Sink (Cold Mark Book 2) Read online

  Sink

  Copyright 2014 Scarlett Dawn

  First Edition

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of these publications may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover and Formatting by ShoutLines Design

  Edited by Rare Bird Editing

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  A preview of King Hall

  A preview of Obsidian Liquor

  About the Author

  I had made friends with a bug. My, how my life had altered since I escaped the west of Triaz. Though, to be specific, I wasn’t entirely sure that it was a bug. As long as I looked past the facts that it was as long as I was tall, had razor sharp teeth, had twenty beady eyes, had twelve long legs with webbed feet, and had black scales that were as soft as feathers…well, then it reminded me of a bug that I had once seen in a picture book of Earth. The author had called it “Spider”.

  I called my new bug friend “Charlie”.

  Of course, he didn’t speak back, but he did watch the entrance to the sewer I now resided in.

  I had officially gone from being a lab rat living in grandeur, to a street rat living in hiding.

  It was still better than being played with by my Vaq.

  Plus, I had Charlie.

  I glanced in his – Charlie was definitely a he – direction. Charlie’s hind end was facing my direction. Not exactly the prettiest of sights, but he was still keeping his many eyes on the alleyways outside of our alcove. The damp, rank air had first been stifling when I had found this hiding spot a week ago, but now, it was a sad circumstance that I no longer smelled the putrid air that filtered in through my new home.

  When I had first met Charlie, I had been frightened. Scared silly. It had become apparent that I had trespassed on his property, his home. But when I had thrown a piece of meat, one I had stolen from a vendor’s cart, in defense, he had stopped advancing on me. Taken my offering. Ever since then, as long as I brought him ‘treats’ every night, he allowed me to sleep here.

  Though, it would be much better if the meat didn’t give him gas.

  Now, that I could still smell.

  I pulled my stained cloak around me tighter as I got comfortable on the molded hay that lay over the mud floor. My hands shook with zapping needle-like pain, as they had been for the past two weeks. Ever since I had crossed the border from the west to the east. My Vaq had stopped giving chase at that point, and the pull to be near them had turned into a magnetic agony that my brain was only gradually numbing itself to – thanks to the pain-relieving pills I had stolen from a nearby pharmacy. I fisted my hands, and shoved them under my cheek for a makeshift pillow. The sun was setting, so the Mian would soon be awake and travelling the streets of the city, Vlymun.

  I had made it to the capital of the east. My scouting missions for the past week - while the Mian slept during the day – had finally become fruitful. I now knew where to find Jax.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would see my best friend again.

  Closing my eyes, I whispered, “Good night, Charlie.”

  He made a noise that sounded much like a grunt. At least he hadn’t farted.

  I inhaled deeply, trying to relax…and coughed on foulness.

  Perhaps he had. “That’s just gross, Charlie.”

  During my reconnaissance missions of the past week, I had overheard that the Plumas of the east enjoyed their ‘games.’ They loved watching warriors battle each other. It wasn’t much different than what I had faced when I had arrived on Triaz, the ‘arrival ritual,’ but it was on a much smaller scale. Whereas the coliseum had been glass and flash, their killing area of choice was the Crank Pit.

  After restlessly scouring the city of Vlymun, I had finally found the stinking place. It rested in the middle of a barren field on the far west side of the city. There was only dark brown dirt surrounding the facility – presumably for individuals to park their vehicles, if the tire tracks were any indication. Though ‘facility’ may be too grand a word for this place.

  The Crank Pit was much like its namesake--a pit.

  It was an enormous, brown, mud coated circular tent, with wooden planks as bleachers that circled a sunken fighting area. There was only one way in for the Mian - the entrance was also the exit – where the bleachers were split for a large walkway in and out of the structure.

  Luckily, I wasn’t Mian.

  The brown tent was flush against the back of highest bleachers. Beneath where the Mian would sit, I waited in hiding to watch. Under the bleachers, the ground was a mixture of dirt and sand; the closer you moved to the pit, the more sand you had to endure.

  I grunted in the subdued light, the sun barely visible through the dark tent, as I moved from a crouch to a belly crawl and made my way closer to the edge. The cool sand that had dried blood mixed throughout it – obviously kicked up from the fighting are – wasn’t the easiest to move on, and my continual griping was the only sound heard. No one was awake yet in Vlymun, so I could make as much noise as I wished. If the late night city chatter I had overhead was correct, the Plumas’ prize Human – I knew it had to be Jax – would be fighting tonight.

  Apparently, it wasn’t Jax’s first battle in this pit.

  The way the Mian had spoken, it had almost sounded like they viewed him as a god in the ring.

  That was a good thing. A very good thing.

  If the Mian adored him as much as they seemed to, they would be treating him well.

  I had no fear of him being hurt by one single Mian in a sparring match – even if it was to the death. Jax was that good. My main worry was that I wouldn’t be able to track him after he was removed from the Crank Pit and still keep myself from being caught. It would be tricky in the dark of night, but I had to try. If I could free him, we might be able to live together on Triaz without being caught, now that I knew this mysterious land better.

  He and I were of the day, while the Mian were of the night.

  The Mian’s weakness to light had worked well so far to my advantage.

  Finally comfortable, with a clear view of the pit through the lowest bleachers, I rolled to my side so I could reach the pockets of my cloak. I pulled out the fresh meat I had pinched from the deli only an hour ago. From my other pocket, I extracted the ‘borrowed’ pain relievers. I quickly popped three pills into my mouth, and frowned. It was the last of them. I would have to steal more.

  Tossing the empty bottle aside, I started munching on the meat. The sun was still high in the sky, so I knew I would have time for a long nap before the festivities began. After the walk here, I was exhausted. I quickly devoured my meal, pulled my hood down far over my eyes, and settled down for a few winks of shut-eye.

  I gasped quietly when I was bumped from the back. My eyes flew open, and I barely resisted the urge to scream. With my blood boiling hot, and my palms instantly damp, I clamped my mouth shut and held perfectly still.

  Voices surrounded me.

  Deep timbres – masculine and adult – were coming from above on the bleachers…but children’s prattling was on either side of me. I bit my lip in frustration �
�� no longer in fear – as I suddenly realized that my hiding spot was not just my hiding spot. By the sound of it, children were all over down here, but with hushed voices as to not alert the adults above. They must have slipped in under the tent’s edge, as I had done.

  Dammit. I had been more tired than I thought…not to mention warm. The Mian kids surrounding me were like mini-heaters, and I had spent too long being chilled living in the sewers. I hadn’t slept this well since…Joyal.

  Not allowing the memories of home to invade too deeply, I sighed quietly. I would be trapped here until they began leaving. With my hood covering my eyes, they had no clue I wasn’t Mian. My smaller stature also gave the impression that I was a child. But unless they left early, my hopes for tracking Jax might be foiled for this night. I would have to wait and see.

  Moving quietly to my stomach, I tried not to bump the kids on either side of me too much. But I wasn’t stupid. During the process of rolling, I grabbed the knife I had stolen from my Vaq – what seemed like so long ago – from under my cloak, and gripped it loosely. They may just be Mian kids….but they were still Mian. A group of them could take me down easily with their added strength and speed.

  I lay silently between two chattering Mian mini-heaters, watching as more Mian poured through the entrance. There was light inside the tent, but it was subdued, making me squint to see clearly to the entrance/exit. The Mian were loud and boisterous, pounding each other on the back in greeting, drowning out the kids gossiping. All sported the tattooed mark of the east near their right eye – a star. My Vaq wore the tattoo of the west near their left eye – a circle with a line through it. Seeing so many of the east all in one place kept my mouth shut tight. I doubted I would receive a warm welcome if anyone realized I was Soul to the Plumas of the west.

  Through the space between the feet of the Mian who sat down on the bleacher directly above my head, I analyzed the occupants on the far bleachers as much as I could from under my hood. I couldn’t see the Plumas of the east, but that wasn’t saying much since I could only see a small section. Judging by the finer apparel the Mian were wearing tonight, it gave me a good sign that my intel had been correct. It appeared that they were dressing up just in case they had the opportunity to speak with their much loved Plumas.

  I tried not to snort at the thought.

  No matter what planet you lived on, some things never changed. Politics were still politics.

  The ‘games’ began within fifteen minutes. I was extremely glad I had the hood to deflect all of the sand that continued to fly up from the pit. The kids next to me weren’t so lucky in their chancy entertainment. They squirmed and coughed as the bloody granules sailed in the air. It only exhilarated them, though, if their small fists pumping in the tight area was any indication.

  I stayed low and quiet, watching as Mian warriors continued to maim each other.

  Death…and more death. All while the crowd cheered in energized fervor.

  It was disgusting…and curiously engaging. By the time the tenth pair was brought in through the entrance, I could almost tell who was going to win – live – before they even began battling one another. The way they held themselves, and their weapon of choice, from the unsettling rage their glowing eyes showed to the quiet watchfulness as they assessed their opponent, it was all there to anyone with a skilled eye. The men, and it was only men, who came in beating their chests and roaring to enliven the crowd…usually died the fastest. The opponent who prepared with seriousness to their movements almost always lived.

  However, one brash Mian surprised me. The crowd shouted his name, Stiller, with great vigor, and he bellowed right back – just as loud – wearing the most amused grin on his features. He even flexed his muscles more than a few times for the ladies on the sidelines. I thought he would die within the first five minutes, but, in fact, he killed his opponent in the first two minutes…while still wearing that amused grin, and sporting new war paint of blood dripping on his bare chest.

  In the end, he turned and bowed deeply, almost in hilarity, to my far left.

  The crowd thoroughly enjoyed that, laughter heard all around.

  I had a pretty good idea of who he would be bowing to. Not to mention, Stiller must be a close friend of the Plumas to joke around with them as he was. That bow could have easily have been taken as disrespectful, but not by the crowd’s reaction of delight…and the fact he still had his head as he climbed onto the bleachers in the direction he had bowed - instead of leaving the Crank Pit as all the other surviving competitors had done. I lost track of him the higher he climbed.

  The Plumas were seemingly sitting at the top. Good to know.

  While two men dragged out the newly deceased, the announcer walked onto the sand of the pit. It still amazed me that one man could continually quiet the audience with a gentle wave of his hands. Into the hush, he stated loudly, “Our final fight of the night: Bailor Nostum and Jax Waterston.”

  The crowd…went wild.

  I almost covered my ears, the chanting and screams were so loud. The sand and dirt I lay on vibrated under me from the Mian beating on the bleachers with their feet and fists. The children next to me went utterly quiet, and then started elbowing each other as the announcer left and the two competitors entered the pit. My own heart stopped, then beat a chaotic rhythm when I saw Jax.

  He was alive, and most definitely well taken care of. He wore only an outfit much like all the Mian who had been fighting tonight. His chest was bare, along with his feet; a pair of soft black leather pants were his only protection. His skin shone with a healthy glow under the soft light, and no obvious mark of torture marred his smooth flesh. He smiled a real smile and raised his left hand to wave at the crowd, and that was when I noticed that he no longer wore his black slave’s bracelet.

  My jaw bobbed. What?

  He was no longer a slave?

  I couldn’t…I couldn’t even wrap my mind around what would give him his freedom.

  And…he appeared to like it in the Crank Pit by the way he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

  I froze utterly when Jax turned to the crowd and pressed his mouth to a woman’s who was leaning over at the waist on the front row. My breath stalled in my lungs as they kissed to the crowd’s roar, Jax’s tongue definitely invading the woman’s mouth. She blushed prettily as she leaned back, but she still threw her fists in the air, as if in victory.

  I didn’t know what to think. Had they brainwashed him?

  This wasn’t the Jax I knew. A simmer of emotion began to burn my throat. I swallowed repeatedly as the two opponents began warming up. I may not know what to think of the situation, my plan definitely needing to change with him no longer a slave, but I knew what I felt.

  Betrayed.

  My one Human friend on this cursed planet…and he was acting like a Mian.

  He had…kissed…someone. I was certainly tired of being shocked and hurt by ‘kissing'.’

  My one sliver of hope was that, while he appeared to have enjoyed their embrace, he hadn’t worn the adoration and love on his features as my Vaq had when they had been kissing one another.

  Jax may not be as lost to me as I feared. I had to hope.

  Blinking the moisture swiftly from my eyes, I watched as the fight began.

  Jax’s opponent, Bailor Nostum, was talented. The Mian certainly had not given him an easy fight. They went round and round, the Mian much faster than Jax. Stronger, no doubt. Jax held his own as the rough clanging of their axes bashed against each other. Sand touched my mouth at one point when Jax slid backward right in front of me from a hard rally on Bailor’s side.

  But Jax had more skill. This became blindingly apparent when my best friend dipped and used a basic move to swipe Bailor’s feet out from under him. I held my breath as the man went down in the center of the pit.

  Jax wasted no time. His ax arced down with light gleaming off the blade.

  Blood rushed through the air as he yanked his weapon back from Bailor’s shoulder.
/>
  War cries of pleased frenzy zapped the air from the crowd as Bailor lay on the ground, not only bleeding from his shoulder, but also from a small portion of his neck.

  But then my best friend did the stupidest act imaginable. He turned and waved at the cheering audience. He didn’t even see Bailor roll to his side in a blur and gingerly rise to his feet, holding his bleeding neck with one hand and raising his ax in his other behind my best friend.

  I saw it, though.

  Even as half the crowd surged to their feet in surprise, I was already gripping the edge of the pit and pulling myself through the bleachers in one fast movement. The hood of my cloak was shoved back from the rough wood of the bleacher, but I didn’t stop my momentum as I landed on my side and threw my knife with deadly precision at the back of Bailor’s exposed neck.

  Just as my best friend had twirled and missed being impaled by Bailor’s blow.

  Bailor’s body, and ax, landed with a thud directly next to Jax’s feet.

  The crowd was now silent.

  Too late, I realized my best friend hadn’t been stupid. It had been a ploy to rouse Bailor.

  My act had been rash and stupid.

  Sucking air in the midst of my folly, I slowly peered up from the ground.

  Jax’s eyes met mine. His widened.

  With my heart hammering inside my chest, I quickly jumped to my feet. I raced to the middle of the pit, and dropped, sliding to a stop with sand flying everywhere to jerk my knife free of Bailor’s corpse. Jax was still standing in shock, his jaw even hanging open, but I didn’t have time for that. I grabbed Jax’s free hand lunged toward the exit, scrambling to my feet, and ran as fast as I could toward my one escape and yanking Jax behind me.

  I shrieked when a Mian…Stiller…just suddenly appeared in front of me. Slamming to a halt, I barely kept myself from being impaled by the sword he held out. Stiller, the jokester of the previous match, wore none of the humor he had during his fight. His violet glowing eyes were narrowed on me, as he pressed his sword right over my heart.