Book Excerpt

Prologue

“I quit the League tonight.”

Dr. Sheridan Belask paused at the deep, thickly accented voice coming out of the darkest corner of his office. He looked up from the electronic medical files he was reviewing on top of his obsidian glass desk, but couldn’t see even the smallest trace of the man hidden in the shadows.

He was used to that.

As a trained League assassin, Nykyrian Quiakides was literally one with the blackest night. No one ever saw him coming or going.

They only felt the sting of death as he dealt it to them.

Even though Sheridan was a doctor sworn to save any life he could, this brutal killer was the only man he’d ever trusted at his back and with his family.

Or more to the point, the only man he’d ever trusted with the deepest held secrets of a past he’d been running from his whole life.

“You can’t quit. You can only retire.” A euphemism that meant ritual suicide whenever assassin duties became more than a League solider could mentally bear or their bodies became too scarred or too damaged to carry out their missions any longer

No one voluntarily left the League.

No one.

Nykyrian stepped out of the shadows so that the dim light highlighted the white blond hair that was braided down his back- an assassin’s mark of honor. His solid flat black battlesuit hugged every sharp curve of his well muscled body. The outline of daggers were embroidered in dark blood red down the sleeves- the only external designation an assassin bore. Nykyrian’s daggers held a crown above each hilt, letting the universe know he was the most lethal of his kind. A command assassin of the first rank.

As always, Nykyrian was calm and watchful of the shadows as if expecting someone like him to come for him at any moment. Somber. Cold. Lethal. Traits that had been drilled into him as a child. In all the years Sheridan had known him, Nykyrian had never once smiled. Never once broken that staunch military training that had left him emotionally bankrupt.

The most disturbing thing of all was the fact that his eyes were hidden behind a pair of opaque shades. A safeguard used by military assassins to keep those around them on edge since there was no way of telling where they were looking or what they were thinking.

Or more precisely, who the assassin was targeting.

Nykyrian’s handsome features were as stoic as his rigid stance. “I refuse to complete this mission.”

Sheridan frowned in confusion. This wasn’t the steadfast, merciless man he knew. The one who didn’t hesitate at any brutality.

“Yeah, right. You have to complete it.” Harsh though it was, it was the law of the world in which they lived. Once a target was given, it was given. Succeed or die. There was no third option.

The last thing Sheridan wanted was to see the only brother he’d ever known ruthlessly hunted and executed. Better someone, anyone, else die than Nykyrian.

“They sent me after a child.” Nykyrian’s tone was flat, deadpan.

Sheridan’s blood ran cold as he finally understood the one line neither of them would ever cross no matter the necessity. The one line that had once saved Sheridan’s life when Nykyrian would have killed him.

Sheridan glanced at the holocube a few inches from his hand where his own infant son smiled out with an untainted innocence neither of them had ever known.

Nykyrian continued, “The League wanted an entire family swabbed.”

That was icy cold, but far from unheard of. It should probably bother Sheridan that his best friend killed for a living, but then given his own brutal past, it didn’t effect him at all.

The world was harsh and it was bitter, especially to those who couldn’t protect themselves. He had firsthand, personal knowledge of that fact, and it’d left as many scars on him as it had Nykyrian.

Besides, he knew the side of Nykyrian that no one else had ever seen. The side of him that wouldn’t harm a child no matter the cost to himself.

Nykyrian was nothing like the monsters in their pasts and neither was he.

“If you don’t kill them, the League will kill you.”

Nykyrian cocked his head at a sudden noise outside. It sounded like the whisper of a patient lift whizzing by. He didn’t speak again until it’d passed and he was sure no one was coming in to Sheridan’s office. “I swabbed the father before I realized there was a child in the house. She was asleep in her mother’s arms when I went for her.”

“And you refused to kill them?”

Nykyrian gave a subtle nod. “The mother and child are safe in a place where the League and their enemies will never find them.”

“Are you…” Sheridan didn’t bother finishing the sentence. Of course Nykyrian was sure. He didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. Sheridan’s current life and safety were living proof of that. “What are you going to do?”

“What I’ve always done. Stand and fight.”

Sheridan let out a bitter laugh. How easy Nykyrian made it sound, but he knew what the League was capable of. They both did. “They’ll come for you with everything they have.”

“And I will fight them with everything they taught me to be.”

A chill went down his spine. What they had taught Nykyrian to be was a predator of the first order of insanity. May the gods help them all. This was the one man who wouldn’t go down without a costly head count. Nykyrian was the best they’d ever trained and the League had no idea exactly what it had created.

But Sheridan knew. He’d looked into the eyes of Nykyrian’s madness and seen the horrors those shades concealed. He knew the rage that they both kept under a tight leash for fear of what it could make them do.

The lengths they would go to, to make sure no one ever hurt them again. They might appear calm on the surface, but inside their battered souls screamed for vengeance and release.

Most of all it screamed for appeasement.

Nykyrian moved forward and placed a small silver disk on his desk. He pushed it toward Sheridan. “I’ve erased every trace of our friendship and every part of your past. You won’t see me again.” For your protection and for the protection of your family. Nykyrian didn’t have to say the words. Sheridan knew the unbreakable bond they shared.

Brothers to the end, even through the fires of hell and beyond.

Nykyrian took a step back toward the shadows.

“Wait.” Sheridan rose to his feet.

Nykyrian hesitated.

“If you need me, aridos,” he said, his voice tight with sincerity as he used the Ritadarion word for brother, “I will be there for you.”

Nykyrian’s tone was still deadpan and emotionless. “If I need you, aridos, I’ll be dead before I can make the call.”

And then he was gone like a ghostly whisper on a harried breeze.

Ill with what his friend had done, but understanding it completely, Sheridan sat down and pulled the disk to him. He cracked it open to find the small chip that all assassins had embedded in their bodies. It was what the League used to keep track of them. Nykyrian must have dug it out of his flesh and crushed it to keep them from finding him. The final act of severing himself from their ties.

An act that in and of itself was a death sentence.

He cringed in sympathetic pain, remembering the day when he’d dug a similar device out of his own young body. The blood, the pain… there were some memories that never faded over time. They were too brutal to be forgotten.

And what an eerie memento given the fact that this chip was what had led to their friendship… He would think his friend sentimental if it wasn’t for the laugh-ability of that.

Closing his eyes, he held the chip in his fist, wishing things had been different, that they had been different. That they had been born those kind of normal people who Sheridan treated in the hospital wings everyday. People who had no idea of what horrors truly existed in this universe.

Yet he was proud that given all Nykyrian had been through he’d still retained his soul.

That through it all, the monsters had never taken his will or his decency. Everything else had been stripped out of him just as it had Sheridan.

Everything.

And because of Nykyrian, he was living a life he’d only dreamed of having. He owed everything to that man.

A man who most likely wouldn’t live to see the coming dawn.

He released a long, disgusted breath. Life wasn’t fair. It was something he’d learned at the back of his father’s fist in early childhood. All he could hope was that Nykyrian would finally find the peace that had always eluded them both.

Even if he had to die to find it.

Book Synopsis

Setting: Ichidian Universe

In the Ichidian Universe no one was safe people were dragged from their homes and killed in the streets. Victims of a ruthless tyrant who was bent on being the sole ruler. Those who opposed him formed an alliance called The League, which fell under the leadership of the Quorum.

The Quorum realized that the best way to keep trouble from starting was to cut it off at its knees. So a separate group of soldiers was needed, The League Assassins. Highly trained and highly valued, they are the backbone of the government. But not even the League is immune to corruption…

Command Assassin Nykyrian Quikiades was born and trained to slaughter. Refusing to be a pawn, he turned his back on the League and has been hunted by them ever since. Though many have tried, none can kill him. Now his assignment is to protect Kiara Zamir, a woman whose father’s political alliance has made her a target. She wants nothing to do with politics, yet she is forced to submit to protection or die.

And as her world becomes even deadlier, Kiara must entrust her life to the same kind of beast who once killed her mother and left her for dead.  Old enemies and new threaten them both and the only way they can survive is to overcome their suspicions and learn to trust in the very ones who threaten them most– each other.

The Story Behind the Story

Authors will always tell you that every book they write is special. That they all hold a tender place in our hearts. This is very true, but some of them are particularly precious.

For me, this book is one of them. Nykyrian and Syn were actually my childhood playmates. As a latchkey kid, I used to turn the kitchen chairs on their backs and pretend I was flying through space with my best friends by my side. I know it sounds silly, but I was hooked and I adored them.

Over the years, I wrote down many adventures I took with them and when I was in college and had decided to write my first “real” novel, i.e. one I was actually going to submit to publishers, there was no one else I wanted to write about.

I spent a year drafting Born of Night by hand– yeah, that was entertaining. Anyone who has ever attended a signing knows how illegible my writing is. During Christmas break 1986, I sat down to type it out and decipher my horrible penmanship. Of course, I didn’t own a typewriter and was trying to find one I could borrow.

As with so many other times in my life, my older brother came to my rescue by borrowing one from his roommate. I spent every spare minute when I wasn’t working at my jobs, typing the manuscript. When I finished, my brother came for the typewriter and I can still remember the smile on his face when he said, “I know it’s a winner, baby. I can’t wait to read it.”

My brother died a few days later and I didn’t have the heart to send the manuscript out. It would be three years before I’d find the courage to pursue my writing again– and to that I owe two very special people in my life. Diana Porter Hillock- my best friend from high school and my husband, Ken. But for them, I’m not sure I’d have ever written again. I know without Ken having bought me a Brother Wordprocessor (we couldn’t afford a computer), I would definitely not be writing today. I can never, ever thank the two of them enough for the gift they gave me. For the precious gifts of love, support and companionship that my husband continues to give to me everyday– I definitely don’t deserve him. I hope everyone has someone in their life like my Ken, because I don’t know how I’d make it through without him.

Born of Night was bought in 1992, but wasn’t published until 1996. There’s a long story there and maybe one day I’ll tell it. It was the last book I published until 1999. Another long story.

It is one of only three novels I’ve ever had to go out of print and thanks to St. Martins, all of them are back in circulation. Thank you SMP, Monique, Matthew, Sally and Jen for giving me the chance to soar and for all you, and the rest of the team, do day in and day out to get the books to the stores. I couldn’t ask for a greater group of people to work with.

Those of you who have read or who own the original Born of the Night will notice the size difference. In this version, I was able to return the original scenes to the book that were edited out because they were deemed too harsh for the market at the time it was originally published. Because the original League books were all released by different publishers, I also had to break them apart, change character names and such to make the series look like it wasn’t related. All that’s gone and the books now read like the series they were intended to be.

I hope you enjoy your adventure in the Ichidian Universe. This is the place where I grew up and where I roamed the streets with an assassin, a thief and a bounty hunter. Yeah, I was a really strange child LOL. And I hope you’ll return here with next month’s release of Born of Fire.

~Sherrilyn Kenyon

Book Benies

A peek at how much the book was changed from the original draft that was written in 1989 that was mistakenly published with the editor's rewrites. The biggest change is in the heroine's character. Kiara was toned down due to rejections that claimed she was too masculine for the audience. In the current version, she is the vision Sherri had for the character.

Chapter 1

She had been kidnapped!

Kiara Biardi came awake with a scream lodged in her throat as she recalled the events in her darkened hotel room. Someone had come into her room during the late hours and drugged her. Trembling in fear, she could still feel the cold, rough grip moving over her skin, feel the bite of the injector as the drug seeped into her bloodstream. She never had the chance to see who it was, or to even call for help.

Now, her head ached terribly as the last remnants of the drug slowly wore off. An acrid stench filled her senses, choking her with its pungency.

Kiara tried not to breathe deeply and opened her eyes to confront who or whatever held her prisoner.

To her relief, she was alone, lying face down on a rotting mattress. With a grimace of distaste, she pushed herself up and nearly fell as a wave of dizziness buzzed through her head. She caught herself against the wall next to her, a roughened spot of rust scraping the palm of her hand.

"Great," she mumbled. "No equilibrium. What am I supposed to do now, wait patiently until they come back?"

Even as she spoke the words, Kiara knew she wouldn't--couldn't--do that. Her father hadn't reared a stupid daughter, and she had learned many tricks over the years, including the ability to pick a good lock.

A smile curved her lips as she headed toward the door on unsteady feet. True it had been years since she picked the locks on her house to sneak outside and meet her friends after curfew, but Kiara was sure she would remember how. She had to.

Kiara ran her hand over the smooth keypad. The lock appeared to be standard military issue--not too different from her father's. In fact ....

She stopped, a chill rushing over her. A military lock. A lump of dread burned in her throat as she realized she wasn't kidnapped for money. She was a political prisoner!

"Oh, Papa," she whispered, wondering what he had gotten them involved in.

This had always been their worst fear, for her to be taken by one of his enemies. Kiara had never given proper credence to her overprotective father's warnings. Now, she wished she had.

"Stop it," she commanded herself. If her conclusion was correct, then she must free herself and return home before her father jeopardized their government for her.

"This lock will be easy enough," she assured herself with confidence.

Popping her knuckles, she entered a code. The keys beeped melodically as she pressed them in. A light flashed across the top of the pad, displaying her chosen code.

Nothing happened. Kiara tried again.

After almost half an hour of trying, she was ready to give up. "Come on, Kiara," she said aloud. "All you've got is time. There's nothing else for you to do, except sit around and feel sorry for yourself!"

With a sigh, she glanced about the room, noting the inordinate amount of garbage strewn across the floor. Kiara wrinkled her nose in distaste of the odor. The thick, steel walls were covered by huge spots of rust and corrosion. She wondered how this craft ever passed space inspection. Surely it wasn't fit enough to carry socks, let alone human occupants.

She turned back to the lock and began pressing more buttons. As the light hummed on again, she heard footsteps approaching in the corridor outside. Kiara bit her lip in indecision. She cast her gaze around searching for a weapon. Only the wilted garbage met her sight. Kiara sighed. The only help the garbage offered was the possibility her kidnappers might faint from the stench.

Clenching her teeth in determination, she tried another code.

"I think we ought to get some pleasure out of this," a man said, his voice slowly drawing near her room. "Did you see her?"

Kiara swallowed the sudden lump of fear in her throat and backed toward the far wall, her heart pounding while her mind raced to think of something, anything to do.

"I don't know, Chenz," another man spoke. "I think we oughta wait till we get further out. I keep thinking about Poll's message that Nemesis is out to get us. I just think we oughta kill her like we was paid to and forget about her."

Her stomach knotted. They might kill her, but she intended to take a large piece of them with her!

Chenz's laugh echoed in the hallway. The bitter sound sent a shiver down her spine. "Nemesis ain't nothing to fear. We done been paid, I say we ought to enjoy this."

The gears hummed in the door as it slowly slid upwards.

Please, God, Kiara begged silently, let them kill me before they rape me.

Two of the nastiest beings she had ever seen walked inside. If she thought the room stank before, that odor couldn't compare to the stench that clung to them. Kiara wondered if they had ever taken a bath in their lives.

She conceded they were human, though neither did honor to their race.

"Looky." Kiara recognized the voice as belonging to Chenz. "The beauty's awake."

She curled her lip at the fat, grimy man. "What do you want of me?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but hoping to gain some time until she could think of a way to escape them.

His lecherous smile answered her.

Kiara stared at him, wondering how he could stand to look at his ugly, warted face long enough to shave. But then, by the amount of stubble on his pudgy jowls, she could tell he didn't look too often.

The man at his side was only a few inches taller. His long, sharp angular features reminded her of one of the beasties her nurse used to frighten her with when she was a child.

Their eyes mirrored a coldness in their souls that chilled her own.

She grasped onto the bedpost, her knuckles protruding. Kiara assessed them, and the distance and time it would take her to get between them and through the door. She was quick and strong, but not enough to break through their hulking forms.

At that moment, she wished she were a magician or soldier instead of a scrawny dancer.

"My father will give you any amount you ask if you return me unharmed."

Chenz took a step toward her. "We don't intend to return you at all."

Panic, cold and demanding, welled up inside her, temporarily dimming her eyesight.

Before she could move, Chenz had her by the arm. Fiercely, Kiara clawed at his face. By God, she would have his eyes for this!

He drew his fist back and struck her hard across the face. Kiara reeled backwards, falling against the wall. She slid to the floor, stunned. Never in her life had she been struck and the pain throbbing across her cheek and eye was unlike anything she had ever felt.

Only the sound of her nightgown ripping brought her back to the present and her mind away from the pain. With a curse born of desperation, Kiara sent her fist into Chenz's flabby belly. Releasing her, he doubled over in pain.

She kicked at the other man, catching him in the center of his chest. Her nightgown tore more as she scrambled from them. She couldn't allow herself to be raped. She would rather die trying to escape than to docilely submit to them.

Kiara ignored the gaping front of her gown and ran for the door. Someone grabbed her foot. She hit the floor with enough force to knock her breath from her.

Oh God, she had to get away! Kiara clawed at the garbage as they pulled her back toward them.

"You'll pay for that, bitch!" Chenz snapped, wrapping his belt around her throat.

Kiara gasped for air, but the belt bit into the flesh of her neck, choking it from her. Desperately, she tried to pry the leather free from her throat. She kicked her feet and tried to scream. Not even a whisper left her bruised lips.

She was dead, she knew it.

"Kill her, Chenz!" the taller man said, rubbing his chest where she had kicked him.

The belt tightened. Kiara's sight dimmed. She clawed at the belt. Her tongue seemed swollen, almost too large for her mouth. Just as she thought Chenz would finish her, the belt loosened.

Kiara gulped the air into her burning lungs and throat. She rubbed her neck, feeling the welts left by the rough leather.

Chenz wrapped his hands in her long, dark brown hair and reeled her to him. "Your life's nothing to us, girly. But how you treat us in the next few minutes will decide if we kill you quick or make it real painful."

She choked at the stench of his breath falling against her cheek. Before she could think of a retort, his wet, scarred lips covered hers. Kiara gagged.

"Why you ..." He drew back to hit her again.

A sharp lurch in the ship sent them tumbling. A warning buzzer pierced the air, the sharp pulses of sound punctuated by flashing lights.

"We're being attacked!" the tall man shouted before running out of the room.

Kiara lay on the floor numb from physical pain and fear. Chenz grabbed her by the arm, jerked her to her feet, and pushed her back against the wall. She stared bravely into his eyes, wondering if he would kill her before he left, and amazed to find her eyes dry.

"I'll finish with you when this is over," he promised, his fingers biting fiercely into her face as he twisted her mouth with his hand. Giving her a lecherous sneer, he released her and ran to join his partner.

The door slammed down, jarring the room. Kiara slid slowly to the floor, her mind too overwrought to think about much of anything except the fate that awaited her when the battle ended.

She was aboard some sort of aircraft with two assassins, in who knew what sector or galaxy, and all of them were now under attack by something probably more cruel than her current hosts.

For the briefest moment, she thought it might be her father with a rescue party. But she knew better. He was still at the Consulate meeting and thought her safely guarded in the dance company's hotel rooms.

Tears flooded down her cheeks as she realized the hopelessness of her situation. She would die out here in space, raped and tortured. The only hope she had was that whoever was attacking them, destroyed them.

"Please," she begged in a ragged voice. "Let me die during the fight!"

Her throat tightened as she listened to the sounds of battle. The old walls of the shuttle creaked ominously. Blasts struck the craft and kept it rocking beneath her.

Kiara stared at the lock, tempted to try and pick it again.

But what good would it do? She could hear the popping of damaged electrical circuits in the hallway. By now, all the power to the doors had been drained and transferred to the ship's weapons and shields.

The lights went out.

Kiara sat in total darkness, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Be brave," she whispered, her voice lost among the hissing sounds outside. She was a commander's child, and she would meet death calmly, with dignity.

After an eternity of wrecked and tormented nerves, the craft was still. The odor of burning wires and smoke filtered into her room. Kiara coughed from the smoke until her throat burned. She was still alive, though to what purpose or fate she could only guess.

Hearing the sound of approaching feet, she tensed, but they quickly ran past her room. The tightness of her throat loosened a tiny degree.

She seemed to have aged forty years before she heard someone else outside her door. Her heart pounded in short staccato beats at the sizzling sound of a torch cutting through the steel.

Kiara gripped the bed frame with her left hand and clutched the remnants of her nightgown with her right. Her head was so light from her panic, she feared she might faint.

A loud pop sounded just before a large piece of the door fell in. Her stomach knotted into a cold lump.

Light from a torch travelled about the room, stopping as it illuminated her.

Despite the pain of her adjusting eyes, she tried to see beyond the light, to whoever held it, but all she saw was a large, black blob.

The blob stepped through the hole and entered her room.

Kiara tucked her legs under her so she could quickly rise to her feet if she needed to. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple. She tensed, ready to strike out with whatever resistance her battered, tired body could muster.

The overhead lights returned, burning her eyes. Kiara blinked several times and the blob turned into a soldier dressed in a black battlesuit. A dense black helmet covered his face, preventing her from seeing what race he belonged to. No insignia or flag marked his uniform in any way.

Who was he?

She stared at him, still uncertain whether he would help her, or harm her more. Until she knew the answer, she would play docile, lulling him into thinking her harmless. And if he did intend to hurt her, she would knee him where it would do her the most good.

But he didn't move closer.

To her surprise, he shut off the torch and placed it on the floor. She prepared to run.

Unaware of her intent, he unstrapped his helmet from the lines securing it to his battlesuit and removed it.

Kiara was amazed by the handsomeness of his face. His long, brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and two small, silver hoops dangled from his left earlobe. His dark eyes moved over her body, measuring her state of disarray.

When he looked back at her face, she saw pity and concern. "I'm Rachol," he said quietly in the Universal language as if coaxing a skittish gimfry. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Kiara believed him. She released her grip on the bed. Another wave of tears washed down her cheeks. She was safe!

The soldier moved toward her cautiously. "Can you understand me?"

She realized his accent was Ritadarion, an allied planet to her own. "Yes," Kiara said, trying to staunch her tears.

He removed his jacket and gently wrapped her in it. "Everything's all right, we'll take you home." He straightened and held his hand out to her.

Kiara placed her tiny, icy hand into his large, warm one. He pulled her to her feet. She took a single step, then crumpled.

In a blurred flash, he knelt beside her. "Are you okay?" his voice was warm with concern.

"I don't understand," she mumbled. "I can't walk!" Another wave of panic tore through her.

"Shh," Rachol soothed. "You're in mild shock. Little wonder after having to be near those two boowahs. Don't worry, it'll pass." His hand gripped his ribs as he swept her with a measuring gaze. "I can't carry you," he said after a minute. "I've got a wound healing in my side and if I pick you up, I'll open it."

He lifted her chin until she stared into his kind, dark brown eyes. "Do you trust me?"

For some unknown reason, she did. "Yes."

He nodded and smiled. "I'm going to ask a friend to carry you back to our ship. Promise me you won't faint when he gets here."

Kiara frowned at his words, wondering why he felt it necessary to ask for such a promise. "I don't faint."

Rachol gave her a skeptical look, then pulled out a hand-held communicator from his belt. "Nemesis, I need assistance."