Blood Trinity (Belador #1)(58)

At his challenge, the beast turned a gaze on him so soulless that there appeared to be no eyes in the black sockets.

Vyan took a deep breath he hoped would not be his last. “Lay the girl down and I will give you the serum.”

“It is my gift to you,” Batuk quickly interjected with enough emphasis to let everyone know he was in charge. He steepled his hands in front of his chest, then bowed to the monster, but his eyes seethed with ire when he glanced at his first in command.

Vyan only hoped if they survived this that he could convince his warlord later he’d been trying to save all of them. He withdrew the metal flask and stepped forward.

The beast swung around. The woman dangled from his arm.

“Put the girl down,” Vyan repeated, his tone one of counsel rather than an order.

When the beast still hesitated, Vyan opened the flask and angled it as though to pour the contents out on the ground. Hearing Batuk’s harsh intake of air, Vyan prepared for death in the next minute.

The beast flung the girl to the side, where she landed on several bushes, then slid to the ground. Vyan winced, but so far she was unharmed. Bruised and probably mentally scarred. But physically she’d recover.

He placed the flask on a bare patch of dirt and backed away.

The beast lifted its hand over the metal container, which rose in the air to eye level. It stared at the flask, clearly questioning the contents as it breathed in and out in a low rumble from deep in its chest.

“I need you to help us, so why would I poison you?” Batuk asked in an encouraging tone.

The beast stomped its foot.

Vines lashed from the trees down upon Vyan and the others before he could draw his sword. He fought to free himself, but he might as well have been tied with braided metal.

The men called out for Batuk to free them.

His warlord stood tall in his binding and stared at the beast. “Kill me if you choose, but free my men. The only mistake they made was in trusting me. My only mistake was believing you, too, wanted revenge on the Beladors, to make their leader Brina pay for what she has turned you into.”

The beast stopped snarling and studied the warlord.

In that moment, Vyan witnessed a flash of longing in the empty eyes. The beast wanted to believe Batuk.

Silence bound everyone for several seconds.

Then the beast raised its hand and pointed a finger at the flask that floated chin high, but he did not touch it. The metal tin moved to the beast’s mouth and tilted as it dropped its head back to allow the brown liquid to flow down its throat.

“He still may not help us,” Vyan warned under his breath.

Batuk was unbelievably calm given their situation. “We have never known the outcome of any battle before the first strike of swords.” He turned his head and staked Vyan with a menacing glare. “You have never doubted my ability to lead my men before. Do you now?”

“No. My loyalty does not waver.” Vyan made sure his voice was solid with conviction to hide the lie. Though honestly, his faith should have wavered sooner.

Much sooner.

The flask hit the ground hard. The beast clutched its middle, moaning. Fire glowed red in its eyes when it raised its head. The beast clawed at its chest as if trying to let something out, then twisted into an impossible shape.

A cry of agony tore loose from its cracked lips.

Vyan could not believe what he witnessed. He prayed they lived long enough to make the witch pay for what she’d given this beast, which would rip them into pieces as soon as it could physically do so.

Red dust appeared from nowhere, swirling in bands around them, faster and faster until the beast was engulfed in a cloud that roared like a loud horn. Sand, loose branches and stones lifted from the ground in the spinning cloud, pelting Vyan’s skin, cutting his face and shoulders. The men’s cries were lost in the noise until the wind died all at once.

Peace ensued so abruptly that the soldiers quieted, until Vyan heard only the thumping of his heart and each panting breath he drew. He tasted dust and blood on his lips.

When the haze settled, the beast was no longer a beast. Still wearing ragged jeans and no shirt, he now stood only a few inches over six feet tall. His golden hair and pale eyes were as out of place in this jungle as the straight white teeth and perfect features.

Those unnaturally bright green eyes were not human.

They were the unique shade of an Alterant’s.

“What do you want, warlord?” the man asked, the glint in his gaze as hard as the cut of muscle wrapping his upper body. He folded his forearms over a smooth chest.

Batuk remained calm. “I was told you are Tristan. And that you are an Alterant, not a pure Belador, even though you were born under their star. It is rumored you have the blood of a dark spirit, but your fair hair and pale eyes surprise me.”

Tristan snorted. “Surely you didn’t go through all of this to talk about my looks?”

“As I said earlier, I came to make a deal with you. I need one with your powers to help us.”

“Why should I care what you want?”

“Because if you agree to my offer, you can remain the way you are now … forever. You will no longer be known as a beast.”

Tristan’s eyebrows flickered in surprise, then he shook his head and shoved a testy glare at Batuk. “Who are you to think you can offer me the impossible?”

But curiosity had slipped through the bravado in his words.