Begin Reading
Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
Thank you for buying this St. Martin's Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the publisher at:
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
To the world's best fans! Thank you all for taking these trips with me into so many worlds and realms. To my family and friends for their hours of fun and for putting up with me during those hours when I'm a mindless zombie while lost on deadline. And as always, to Robert, the best agent ever! And to Monique and my entire SMP team and all the tireless hours you put into every book. Thank you so much! I love and appreciate all of you!
PROLOGUE
"You can't win against Vested, mongrel dog. You might as well go home to your mum and cry like the little bitch you are."
Talyn Batur barely caught the nasty retort that scalded his tongue. Then wondered why he bothered, since both he and Duel Odelus were fighting to kill each other, anyway.
Yeah, okay. I'm an idiot.
Just not a rude one.
Duel punched and kicked like lightning.
Moving as if he lacked bones and a spine, Talyn dodged and ducked, then delivered a staggering blow to Duel's ribs. Duel stumbled back. Talyn scissor-kicked, turned, and hammered his famous double punch into Duel's face and a head butt to his forehead.
Stunned, Duel reached for him.
By the methodical, sluggish way his opponent reacted now, Talyn knew it was time to finish it.
"Kiss my mongrel ass, Vested," Talyn growled, then swept Duel's feet out from under him and pinned him to the bloody mat.
Within a few heartbeats, the victory alarm rang, and was quickly drowned out by the thunderous sounds of those cheering his win, as well as those damning him to hell for it.
The ref pulled Talyn up by his arm to present him to the crowd.
"Undisputed! Undefeated! Unbelievable! The new Zoftiq Vested Champion of 8560! The Iron Hammer! Talyn Batur!"
Drunk on adrenaline and victory, Talyn struck his chest and glared defiantly at the arena that was packed with screaming fans as he fought down the raw bloodlust that was pounding through his entire being. A bloodlust that still wasn't nearly appeased. Over sixty thousand Andarions were here tonight to watch him bleed--and that didn't even begin to count the tens of millions who were watching from home. Some betting that he'd win.
More hoping his opponent would gut him in the goriest way imaginable.
But as his breathing calmed and the pain of his match set in, one reality hit him even harder than the blows of his felled opponent.
Out of all these tens of thousands who surrounded him, not a single one was here for him, personally. While those who were rejoicing his victory would go home to celebrate tonight, he'd take his shower, change clothes, and return to his spartan military barracks. Alone.
Tomorrow, he'd get up and go to work, like any other day.
The unconscious Vested bastard at his feet was right. In all the universe, Talyn only had one person to tell about his win.
His own mother.
How pathetic and worthless was that reality?
I really need a life.
Since his mother was off on a summit meeting with the Andarion tadara and under strict comm silence, he'd have to wait until tomorrow night to do even that much. And he knew she wasn't watching or listening to the event. She never did. It wasn't that she didn't care. She just didn't want to know about his fights until she was sure he was still alive, and not lying dead on the Ring floor.
End of the day, Talyn Batur--the celebrated athlete of his entire generation--had no one, in this massive arena packed to capacity with Andarions and aliens, who gave a single shit about him, except his manager and his trainer.
It was something he'd lived with and accepted the whole of his life, but never had it burned more than it did right now as he looked out at the thronging mass of Andarions who were here with friends and females. Two things, because of their stringent bloodline laws, he'd never known, and would never have.
The ref finally released his arm as they dropped the barricaded cage walls and carried his opponent away on an air stretcher. They were both bleeding profusely from the wounds they'd given each other over the last three and a half hours. While Duel Odelus had done his best to kill him, Talyn had only fought to win.
That had always been his priority. Screw the carnage. He wanted victory.
Respect.
Most of all, he just wanted to get laid.
Well, not right now, because he could barely move. But once his mobility was restored, it'd be nice to have a female kiss his boo-boos for once.
Wiping the blood and sweat from his brow with his forearm, he returned to his side of the Ring where his manager and trainer waited to congratulate him. Their words were meaningless. He hadn't gone into fighting for the praise.
Only to advance his military rank as fast as possible, and to keep his ass out of trouble.
He fought because it was all he knew. All he was good at.
The sole thing that gave him any real pleasure. Because here, in this Ring, he could unleash the pent-up fury he was forced to bite back whenever he stood on the other side of those cage barriers.
Talyn took the towel from his trainer's hand and dodged the reporters as he made his way through them to his dressing room. He'd let Erix deal with them. His trainer lived for this shit. Talyn would rather have his head split open than skillfully bypass the questions he didn't want to answer, from Andarions he couldn't stand. Andarions who didn't think he was fit to breathe their air.
His manager, Erix, was in his glory as he went from post-fight interview to interview, bragging about his skills in training Talyn over the years.
Yeah, right ...
More correctly, it was Talyn's fists and willingness to stupidly open a vein, either his or someone else's, whenever he was under attack.
Pulling the bloody mask from his face and fang-guard from his mouth, Talyn passed the security agents and headed to his locker room. Unlike Duel's finery, his was a shithole. The bare-bones, barely furnished back room that was provided for mongrel dogs to shower and dress in. No frills. Utterly hideous.
Just like him.
Ferrick, a grumpy, potbellied, middle-aged Andarion who barely reached Talyn's shoulders, joined him in the dressing room. He was grinning so wide, his fangs were exposed and his white eyes gleamed with delight. "Next time, kid, I need you to kill your opponent. We're talking major bonus payout. We'd be rich."
Talyn snorted. "You'd be rich."
"Yeah, okay, I'd be rich. But I have four daughters in university with upcoming unification ceremonies. You've got to help me. Next fight, rip out the trachea and beat your opponent with it. I can get some serious mileage from that. And credits out my ass."
Reaching for his towel, Talyn raked him with an amused stare. "How about I make your wife a rich widow instead?"
Ferrick laughed. "That threat would hold more impact if I didn't know how much you hate dealing with others, and there's no way in Corela's thorny hell you'd ever set your own fights. Or deal with the media."
"I'm not sure I'd bet my life on that ... were I you." Talyn headed for the showers.
r />
"Think about it, kid! Just one death. One! Slow and painful is better, but at this point, I'd take a quick, painless one."
Shaking his head, Talyn turned the shower on, and washed off his mask first. After Ferrick left to deal with reporters, he undressed, shoved his shoes and dirty shorts into his duffel, and showered. There was no maid service or attendant on the lower side of the Ring. Everything was self-serve. Which was fine by him. Like Ferrick had said, he preferred solitude to bullshit company.
Or worse, sycophants to his face, assholes at his back.
The water stung against his wounds and bruises. But he was used to that, too.
He'd just finished showering when his military armband went off to let him know that he was due back for check-in. Picking up his jacket, he paused to finger his major's stars on the epaulette, and the honors and medals he'd won over the last four years. Tomorrow, he'd put in for rank advancement. With a win like this, and given his service record, it should be guaranteed.
If he were a fully Vested Andarion, there would be no doubt.
Four weeks ago, it would have been a damn good probability, too. But that was before Colonel Chrisen Anatole had been transferred in as his CO.
Now ...
His comm link buzzed with the special armada tone.
Talyn put it in his ear and answered as he finished dressing. "Major Batur."
"Major? Where are you?" the lieutenant snarled in the snottiest of tones.
Again, fury rose high as Talyn bit back a nasty set-down. A Vested officer would be able to verbally slap the lower-ranking lieutenant. If he tried that, he'd be put on report. It wasn't his place to question or correct his so-called betters. "On my way back to post."
"You missed your check-in."
Talyn choked. "Not possible. My band just went off. I have leave until midnight."
"No, sir. You don't. Check your orders."
Talyn pulled them up on his link, then cursed. "I reviewed them before I left. My curfew was midnight." He ground his teeth as he saw that Anatole had reset his time after his fight had started, knowing there was no way Talyn could see it until he violated it.
"Regardless, you are now AWOL. Report to Provost on your return."
"Will do." Talyn hung up and gathered his gear. So much for celebrating. Violating check-in wasn't something the Andarion military took lightly. It was one of their strictest policies and held some of the worst punishments for anyone dumb enough to do it.
His rage mounting, he limped his way to a public transport and got in. He swiped his military ID and sat back while it drove him back to base.
Trying to keep his thoughts off what was waiting for him and the boiling anger over the injustice of it all, he watched the small monitor, and listened to the media commentator reviewing the night's fight results.
"Talyn Batur is not only the youngest to ever win the title, but is the first Andarion in Ring history to take the Zoftiq title in both the Open and Vested leagues. We know the Iron Hammer is celebrating his unprecedented and historic victory tonight. Sources say that he was spotted in his dressing room with a number of beautiful females, all vying for the Hammer's attention. And I'm sure he's giving it to them, even as I report this."
He snorted derisively at the announcer who continued to cover the fight highlights.
Wish I lived the life they think I do....
Honestly, Talyn felt just like he had the very first time he'd ever fought a match. Sick to his stomach. Aching. Tired. Wrung completely out. He'd won that night, too. Only there'd been no reporters to cover it. Rather, he'd walked home afterward, in the rain, to an empty, run-down apartment, and made himself a can of soup. Done his homework and tucked himself into bed before his mother came home and saw the bruises on his face that would have forced him to lie to her about what had caused them.
She'd have reamed him solid for daring to fight at that age. For that matter, she reamed him now after every match for being stupid enough to step into the Splatterdome. She couldn't stand to see him hurt.
If only he had a choice about it.
"Nothing ever changes," he breathed. Yet as he looked out at the Andarions on the street, he wanted it to.
Desperately.
All his life, he'd played by the rules. Done what he was supposed to, and got his teeth kicked in by everyone around him. Literally and figuratively.
He was done with it.
I just want to be normal. To have what other Andarions took for granted. Anonymity. Family.
A welcoming female in his bed.
Equitable job opportunity.
But those were all elusive bitches, who teased him to the brink of insanity.
Sighing, Talyn glanced down at his reset orders and wanted to give Ferrick the fatality fight he craved.
From the moment the royal-blooded Anatole had laid eyes on him, the colonel had hated Talyn for his lack-Vest caste. Like most everyone else Talyn had ever met, the bastard didn't even try to hide it. He went for Talyn's jugular with psychotic glee, as if it was his divine right to punish Talyn for only having a single maternal family bloodline.
Let it go.
Yet truthfully, he was tired of doing that, too. At this point, he was craving blood to a dangerous level.
Pulling out his link and needing a distraction from thoughts that were bound to get him arrested, he started gathering information on his next fight opponent.
Channel it, dumbass. That was what he was best at. While his mother might hate what he'd chosen to do with his life, fighting kept him semi-leashed and sane.
Most days, anyway.
Narrowing his eyes, he made himself pay attention to the words on his link. He was on the fighter stats page when an annoying ad popped up. As usual, he moved to close it. Until his gaze fell to the gentle face of an angel who seemed to be smiling for him, personally. While she wasn't the most beautiful female he'd ever seen, there was something about her that called out to him. A soft, kind heart that was lacking in most.
Damn, she was ...
Sweet. The kind of female who made a home worth fighting for. The kind who could lift a male's spirits ... along with a number of other things.
Time for change, Talyn. Time to take something for yourself.
He'd just won the biggest fight of his career. Had claimed a title very few ever did. Had done what no other Andarion had ever done ... he'd won it in both leagues.
Vested and Open.
Just shy of his twentieth birthday.
Now, it was time he fought for the one thing that mattered most.
His life.
I'm not a mongrel dog. And he was done with being treated like one.
CHAPTER 1
Felicia Orfanos hesitated as she caught sight of the massive male who waited for her in the small, dimly lit room. A full seven feet in height, he was ripped like a bodybuilder--with a massive, muscled build. She'd never been this close to anyone with a physique like his.
Holy gods ...
Strange, he'd seemed chunky in the photo he'd submitted with his application. But there was nothing overweight about him.
Nor did he appear shy or bashful. Never mind socially awkward. Things he'd been dubbed by the answers he'd provided on their required questionnaire.
"Fierce" and "terrifying" were the only two adjectives that came to her mind as she swept her gaze over his confident male stance. He had all his weight on his left leg, and his muscled arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the wall with a stern expression that was absolutely chilling.
Lethal.
Even though he was dressed in black street clothes, it was a warrior's pose. His black hair was a mass of tiny braids he wore back from his face, letting her know that at his age, with that hairstyle, he was still in the military. Another thing that hadn't been disclosed in the file her agency had given her.
Not that it really mattered. Obligatory military service was required of all fully Vested Andarion males and females upon graduation from primary
school or university. Given that he was here to buy her services at his age, he must come from some seriously high-caste parents. And he must have gone straight into the military instead of university upon his graduation.
He turned slightly as if sensing her presence. The moment his white eyes focused on her hooded form, she felt a small electrical charge rush over her.
Gracious. He was gorgeous! Granted, all Andarions were, but he was exceptionally handsome and well built. Every inch of that light caramel skin begged for a bite.
And his entire demeanor changed instantly as he realized she was the one he'd come to meet. Now, he looked like the bashful, unsure male their personality evaluation had proclaimed him.
Something that made her smile. How could he be made nervous by her when he was the only thing threatening in this room? He even dwarfed the security guard, who eyed him with obvious fear and respect for his gargantuan size. Yet this male reminded her of a skittish schoolboy at his first boy-girl dance.
"Felicia," the broker said as he stepped forward to greet her. "Meet your prospective patron."
With a deep breath for courage, she lowered her hood and smiled at him.
Talyn felt his throat go dry instantly as her wealth of dark brown curls sprang out from the cloth to frame an adorable oval face. She was even more beautiful than she'd been in the pictures he'd seen. And a lot more petite than he'd expected. She barely reached the middle of his chest. While she was athletic in build, her limbs were so thin compared to his, they appeared frail. So much so, he was afraid to touch her lest he accidentally break something. And just like in her photos, her silvery-white eyes gleamed with kindness and warmth.
Biting his lip, he glanced to the guard and broker, wishing they'd leave them alone. But because she was an unwed virgin, there was no chance of that.
"Would you care to sit?" Talyn asked her respectfully.
"Sure. Thank you."
He pulled a chair out for her. She moved with the fluid grace of a dancer. Her every gesture was a thing of absolute beauty. Sitting across from her, he tried to think of something witty to say.
Nothing came to mind.
Just don't drool on yourself. That was all he'd need to make her run screaming for the door.
She glanced about nervously before she spoke. "So what exactly are your terms? I know you wrote that my duties would be light, but can you elaborate?"