  Annise nodded, her jaw set.

  Just then, the sound of footfalls reached both their ears, but they didn’t turn, their eyes locked. Sir Jonathan, Lady Zelda, and the rest of the reinforcements had arrived.

  Annise

  All she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms, pepper his cheeks with kisses, devour him with her eyes.

  They were luxuries a queen could not afford in a time of war, not when her people were under threat.

  She forced her gaze away from him, thankful for the fact that she had managed to get through to him whilst he was in the throes of the monster inside him. “The Horde pursues our people,” she said. “Will we let them die?”

  “No,” he said in that low growl. And then he turned and ran, chasing the cavalry, who pursued the barbarians, who hunted the refugees.

  Annise was exhausted, her head still fuzzy from the powerful blow she’d taken, her tongue roaming over the gap in her line of teeth, but she managed to scan the men of her honor guard. At least two were alive, but in bad shape, and the rest were not moving. Sprawled amongst them were dead barbarians. Only three. One Sir Metz had killed. The raw piece of meat was Tarin’s. And the one with half a face was hers. She’d lost a dozen of her men just to kill three of her enemy. That trade-off couldn’t continue or all would be lost.

  Next, she turned toward the stampede of soldiers she’d heard a few moments before. A man she knew as Sir Jonathan was at their front, but it was the stout, broad-shouldered woman just behind him that Annise ran to.

  “Aunty!” she cried, feeling more like a young girl than a warrior queen in the moment. She threw her arms around Zelda’s neck and squeezed.

  “Offa me, girl!” Zelda said, prying her arms away.

  Duly chastened, Annise took a step back. “I thought you were dead.”

  “You think the lords of frozen hell could handle me? Think again.”

  Annise grinned and shook her head. Not for the first time in her aunt’s presence, she’d been rendered speechless.

  Her aunt, however, was not. “Point us in the direction of the battle. We didn’t run all this way to miss out.”

  “If you have any healers amongst you, please, attend to my men. As for the battle—just follow the Armored Knight.” She pointed to where Tarin was already sprinting over the top of the hill, vanishing on the downslope.

  Zelda nodded and gave chase, the other soldiers falling in around her. Annise took a deep breath and then followed.

  Twenty

  The Northern Kingdom, Darrin

  Sir Christoff Metz

  On the open terrain, the barbarians moved much faster than Christoff expected, and already they were gaining on the fleeing refugees. But they were no match for the long, powerful strides of the cavalry’s horses, the gap narrowing swiftly as they galloped down the final hill and onto the broad swathe of flat land that surrounded the castle of Darrin.

  A thousand yards, five hundred, two hundred…

  Suddenly, a portion of the barbarians skidded to a stop and swiveled about to face the soldiers on horseback. Their animals, though trained for war, slowed their gait, several of them rearing, their surprised riders tumbling from their backs.

  “Charge!” Christoff yelled, but his horse would not budge, as stubborn as a mule commanded to pull a heavy cart through the mud. It danced backwards several steps as the Horde began to advance.

  With no other choice, Christoff said, “Dismount!” and one by one his soldiers dropped to the ground, armor clanking. They didn’t need to be told to draw their swords. “On my mark,” Christoff said. He was acutely aware of the main body of barbarians moving further and further away, on the verge of catching the refugees, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had to trust in the preparation of the city’s defenders.

  Right on cue, a signal was given high atop the walls and a flock of arrows shot forth, passing well over the heads of the frightened citizens and landing amongst the barbarians. Several of them jerked as they were struck, but nothing short of a direct arrow to the head would stop them now, the smell of fresh meat driving them into a frenzy.

  Christoff refocused, even as he heard the sound of gears grinding as the great city gates were hauled open. Only open them a quarter of the way, he had told them. Enough to provide safe passage to our allies, but not so far that we won’t be able to clamp them shut on our enemies.

  His soldiers were still waiting, the eyes of half a hundred women trained on him and his hand, which was still raised in the air. “Charge!” he said, and they did, emotion-filled screams bursting from their lips, full of determination and anger and fear and courage.

  One hundred yards.

  Fifty.

  We have the numbers. A quick mental calculation told Christoff they had a two to one advantage on the smaller party. Against the main body of the Horde they would be outnumbered, but reinforcements were waiting within the castle.

  Twenty.

  Ten…

  Tarin

  As Tarin charged down the hill, he watched the two armies come together in a maelstrom of flashing steel and pale, hairless bodies wielding clubs and blunt knives. Bodies writhed and fell in the same bloody dance Tarin had performed for over a decade.

  Beyond, the great gates of Darrin were open partway, just wide enough to allow ten or so broad-shouldered soldiers through at a time. Several dozen charged through the gap, not in the ragged spill of the ill-prepared, but in clean even lines. They were charging in formation.

  Somewhere in the back of Tarin’s mind, he knew such organization was the work of one Sir Christoff Metz, but he pushed that thought away, because another more powerful emotion was taking root once more.

  Like a cat enjoying a belly rub, the monster purred.

  As Tarin ran, his strides lengthening, his heart pounding, something nagged at
him, some fact that should’ve been obvious a long time ago, but which had eluded him thus far, his judgement clouded by the bloodlust.

  He tried to grab onto it, but then he reached the fray and his only desire was to destroy all that stood in his path. Vaguely, he knew that some of these warriors were friends, allies, and it was all he could do to hold himself back. Instead, he shoved one of the soldiers aside, creating a gap in their lines. One of the barbarians filled it quickly, swinging a club at his head.

  Memories flashed in Tarin’s mind: the thump, thump, rattle-thump, of being punched, kicked, beaten; the smell of his own blood in his nostrils; the pain, searing him like a hot poker stabbed under his skin; and then, the silence, the blessed darkness, even as his mind tried to grapple with the realization that he’d failed and been left for dead.

  He ducked and the club glanced off his back as he crashed into his foe, picking the large female up and driving forward, using his momentum and gravity to twist her backwards and slam her into the ground.

  She bounced, her head jerking in an awkward way that would’ve snapped the neck of most humans. But her bones were thicker, stronger, and she snarled at him, trying to extricate herself from his grip.

  Tarin, however, was strong too, and his power was anything but human, the monster becoming one with him, pouring its own strength into his fingers as they closed around her neck, squeezing, his thumbs crushing her windpipe. She tried to bite him, her fists beating at his ears and jaw, but he felt nothing but the fervor of watching the life drain out of her.

  Tarin knew he should’ve been repulsed. But he wasn’t just Tarin—not in this moment—and he relished the kill with every beat of his heart.

  Something pale loomed from the side, crashing into him. Blood dripped from its fangs as it snapped at him, simultaneously jabbing a knife at his ribs, held off only by his own grip pushing back on its arm.

  Somewhere in the distance there were screams as the Horde fell upon the slowest refugees.

  Annise

  Annise ran side by side with Zelda, passing the unsettled horses as they stamped and snorted in the late-afternoon sunlight.

  She saw Tarin, armorless, locked in a grapple with one of the barbarians. She heard the screams as the rest of the Horde finally caught their prey. Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed the bitter taste and hoped the reinforcements would be able to save most of them.

  All around Tarin, Sir Metz’s soldiers fought like wildcats, but they were no match for the enemy they faced. When the battle had begun, they’d outnumbered their foes, but now it was even at best. Annise spotted one dead barbarian next to more than a dozen dead soldiers.

  How can we defeat an enemy as powerful as this? she thought as she ran, disheartened despite the knowledge that Tarin and Zelda were not dead. She wished Archer were here, his confidence worn on his sleeve, a constant source of optimism in her life.

  He’s not, she reminded herself, but that doesn’t mean you can’t draw from his spirit.

  The thought buoyed her up and she focused on one of the barbarians, a hunched male that had just laid waste to one of the soldiers, and was even now looming over her to finish its kill. Annise swung her Evenstar with every bit of strength, completing three loops before crashing it into the back of her enemy’s skull with a sickening crack. The barbarian toppled sideways, its tongue lolling out, its eyes rolling back into its head.

  This was not the time to congratulate herself, and she darted to the right toward where Tarin had killed another barbarian. He stood, his head turning as his gaze smoldered into her. She recognized the blank look on his face, the way he seemed to stare through her. This was the Tarin she’d long feared, the very same that he feared.

  The reason he’d left her before. I was trying to protect you. I was afraid I might hurt you.

  But Annise couldn’t shy away from this part of Tarin. No, she had to break through to him now more than ever if she hoped to save her people, who were already dying without the walls of safety they’d very nearly reached.

  “Tarin Sheary!” she shouted, but if he heard or understood his name, he gave no indication. Instead, he turned to face the next foe, a massive barbarian with knots of bone protruding from her forehead and scalp. Neither Tarin nor the female had a size advantage, but Tarin didn’t seem to know that, for he blocked her club with his forearm and smashed his fist into her face, crumpling her features with a single powerful blow. She hung in the air for a moment and then dropped like a felled tree.

  Frozen hell frozen hell frozen hell, Annise thought even as she raced toward the most important person in her world. “Tarin!” she screamed, grabbing his arm from behind, even as he prepared to slam it down onto his enemy again and again.

  He twisted around and swiped at her, but she was prepared, ducking, feeling the air of a blow that would’ve likely knocked her unconscious. Tarin growled at her like a chained half-starved beast.

  Who is this man? she wondered.

  I love the way you taste. Those words he had spoken felt like a lifetime ago, from the lips of a different person, one who was impossible to reconcile with the violent monster who glared at her now. There was no anger in his eyes, just hunger.

  The urge to run tugged at her feet. No. No. My people are dying. They are my responsibility. And this man who I love is a weapon I cannot leave sheathed.

  “Tarin! Your queen commands you to the castle. You are needed there. Go.” The last word was a growl of her own, her eyes narrowed, daring him to defy her.

  A barbarian swept in from the side to attack Tarin, but he merely snapped his elbow out, cracking it in the jaw. A quiver of fear juddered through Annise. For even at his strongest, she’d never seen Tarin like this. She knew the monster had taken over, and even she could do nothing to break through its control.

  He stalked toward her, his dark lips twisted, his black veins protruding more than usual.

  “Tarin,” she tried to shout, but it came out as a weak squeak, more mouse than queen.

  His hand shot out and he grabbed her by the collar of her armor, lifting her into the air, his other fist clenched and poised, ready to strike. “Tarin,” she said, no longer scared, resigned to this fate. If she couldn’t be his companion in every aspect of his life, then she didn’t want any of it. And maybe this world wasn’t worth fighting for. “I love you.”

  She saw his cheek twitch. It was subtle, but she would never have missed it, for she knew every pale inch of his skin, every breath from his lungs, every aspect of his being, from his goodness and honor to the darkness he’d tried to hide from for so long.

  “Tarin Sheary, I love you, no matter what. I love you for the man you’ve been, the man you are, and the man you will be.” His grip seemed to falter, but still he held her aloft. His other hand, however, opened and he clutched his own face, his eyes wild, darting about.

  “I will always love you, until the stars fall from the heavens and the moons collide in the night sky and the sun explodes, taking the universe with it. You can destroy me, but it won’t change anything.”

  He set her back on the ground and their eyes met, neither of them noticing the carnage that continued to rage around them. They were his eyes again, and she could see that familiar self-hatred and deep melancholy of a man who truly believed he was unworthy when he was, in reality, the worthiest man in the world.

  Annise hated herself for what she had to do next, but her people were still dying. “Go!” she shouted. “To the wall! To the wall!” When he didn’t move, she lunged forward and shoved him with all her might. It didn’t move him, but it did get his attention.

  He nodded once, turned, and then ran.

  Twenty-One

  The Northern Kingdom, Darrin

  Annise Gäric

  Without Tarin, the day would’ve been lost, Annise knew.

  After running from Annise, he’d ploughed through the Horde like a man possessed. Alone, he’d killed more than twenty barbarians, even as they abandoned their other pre
y and flung themselves at him. Before today, Annise hadn’t thought the barbarians feared anything. But now she knew they feared Tarin, for the rest had turned and fled, following their instincts as they loped southward toward the protection of the Mournful Mountains.

  And all that without a single plate of armor to protect him.

  Tarin’s efforts had saved thousands of lives, her own not excluded.

  And yet he remains a stranger to me, she thought, gazing at his gore-splattered form. He was still coming down from his bloodlust, sitting apart from her, apart from everyone save Sir Jonathan, whose presence seemed to calm him.

  She wanted to be the one to calm him.

  You did, she thought, chiding herself. When it counted, you did.

  She took some solace from what had happened in that moment of pure truth, when she’d laid bare her soul while blood spilled all around them. It was a start. It had to be.

  Still, the death toll was rising as cart after cart piled with bodies—women, children, the elderly, and soldiers, so many soldiers—were hauled into the city, the gates opening quickly and then shut and barred. Hundreds of souls had been lost on this day. Hundreds of souls who were Annise’s responsibility.

  “You did everything you could,” Fay said, having arrived silently from the side.

  Annise shook her head. Someone screamed in agony, but Annise barely heard it; she was becoming desensitized to such sounds as the healers had been cauterizing wounds and snapping joints back into place for the last few hours. Though she longed to escape, Annise had forced herself to remain, piling each new horrifying memory into a mound in her mind. They were reminders of her failures.

  And despite the walls that now surrounded them, she knew they weren’t safe. The enemy that had fled into the mountains still numbered in the hundreds, a formidable force that would surely return to finish what they’d started. Annise wondered whether her people would ever be safe again.