His Words of Wrath (The Kaldr Chronicles Book 3)

  His Words of Wrath

  by Kody Boye

  His Words of Wrath

  By Kody Boye

  Copyright © Kody Boye 2016. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art and design by Corey Hollins

  Copyedited by Lori Titus

  Interior formatting by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 1

  1

  The air had yet to warm when someone approached.

  “Sir,” she said, breathless from the sight of it all. “Master…”

  I could barely comprehend her words. Master? What did she mean?

  It was then I looked down and saw him—Pierre LeBlanc: dead, stewing in a pile of blood, piss and shit.

  The unthinkable had occurred.

  A Kaldr had just usurped a Howler clan.

  But what did that mean for its people, its pack? Did it mean—

  I paused as the cold silence of the room began to dissipate. Men and women both angry and reverent drew forward, mouths lit in snarls or mute relief. I began to draw away—and drew, along my still blood-slicked arm, a blade similar to the one I had used to slay Pierre—but stopped.

  What was I doing?

  Why was I backing away?

  I had just killed Pierre LeBlanc, leader of the Hill Country Howler clan. And given our duel, that could only mean one thing:

  I owned each and every one of them.

  I lowered my arm and disengaged the blade from my hand, sighing as the liquid evaporated upon will and dripped onto the floor.

  “Stop,” I said.

  Each person stepping forward immediately froze.

  I wasn’t sure what to do next, so I simply waited—watching, stewing, trying to decide what I would have them do as their first act of subservience. I scoured their ranks—from the young to the old, to the men to the women—and realized one matter had to be dealt with shortly.

  “Someone take care of him,” I said.

  Immediately two men drew forth. Though they’d initially snarled, their demeanors had shifted—reminding me wholly of dogs whose tails were slapped between their legs to cover their balls. I nodded as they looked upon me and watched as they lifted Pierre from the ground and began to carry him away.

  “Listen up,” I said, my newfound confidence brewing in the fact that these people were sworn to me by rite of passage and honor of blood. “Now that Pierre is gone, things are going to be different around here. You’re going to be listening to me from now on. First,” I said, pointing at the pile of blood and excrement on the floor, “I want this cleaned up. And secondly—” I pointed to the purposed arena surrounding me “—I want everything put back into place. Now.”

  “But suh-sir,” the same meek woman from before said.

  Someone snarled, instantly cutting her off.

  Content with the fact that my position was quickly becoming clear, I crossed the distance between me and the edge of the arena and lifted my shirt from its place on one of the benches. Its weight upon my shoulders was comforting considering how cold I was.

  That was the other matter I needed to tend to. Feeding. Especially given my recent injury.

  But who?

  I scanned the room, allowing my eyes to fall on each man I felt drawn to if only by appearance alone. Most were young—scraggly in appearance and malnourished due to lack of proper nutrition—but some were older, and would likely hold up to my needs. The only problem was: I couldn’t just command someone to let me feed off them. I wasn’t that kind of person. And even if I knew how to glamour, it would still be wrong—akin to rape in both the body and soul.

  So… what did that mean? It wasn’t as though I could go without feeding, especially considering the energy I’d just used; and while I could ask for a volunteer, that didn’t mean they’d be willing. They’d just be complacent. Which still meant forced—and still, by definition: rape. Which meant…

  I sighed, brought a hand up to my face, and took a long, deep breath through my fingers.

  Something had to be done. And soon.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said. “Master?”

  I turned.

  He was young—possibly in his early twenties, surely no older then twenty-one or two, with scruff along his chin and jaw and above the fine curve of his lip. He was shirtless—like many of the Howler men had been at the start of the fight—and smooth, right down to the cleft in his abdomen beneath the defined muscles along his hips. Most striking was his hair—which was long and covered his eyes, though tapered out to a fade along the sides of his skull. He was, undoubtedly, attractive. And he immediately set my hunger ablaze.

  “Yes?” I asked, trying my hardest not to let my body get the best of me as I stared at his beautiful face and luscious, defined body.

  “I just wanted to welcome you,” he said, falling to one knee, “and bow, in service, to you.” He lowered his head, the muscles along his sides flexing as his ribcage expanded to take in a breath. “I… am aware that Kaldr need to feed off the flesh of other mortal bodies in order to survive. And given that you’re now the master of this clan, I… I thought—”

  I pressed a hand against his sweaty shoulder.

  He looked up.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Aerick,” he said, lifting his green eyes to mine. “With an A-E. Aerick Harper.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

  “I’m sure, sir.”

  “Call me Jason,” I said, reaching down to take his hand. “And come with me. I’d rather we do this somewhere private.”

  2

  His neck was nirvana, his skin paradise, the taste of his flesh the greatest miracle that could've ever existed within the world. I fed, gently, upon his carotid artery, and sighed as the life began to pool back into me.

  "You know," Aerick said, taking my hand and guiding it along his chest. "We could always take this further."

  My hand touched his hardness.

  I stopped.

  Flashes entered my mind.

  His lips.

  His face.

  His breath.

  His touch.

  I pulled away instantly, flush with heat and breathless from the encounter. "I," I said. "I don't think—"

  He ground my hand into his jeans. "Come on," he said, sliding his lips against my ear and nibbling on the tip of my earlobe. "You know you want to."

  "I don't think this is a good idea," I said, drawing back and pushing his hands away. He leaned back and offered me an incredulous look. "I'm sorry."

  "Come on, man. Don't be a cockblock."

  "I'm not," I said. "I just needed to feed."

  He collapsed back onto the mattress and reached down to tug at himself through his pants. "What's the deal with you anyway?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?" I frowned.

  "I mean—ugh." He popped the button on his jeans. "You care if I jerk myself if you're
not going to help?"

  "Be my guest."

  The sound of a zipper going down, then pants being kicked off entered my ears as I turned my head away. Shortly after, Aerick spit, then began to stroke himself in long, slow motions.

  "What did you mean," I said, "when you asked what my deal was?"

  "You come in here," Aerick said, "kill Pierre, ask to feed off me—"

  "I didn't ask. You offered."

  "Whatever. And then—" He paused, grunting. "—leave me with blue balls."

  "I never said I'd suck you off."

  "I never said you had to," Aerick replied. "But that'd be great if you did. Pretty please? I'll throw you a twenty."

  "I'm not sucking you off."

  "Ok. Fifty. That's my final offer."

  "Keep your money."

  He groaned and increased the pace of his strokes. Though I'd looked away, I could still see his actions in the mirror—his lean hips thrusting, his slick inches gliding through his slick hand.

  "So you wanna watch," Aerick laughed. "Ok. Cool. I can get off to that."

  "I'm not watching—"

  "Fuck. Here it comes." He jerked his cock. "Fuh-fuck.”

  Several spurts of come shot from his cock and splattered his chest, coating one nipple and even his chin. By the time he finished, he was breathless—chest heaving, laugh radiating throughout the room. He leaned forward, smiled, then licked the corner of his lip. "I think that was even better than you sucking me."

  "You're welcome," I said.

  He laughed and stood, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. He stayed like that for several moments—palms up, eyes closed—before he asked, "You care if I use your bathroom?"

  "I don't mind," I said. I nearly corrected him by saying these were Pierre's quarters, but realized it would be useless.

  Aerick grabbed his jeans and started toward the bathroom.

  I sighed.

  At least I'd fed.

  3

  There was still one matter to address.

  Guy.

  From my place in Pierre’s old bedroom, where I stood staring at my pale and somber reflection in the mirror, I tried to determine the place of Guy and I’s relationship and whether or not it would be worth it to reach out to him. Currently, I had no idea whether we had access to the outside world—through cell phones, Internet, or even a landline—and while I knew that he’d eventually want to know what had happened, I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to speak to him. I mean, we’d practically broken up.

  I guess this is goodbye, he’d said.

  Yeah, I’d replied. I guess it is.

  Sighing, I crossed my arms over my chest and breathed in the smell of sex in the room—trying, without success, to block out the thick, pleasant odor of Aerick’s sweat and come. It caused my groin to swell and for a moment I contemplated reaching down to finish myself off, but stopped before I could do so.

  I had better things to do than jerk off.

  After making my way into the bathroom, showering, and cleaning myself as best as I could, I strode out of Pierre’s quarters and headed down the hall—where I knew most, if not all of the pack would be waiting for me.

  I felt their eyes on me before I actually saw them.

  When my eyes adjusted to the piss-yellow light in the broad room, I expelled a breath and offered a short and simple, “Hello.”

  No one replied.

  Somewhere, someone chuckled. I located the sound almost instantly and found Aerick chewing on a piece of jerky, watching me with those hot, cocky eyes I knew would pull me in were I not careful.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Hello everyone,” I said again, hoping the repetition would somehow inspire response. When none came, I stepped further into the room to view the work that had taken place while I was gone. The benches and tables had been pushed back into place and no longer was there any evidence of the fight that had occurred no more than an hour beforehand. Whoever had tended to the mess had even managed to cover the lingering smell with the scent of juniper—which, while not unpleasant, was enough to make my nose burn.

  When I stood in the place I had killed Pierre, I allowed them a moment to look upon me before saying, “There’s some things we need to discuss now that Pierre’s gone.”

  Instantly, all eyes were on me.

  Taking a deep breath, I expelled it through my chest and tried to settle myself with the knowledge that none of them would hurt me—knowing that, at least through honor, their claws would be tamed. “First thing,” I said, “is that we don’t feed on humans anymore.”

  “No one ever,” someone started.

  “I’m more than aware that Missy Sue was part of the clan,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest as I scoured the crowd to find the individual, but to no avail. “And while I know that her actions don’t speak for the pack, they do speak for the measures that were taken to prevent transformations while at this compound.

  “Secondly,” I continued, seeking Aerick’s eyes, “I want to know how many of us are here.”

  “Twenty,” the Vietnamese woman who’d been so ready to tear my throat out hours before said.

  “Only twenty?”

  She nodded, then reached up to run a long-nailed hand along her face. “There wasn’t many of us to begin with,” she continued, looking around at her fellow packmates. “After Pierre killed our last packmaster, we were explicitly forbidden from attacking and infecting any others.”

  “Was that Mardulf?” I asked.

  “Mardulf,” Baptiste—the Frenchman who’d originally led me here, bound and blindfolded—said, “was Pierre’s wolf name.”

  “Mardulf,” I then said.

  “Wolf of the Hills,” the pretty Asian woman said.

  Nodding, I looked past the crowd and toward the elevator that led out of the compound. “The last thing I’d like to know is how long Pierre planned on keeping you here.”

  “He never mentioned anything about moving.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Everyone here calls me Poem.”

  “Poem,” I said, nodding at her willingness to provide information. “Thank you for your honesty. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re the boss now. Gotta do what you say.”

  I tried not to falter under their unrelenting stares. It was hard enough being the only Kaldr in a room full of Howlers. It was even worse being the one Kaldr who had power over that same room.

  “I guess what I’m really getting at,” I continued, “is if it’s actually feasible to remain here for long periods of time.”

  “How do you mean?” Poem asked.

  “This looks like it was a military compound at one point—at least, from what I’ve seen of it. What I don’t know is if there’s any way of containing you when you decide to transform.”

  “Contain?” a man asked from somewhere. “No one ever said anything about—”

  “We can’t just be running around and killing each other in here,” Aerick said, “now can we?”

  The man shut up almost instantly.

  “I asked about the containment procedures,” I continued when no one made any move to continue the conversation, “because I think the compound closer to Fredericksburg would be better suited for us, if only because of the security measures that are already there.”

  “But the ferals are there,” someone mentioned.

  “Alone?”

  Poem and Baptiste—who’d drawn closer to the front of the room—nodded. “They were going to die eventually anyway,” Poem continued, as if the prospect of leaving their fellow Howlers to starve was nothing more than turning one’s back on a beggar. “You can’t control them, and it’s not like we can bargain with them in any way.”

  “They’re essentially animals,” Baptiste added.

  “Given that you all have been here longer than I have, I have to ask: what’s the benefit of staying here?”

  “Beds,” Aerick said, rising. “Running water. Our ow
n wells. Close enough to the border to where we can run if need be.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you’re bringing food in.”

  “Some of have access to government benefits—food stamps, financial aid, that sort of thing.”

  “But is it enough to feed all of you?”

  Again, no one responded.

  “I guess what I’m saying,” I said, hesitant to reveal my idea but knowing that it would have to come out sooner rather than later, “is that it doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to last very long here.”

  “Then what would you suggest?” Baptiste asked.

  I grimaced, preparing to bite the bullet that would surely blow my head off. “We join with the Kaldr.”

  The shouts, curses and arguments that followed were enough to send me back a step. Immediately people were on their feet—screaming, demanding answers to questions they hadn’t even asked. Some even appeared that they would flip tables over to make their way toward me, which did nothing to assure that my idea could be taken with even a grain of salt.

  Finally, when it seemed like the yelling would not stop, Baptiste stood, walked up to my side, and yelled, “SILENCE!”

  Everyone immediately shut up.

  When it seemed like no one would start yelling again, I thanked Baptiste before saying, “It’s the only other realistic option.”

  “What do you mean only other option?” the Central American man asked. “You want us to hole up with a bunch of buttfuckers?”

  “I resent that comment,” Aerick said with a sneer.

  “Oh, fuck off, pretty boy.”

  “You fuck off,” Aerick replied.

  “I oughta—”

  “Shut up!” Baptiste growled.

  “Listen to him,” Poem said. “Otherwise you might be the next one to die.”

  While I knew there was no way I would be able to take on another Howler again, much less twenty, it was comforting to know that at least some of them were on my side.

  “Now then,” I continued. “The only reason I suggest joining forces with the Winters Kaldr clan is because of the resources they have access to—clothes, money, food, adequate healthcare and substantial housing. I mean, come on: it isn’t like you guys are rolling in riches here.”