CHAPTER 2
It was almost her turn on the stage.
Sickness brewed in Lyra’s stomach and her legs trembled beneath her weight, but she refused to let fear overcome her. She tugged at the heavy metal collar around her neck, rattling the chain attached to it, and cursed. Her heart thundered at a dizzying pace that made it difficult to breathe.
Gods.
She needed to get away.
It was pointless though. There was a huge gulf between what she needed and what she knew was going to happen. She needed to be realistic, and not allow her fear to consume her. She had to keep her head.
Even if she did manage to get the collar off, and the shackles that bound her wrists, she wouldn’t be free. She would still be locked in a cage built of the strongest metal in Hell.
Lyra paced the small space, struggling to breathe through the panic as it started to sink its claws into her heart and her mind, conjuring vile images of her future, visions that tore at her strength, making it easier for the fear to take hold.
To strip away her control.
She sucked down another trembling breath.
She needed to be strong.
It was hard when she was falling apart inside.
The number of eyes on her grew, pushing at her fragile restraint, making her want to lash out at the other captives as they watched her.
She hated the sense of expectation that laced the warm air and pressed down on her.
These people expected her to be strong. Fearless.
She might be a hellcat, one of the most powerful and vicious of the shifter species that called Hell their home, but she still had a heart.
She still experienced fear.
The thought of what was about to happen to her was terrifying.
She clawed at her cuffs and her collar, her throat growing tight and her strength wavering for a heartbeat before she snatched hold of it and clung to it again, not letting it bleed from her.
She cursed the collar.
The magic in it sapped her strength, making it impossible for her to break free of her bonds, the drain it caused far stronger and more devastating than the one she felt from the shackles around her wrists. Those were just the back-up plan, a last resort in case she broke her collar somehow. They would inhibit her enough that she wouldn’t be able to break them open, but they wouldn’t stop her from snapping the chain and gaining enough freedom to sink fangs and claws into every male present.
Everyone responsible for what had happened to her.
She tugged at the ring of cold steel around her neck and growled.
Damn collar.
She let her left hand hang from it, her fingers looped over the top of the ring, and fought for the strength to push back against the feelings welling up inside her, the despair that would allow weakness to invade her heart and her body.
It would break her.
She closed her eyes and cursed again.
Aiming it at herself this time.
Gods, if she hadn’t been such a fool, none of this would have happened to her. She would be home, living the life she loved. Her need to track down others of her species had been a moment of weakness, brought on by loneliness, and she should have weathered it as she had every other time it had swept over her. She should have stayed far away from Hell.
Hindsight was a bitch.
She had longed for company, and now she longed for the solitary life she had left behind.
Her moment of weakness had only proven that she was better off alone.
Lesson learned.
Never trust another hellcat.
Lyra tugged at the collar, her strength flowing from her again, despair swift to roll in to take its place, eating away at her.
A collar a male hellcat had placed on her.
She shouldn’t have trusted him. Her mother would roll in her grave if she could see her now. Her aunt would roll right along with her. They had raised her better than that. She had been such an idiot, believing herself stronger than both of them, thinking that what had happened to them wouldn’t happen to her because she was more intelligent, had learned from their history and seeing the scars that ringed their necks every day of her life.
She had been a damned fool.
All males of her kind were the same.
They wanted to collar any female they met, using it to force them to become their ‘mate’. It was the reason most females of her species despised their male counterparts and had long ago decided to do without them, to find their fated ones instead of allowing a male to collar them.
So, the males of her species had grown vicious, driven to dominate the females in response to the rejection, determined to claim what they viewed as rightfully theirs.
She opened her eyes and looked towards the glow that filled the air in the distance to her left, where the stage had been set up and a low hum of chatter drove back the silence of Hell.
Was there a male of her kind in the audience, waiting to bid on her?
Eager to have her at his mercy?
Was she about to face the same dark fate as her mother and aunt had?
She shuddered at the thought of any male having that sort of power over her.
Owning her.
“You.” The deep voice sent a tremor through her and she whipped her head around and bared her fangs at the huge bare-chested male.
The demon smirked at her, his broken pale horns flaring a little from behind his ears, pushing through his shaggy mane of sandy hair. He always got off on her threatening him. The sick bastard enjoyed taunting her.
The dark-haired demon next to him just stalked forwards, keys jangling in his hands as he searched for the one that would unlock her cage.
Her heart kicked into overdrive again, pulse slamming hard.
She backed away.
Her bottom hit the back of the cage, the metal bars cold against her bare flesh, and she bared her fangs again, hissed through them at the two males, warning them away.
The brunet demon ignored her and unlocked her cage.
The blond flicked his wrist, extending the baton he held. “Be nice now.”
He grinned at her, revealing short fangs, a glimmer of arousal in his pale eyes. He wanted her to do the opposite to his words. He wanted her to fight him.
Gods, she wanted it too, but she wasn’t about to give the bastard the satisfaction of fighting with her.
A loud roar sent silence sweeping across the black lands.
And a shiver down her spine.
It wasn’t one of her kind.
But there was such anger in that roar, such strength and power, and it lit a fuse inside her.
She exploded from the cage, launching at the two males, everything she had held bottled up inside her blasting through her, driving her into a rage.
She was on the brunet demon before he was even aware she had moved, her bare body slamming into his. Her left foot skidded on the loose dirt as she drove forwards, putting all her remaining strength into shoving him backwards and off balance.
As she landed on his chest, the captives in the cages around her began shouting, some of them calling to her to free them while others screamed for the guards, their fear of being punished because of something she had done driving them to alert the bastards who held them in chains in the hope they would avoid a beating.
Lyra sank her claws into the demon’s shoulders and struck hard with her fangs, lodging them deep in the side of his throat. He roared and bucked up, but she held on, refusing to release him as he tried to shake her off him. She snarled, a red rage pouring through her, controlling her actions.
She didn’t feel it when the sandy-haired demon struck her across the back with his baton. She didn’t feel it when he sank his own claws into her arm and pulled. Didn’t feel it when the male beneath her managed to shove his fist hard into her stomach.
She felt only the high of battle, the roar of victory in her ears, and the sheer elation that came with the taste of blood on her tongue.
The pale-horned demon finally managed to yank her off his colleague.
To his detriment.
Her fangs ripped through the side of his neck, gouging a deep hole in his flesh. Blood spurted across the black ground, and the male fumbled, desperately seeking the strength to cover the wound. The blond tossed her through the air and she shrieked as she hit the cage, the top bar of it slamming hard into her lower back, sending pain ricocheting through her.
By the time she had hit the ground, the dark-haired demon was still, his eyes staring blankly into the dark beyond.
The blond turned towards her, a growl on his lips.
Lyra roared and sprang at him, hitting him square in the chest with all of her weight. He didn’t fall. He grabbed her right arm and spun with her, flung her across the clearing and into the side of another cage. The occupant screamed and shoved at her, pushing her away.
She scowled at the female and spat blood on the floor.
Foolish bitch.
There was no currying favour with their captors now.
Not if the unholy cacophony she could hear coming from the direction of the stage was anything to go by.
Someone was ripping through the crowd, and most likely their captors. Someone who wanted blood on their hands as badly as she did.
She hunkered down and growled low, and the demon backed off as blue flames flickered over her hands.
The need to shift was strong, driving her to obey it, but she couldn’t, not with the collar on.
The male knew it. She saw it the moment he remembered, saw all that fear that had been building in his eyes drain right back out of them again as he cockily smiled at her.
Lyra wiped that smile right off his face.
In a lightning fast move, she closed the gap between her and the dead demon, and snatched the baton from his belt. She flicked her right hand out, extending the weapon, and roared as she swept it up in a fast, hard arc aimed at the blond’s head.
He growled and dodged backwards, her baton cutting harmlessly through the air a few inches in front of his face.
She strafed left when he swung at her with his own baton, coming close to striking her with it, and threw herself into a roll when he struck again, diving beneath his blow. She came to her feet behind him in a crouch and sprang forwards, leaping high into the air. He turned, a frown on his face as he looked at the ground where she had been.
Lyra grinned as she came down on the bastard’s head.
She brought the baton down, a sliver of satisfaction rolling through her when it struck hard enough to crack his skull, and he grunted and dropped to his knees. She kicked off him and pirouetted, coming back around to face him.
He shook his head, his eyes widened as he spotted her baton coming at him again, and he swiftly brought his arm up to shield his face. Another satisfying crack sounded as she connected with his wrist.
How many times had he beaten her with his baton?
How many times had he smiled as he did it, taking satisfaction from hurting her?
Gods, that left her cold. She was no better than he was.
It didn’t stop her though. She could hate herself later, when she was free, and this male was dead.
She pressed her left hand against the tip of the baton and drove forwards, into the male’s arm, shoving him sideways. He lashed out at her again, his baton striking her thigh and then her knee. Heat swept through her, numb at first but then fiery hot, blazing along her bones.
“Fucker,” she snarled and grabbed his baton before he could strike her with it again.
She wrestled with him as he tried to twist it free of her grip, his face contorting into vicious lines as he growled at her, flashing his fangs. His busted horns curled further, a flare of aggression, and his eyes brightened, glowing gold around his pupils.
He yanked his arm backwards, and she went forwards with it, refusing to release his weapon. She slammed into him, her bare breasts pressing against his chest, and pulled her arm back, trying to get the damned baton off him. She was going to kill him with the fucking thing. It would be a fitting end for him. Dying by his own weapon.
She was so focused on getting the baton off him that she didn’t notice his other fist coming at her face until it was too late. Pain splintered across her nose and blood poured from it, hot as it ran over her lips. She growled, grabbed his arm and twisted it hard.
He roared as the bone snapped.
Lyra grabbed her baton with both hands, shoved it against the front of his throat and pressed forwards, driving him down into the dirt. She settled all her weight on his chest, her knees pinning his shoulders, and pushed downwards on the baton. His eyes grew wild as he struggled beneath her, kicking his legs and growling.
His baton smacked her hard in the side.
She snarled, grabbed it and twisted it free of his grip.
And brought it down hard.
His eyes widened.
His struggles instantly ceased.
Lyra collapsed to her left, sinking to her backside on the rough black ground, her right leg still draped over the dead demon. She breathed hard, her eyes fixed on the baton sticking out of his chest.
Gods. What had she done?
It wasn’t like her.
Her mother and aunt hadn’t raised her to be like this.
She lifted her hands and stared at the blue flames that fluttered around her fingers and flickered from her black nails.
She slowly closed her fingers into fists and clenched them. They had driven her to this, and now it was too late to turn back. She needed to keep going.
She needed to make them all pay.
She would show them how vicious a hellcat could be.
She picked herself up, found the ring of keys the demon had used to unlock her cell, and went through them one by one as a battle raged around her, the guards uninterested in her as they rushed either towards the fight at the stage, or ran away into the darkness.
Lucky number thirteen was the one that unlocked her collar.
She pulled it off and let it drop from her hand onto the dirt by the dead demons.
Holy fuck, it felt good.
No more weight around her neck. No more spell sucking all her strength. No more barrier between her and her more powerful form.
She looked for the key to her shackles. None of them were the right sort. Damn. She was going to have to settle for having the collar off for now, at least until she found the son of a bitch who had the key to her cuffs.
The male in charge of the troupe of slavers would be a good place to start looking for it.
After she had killed him.
With the collar gone, she was strong enough to snap the chain between her shackles, giving her more freedom than she’d had in a long time.
She unlocked the cell of the bitch opposite her, and didn’t stop to see whether she ran or stayed where she was. She moved on, freeing every prisoner she passed.
A towering male with long matted gold hair and bright gold eyes held his hand out to her.
“Go.” He jerked his chin towards the stage.
Towards the fight.
“I have this.” His deep voice rolled like thunder over her, filled with darkness and a sensation of danger that had her wanting to take a step backwards, away from him. “I’ll set these people free while you deal with them.”
She was about to ask whether he was sure he could handle himself if some of the guards attacked him when she finally got his collar open. The second the lock on it popped, he took it and twisted it in his hands, bending the metal as if it was tinfoil.
A flare of bright gold illuminated his eyes.
He held his hand out to her again as he looked down at her with a regal tilt to his chin and an air of authority that warned her not to question him.
Lyra placed the ring of keys into it.
She wasn’t about to ask a dragon if he could handle himself.
They tended to take any question about their strength personally and she wasn’t interested in becoming barbequed cat.
If he wanted to play the role of white knight, she was more than happy to let him get on with it.
She had a date with someone else.
She nodded at the same time as he did, and then turned and sprinted towards the stage.
Another roar rose above the din of battle, calling to her, driving her to fight.
She growled as she leaped and shifted in mid-air, the transformation swift to come. By the time she landed, it was on four large paws as her twin tails whipped behind her, the blue flames fluttering along the last third of their lengths dancing in the darkness and lighting the area around her.
Cerulean fire burst from beneath her black paws too, and as her anger took hold again, the flames spread up her legs and over her sleek black body. She exhaled hard, causing the flames that licked around her sharp fangs to flutter outwards, and then inhaled, drawing them back.
Her flames were normally warm, a comforting feeling, but in the midst of her rage they were hot, heating her fur, stoking the fire that burned inside her.
She growled and her twin tails swished viciously, the flames that now coated them breaking free and shimmering in the air for a second before they died.
She scanned the area ahead of her, blocking out the sounds of the battle piece by piece as she searched for the one who had put her in the cage. The one who would have sold her into a life of hell.
She snarled, flashing her fangs.
The demon in charge stood on the far side of the dark wooden stage, the huge flaming torches that marked each corner of the platform causing golden light to flicker over his black hair and horns, his matching leathers and his bare chest.
He looked her way, his dark leathery wings twitched against his back and he said something to the three males surrounding him as he pointed at her.
The trio of demons dropped from the stage and started towards her.
Lyra was feeling gracious enough to meet them halfway.
She sprinted across the black dirt, her long legs and preternatural speed devouring the distance in the blink of an eye, and pressed down hard with her back legs once she was close to the demon in the lead.
She sprang, leaping through the air, her claws extending as she arced towards him. The male caught her, twisted and flung her before she could so much as scratch him. She hit the dirt, tumbled and growled as she came onto her paws. She leaped again, and he braced himself, arms open, ready to catch her and toss her again.
Lyra grinned inside as she dropped short of him and launched forwards, her fangs aimed at his thigh. His scream rent the air as she sank them deep through his dark leathers, and warm blood flooded her mouth. Another of the males grabbed her by the scruff and pulled her off him, throwing her into the dirt hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs.
She shook it off before he could attack and lashed out at him, hissing as her ears flattened and flared backwards. He dodged backwards to evade her blow and growled at her, his horns curling as he reached for his baton.
When he flicked his wrist to extend it, the damned thing sparked.
She growled at it and leaped when he tried to hit her with it.
Pain she could withstand to a certain degree, but she had learned early on in her captivity that an electrical charge pouring through her body was something she never wanted to experience again.
He grinned and lashed out again, a bright blue arc following the tip of his baton as it swept towards her.
Lyra leaped again, barely dodging it, and snarled as her back slammed into something.
The male behind her grabbed her and she wrestled against him, flailing madly in his grip, desperation driving her actions as it seized hold of her.
The demon with the baton advanced, and the one she had bitten joined him, extending his own weapon.
No.
“Secure her, or it’s our damn heads on the block,” the ringleader hollered in the demon tongue, a language she had learned among others during her upbringing.
Her mother had wanted her prepared for anything.
Nothing could have prepared Lyra for this.
She hissed and whimpered as the first baton hit her, sending enough voltage through her body to have her fur standing on end and her flames receding. She growled and struggled against the demon holding her. He tightened his grip. Another baton struck, another thousand volts lighting her up.
She needed to escape. The urge drove her, instinct screaming at her to shift because it would make it easier for her to fight in this situation, but the pain kept her locked in her feline form.
Trapped.
Gods, she would have given anything right that moment to have been any other species of feline shifter. Hers was the only one that shifted into the feline form in response to pain. All the others shifted back to their human one.
The demons struck again, and again, electricity and pain coursing through her, stealing her consciousness and driving her deep into her animal instincts as she tried to withstand the beating and protect her mental state, aware that if she remained lucid, the damage the demons did would be permanent.
A scar on her mind that would last forever.
She howled in agony as one of the demons struck hard on her hind left leg and bone shattered.
Awareness drifted away from her.
She growled at the creatures around her, hungry for the taste of their blood. They meant to kill her. She would kill them first.
She would devour them so their souls could not pass on to their ancestors.
She snarled and twisted, using all her strength against the one holding her. The creature growled but she broke away from it, tipped the fiend off balance and landed on it. She sank her teeth deep into his flesh, tore at it and savaged him with her claws, a blue glow engulfing her. Pain throbbed in her flank, searing her bones. The creature’s fault. It would pay for hurting her.
Her fangs found his throat and she ripped at it, feasted on his blood and his screams.
Suddenly he was gone, and the world whizzed past her.
She grunted as she landed on the dirt, on her left leg, sending fresh fire rolling up it that threatened to steal her consciousness from her. Never. She clung to it, refusing to succumb to the darkness, and pushed onto her paws, setting her sights on the next creature.
Both brandished long sticks.
Weapons.
The ones they had struck her with, hurt her with.
She growled at the sticks, instinct driving her to avoid them, to keep away from them. They were pain. They were agony.
They were death.
The two creatures advanced.
Broke apart.
Circled her in two directions.
They were going to attack at once.
She wouldn’t stand a chance, but she would at least take one of them with her.
The one on the right was stronger, larger.
She limped backwards, each step agony, sending pain so fierce through her that her vision wobbled and grew dark around the edges.
The one on the left was easier prey.
Blood suddenly spilled down its bare chest from a gash across its neck.
The fiend gargled, hands flailing wildly, the baton forgotten as it fell to the floor, all of its focus locked on trying to stem the blood that flooded like a waterfall over its body.
She stared, struggling to comprehend how the creature had died.
The male dropped to the ground.
Her breath left her in a rush of cerulean flames.
A silver-haired warrior stood where the creature had been, ice-blue eyes bright and naked body streaked with crimson, his claws dripping blood as he held his hand out at his side.
Every instinct she possessed fired at the sight of him.
Male. Warrior.
Mine.