Page 23 of Fated to the Damned

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NIKOLAI

“You have no structure,” I say to the wingless vrakken sitting before me. Ezra was one of Brinda’s longest bedmates, and I have a feeling that’s how this watery blooded weakling got to his position.

He props his feet up on the desk before him. What he needs a desk for in this office – that is clearly where he drinks and fucks and ignores his duties – I do not know. It’s not like he’s keeping up with correspondence or their influx of new humans and vrakken.

“We are vrakken, temple boy. We are supposed to indulge. You should know that after dedicating your life to Akeldama. I’m not going to impose more restraints on the vrakken here when they have been shoved underground for so long.”

I grit my teeth at the dig. “I’ve dedicated my life to carrying out our god and goddess’s wishes. And overruling the dark elves should come above all else.” My muscles are tense as I clasp my hands behind my back, my wings tucked in tight and high. “There needs to be structure, training, scouts, for that to happen.”

Turning on my heel, I stride from Ezra's office, nails digging into my palms in frustration. That incompetent fool is going to doom us all if he remains in charge.

As I move through the sprawling encampment, the disarray only becomes more evident. The training grounds are nearly deserted, weapons and gear strewn haphazardly. There are no sentries stationed at the perimeter, leaving us vulnerable to attacks.

In the courtyard, there are vrakken lounging lazily, day drinking rather than training. There’s no hunting parties to bring in replenishments for the scouts – probably because there are no scouts – and it seems that humans and Made vrakken are filtering into this base at an unknown rate with no proper structure to teach them about being a vrakken or our ways. It seems that they all have forgotten the reason that we were sent up here and all discipline has vanished.

At this rate, we stand no chance against the dark elves. Their forces outnumber and out prepare us at every turn. Ezra's negligence has left us absurdly vulnerable.

There have been four bases established so far, this one the latest, and I haven’t heard great reputations of two of the others. The only base that has any kind of respect was the first to be established, and even then it is led by a human.

Much needs to change.

I pass the human dormitories, wondering if Jessa has settled into her quarters. I hope Alina is keeping her company... No, I can't afford to worry about one insignificant human.

What happened between us was a momentary lapse of judgment, fueled by bloodlust and my weakened state. Vrakken and humans must remain separate – Priestess Adelina taught me that. In fact, it’s the whole reason I’m here, and yet, I’ve already forgotten. I cannot allow another such intimate encounter; it goes against our oldest traditions.

No matter how sweet her blood tasted, or how soft her skin felt beneath my hands, I must resist. It was folly to indulge such desires at all. From now on I will keep my distance from the tempting human girl.

I approach the ramshackle barracks building, its walls constructed from felled logs and crude mud plaster. The door hangs crookedly from two uneven leather hinges, swinging open enough for the stench of stale ale to waft out.

From within comes the raucous laughter and jeering of coarse male voices, interspersed with the occasional giggle of a feminine lilt. The lewd sounds raise the hair on the back of my neck.

I stride up to the entrance, the packed dirt soft under my boots. With a swift kick, I send the flimsy wooden door crashing violently against the interior wall. It splinters down the middle from the force.

Inside, the small space is crowded with at least ten vrakken warriors lounging arrogantly atop makeshift furniture. I note that none have wings as they lounge across piles of pelts serving as beds.

In their hands, they clutch overflowing tankards sloshing with ale, the bitter smell cloying. Their clothing is disheveled, armor pieces discarded haphazardly on the floor amidst empty bottles and the scent of blood taints the air.

At their feet kneel four human women, faces downturned demurely. They’re all naked, either stroking the vrakken closest to them or refilling tankards dutifully. Their body language screams submission.

The raucous laughter cuts off abruptly at my entrance, all eyes turning towards me with hostility. Their faces bear the red flush of inebriation.

"Why haven't you reported for duty or training?" I demand, unable to keep the bite of anger from my tone.

One of the vrakken, his unruly dark hair tied back in a short bun, sneers at me. "We don't take orders from the likes of you. Real vrakken take what they want, when they want."

The drunk vrakken's words make my blood boil. I take a step further into the room, wings flaring in dominance.

"You know nothing of being vrakken if you reject duty and discipline so foolishly," I spit back at him.

The brute leans forward with a mocking grin. "We didn't escape those dark elf bastards just to chain ourselves to new rules. We follow our own path."

The others grunt in agreement, grip tightening on their tankards. One trails a proprietary hand over the human female kneeling closest to him.

"Enjoy your debauchery while you can," I state coldly. "But you will submit to training and the chain of command here. That is not a request."

The first vrakken stands, swaying slightly. "Make me." He spits at my feet insolently.

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