Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

threats lurking down each. I scurry past them all, until I hear a struggle. I pause, hidden behind some trees, out of sight from whoever is causing the ruckus. There aren’t any screams, just a few angry threats and a…a woman’s voice. I poke around the corner.

There are five of them. Maybe twice my age, twenty-one, twenty-two. One is a bit husky, but the others all appear to be strong, confident young men. Capable men who wouldn’t need to sink to the level of acts they have chosen at this moment. But I suppose I only judge. I don’t know their stories. Desperation can cause a man to do things he wouldn’t normally do.

As of now, it looks as if they are doing no more than groping her and teasing her. Judging by their crude comments and gestures, their intentions are clear. They intend to force themselves upon her. But she doesn’t cry for help.

She is a beautiful young Sprhowt with a red patch over one eye, dark hair, and almond-colored skin, and she appears to be my age, maybe a couple seasons older. Thirteen or fourteen seasons at most, I would say. She’s young, but she has a womanly figure with a small, perky chest and alluring curves for her youthful age. Her form-fitting garments don’t help the situation either. I find myself wondering why any father would even allow his daughter to be roaming such alleys, let alone roam these alleys with scanty attire.

She is defending herself quite skillfully with some rope vines and a miniature dragon staff as though she’s been trained. But it won’t last. Not against five brash young men. I must make my presence known. I can’t let them continue, even if it means I will endure a severe beating. I can’t.

Lurking down the alley and attempting to sneak up on them won’t do me any good. They would eventually become aware and think me an idiot hero or a scavenger looking to get in on the action. So, instead I stroll down the alley casually, deathly afraid inside but calm on the outside. I clear my throat as I get closer to make my presence known. The lot of them stand up attentively.

She takes advantage of the distraction and sends her dragon staff into the skull of one of her assailants. He collapses to one knee, grabbing at his head. Why didn’t she run? They were all staring at me. She could have run.

“What are you doing, boy? Get out of here! This isn’t for your eyes!”

I quietly move closer.

“Are you deaf? I said I’ll smash your face in if you don’t get the fuck out of here.”

“I—I—I…” My legs are shaking. My hands are trembling, but I saunter closer.

“You what? You want to get fucked like this pretty little girl? We’re not fagolets, boy. You’ll have to try the next alley.”

I manage to squeak out my intentions. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Well, you can’t stop us either. Carib Reign will be your king one day.” He thuds his chest with a proud grin. “Do you think it wise to disobey your king?”

Carib Reign. That name is familiar. I focus my gaze on the entitled young man putting himself above everyone else. He looks familiar. A king? I read about those in the museum. A term the Old Races often interchanged with the Taoiseach. A time with more chaos.

The larger of the men lumbers toward me. I don’t know what to do. He is twice as tall and probably four times my body weight. This isn’t going to end well.

I freeze. The other men continue gallivanting around the young girl while the big one approaches me. For some reason I am more transfixed on what is happening to the girl than the behemoth coming to eat me alive.

A hasty scream escapes her, but she muffles it, pursing her lips tight. Almost as though she doesn’t want to be heard. They wrangle her, using her own weapons against her after an admirable resistance. They tie her arms with the green rope vines and confiscate her dragon staff, giving her several beatings with it before forcing her to the ground.

With my attention fixated on the young girl, the fat man grabs me by the collar of my tunic and deprives me of the comfort of solid ground below my feet. I scramble and kick my legs wildly. I give him a good thump in the gut that forces him to let go.

I scurry past him to help the young girl, but my effort is meager. He grabs my tunic once more and this time doesn’t waste any time. He flogs me in the side of my skull with a fist of equal size.

“Ugh.” A blacksmith forges steel inside my head. I squeeze my eyes tight and wonder why I instinctively add more pressure to what already feels like it is going to explode.

I black out momentarily. I lie on the prickly dried grass in the alley, hearing hoots and praises not too far away.

Despite the immense pain driving through my skull, I open my eyes just enough to peer through my eyelashes. What I see, I will never be able to forget. The young woman’s torn garments are strewn about her, and she lies nude with her hands bound behind her back. One of the men forces himself between her legs and pins her shoulders to the ground. The other four men are circled around them. She grunts and thrashes, but she doesn’t scream. Why doesn’t she call for help?

I attempt to get up but find both my hands and legs tied together, leaving me immobile. They’re tight. Too tight for me to wiggle my way out. Unable to intervene, I continue to watch. Not because I want to, but to remember. I want to remember every feature of each one