The Deadly Reckonings

By Rebecca Heap and Victoria Heap

When their animal spirit awakens, the tribesmen of Feralis must master their creature to arise anew with the power to transform. The tribeswomen can only hope to be lucky enough to be claimed as a lifemate - or face a life reduced to becoming property. 

The old Alpha's time is coming to an end, and the Deadly Reckonings are swiftly approaching. The victor of these brutal trials will become the new Alpha and rule over the four allied tribes.

Devlin, a young man with the animal aspect of a lion, dreams of shaping a better world and taking control from the power-hungry clutches of the cruel and dominating Reptilia. Becoming Alpha is the only way Devlin can protect his family, reclaim the woman he loves, and restore freedom to all the tribes of Feralis.

Follow Devlin as he faces the Deadly Reckonings, testing his nature and limits against other competitors, merciless monsters, perilous terrain, and his own desperate hopes. 

​​​​​​​Can a mortal enemy, a misfit sister and even fate itself stand in his way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odyssey Books
• Release date: Sep 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922311535

Book preview

Prologue

Bronwyn pulled the door closed behind her, cringing at the small noise the latch made as it snicked into place.

Arik had insisted that she stay indoors and rest, assuring her that he would find plenty of tasks to occupy their active young son. But lying down had not helped her to relax. She had felt so hemmed in that she felt like screaming. She simply wanted to feel the air rushing along her skin and the suns on her face. Was that so bad?

She made her way through the Khatoolian settlement, stepping gingerly around the stubborn pools of water left by the fierce recent rains. She paused momentarily to enjoy the waning warmth from their larger twin sun as it moved inexorably closer to its smaller brother. The days were growing shorter and it wouldn’t be long before it was too cold to venture outside.

Something tugged at her. She half turned in surprise and almost stumbled into one of the puddles she’d been so keen to avoid. What on Feralis had grabbed her? She felt another tug from her other side. Her gasp of dismay morphed into an amused hiccough when she caught sight of her tormentors; a small boy’s thatch of dark hair whizzed by and then a girl’s giggling mud-streaked face popped up in front of her.

You can’t catch me, stinky, stinky spider! the girl yelled as she jittered from side to side, trying to decide which way to run.

The girl had been using Bronwyn’s bulk as a refuge in their game of tag.

Go on with you! Bronwyn said, shooing the girl away, but her smile belied her scolding words.

The two playmates ran off, splashing carelessly through the muddy puddles. Perhaps they would be punished for getting so filthy when they returned to their respective homes, perhaps not. Parents tended to practise leniency when children were still young and both sexes were allowed to interact freely with each other, before the boys reached their turning.

Bronwyn carried on walking, nodding to Sylvie, her friend, who sat in her doorway watching her own little ones play. Her skilled hands were working on what looked like a colourful woven scarf.

You should be resting up in your condition, Sylvie called.

Bronwyn laughed. You’re as bad as Arik! I’m only stretching my legs.

Bronwyn had known Sylvie since they were children and she still looked the same, her fuzzy hair like a cloud around her head and her dark brown face smooth and unlined. Her eyes were like liquid pools, the colour so dark there was no way to see where iris finished and pupil began.

Sylvie left her knitting and walked over. You don’t get away from me that easily. How are you? she asked, her dark eyes alight with interest. She put a hand to Bronwyn’s rounded belly. No signs yet?

No, Bronwyn replied, but I feel about ready to burst!

Sylvie smiled. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head as if listening. Her smile widened. She opened her eyes. Well, babies are active today!

Yes, Bronwyn sighed. They’re as restless as me. There isn’t much room left in there!

Giving you scorch-throat as well, I’ll warrant?

Bronwyn grimaced and nodded.

Wait here a flick!

Sylvie ran back to her house. When she returned, she handed Bronwyn a sprig of small, white flowers with a starburst centre.

Take these, Bron, she recommended. Leave them to soak in a cup of water. Then drink the water after meals. It should help you sleep better too.

It won’t harm the babies, will it? Bronwyn asked, frowning doubtfully at the flowers in her hand.

Sylvie cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. Come on, Bronnie! You know me better than that by now!

There was no doctor in their village, as the last man to show an aptitude had been recruited for the capital city, Carvell. But the women in Sylvie’s family had always been healers of sorts with the knowledge of herbs and their healing properties passed down by each generation. Now that her mother had gone, Sylvie was the one their tribe relied on for medical help and advice.

Sorry, Bronwyn replied, sighing. My head’s all over the place at the moment. This pregnancy is just so different to my last.

Well, it is twins this time, silly. It’s bound to feel different.

Bronwyn smiled and nodded, but different was an understatement. She had been so tired at the end of her last pregnancy. Here she was, big as a mountain, yet feeling as antsy and restless as a skit bug.

She hugged Sylvie, assured her she wouldn’t be venturing far and carried on walking into the copse of slim silver trees that bordered their settlement.

She loved the sounds of the Silvan Forest: the musical whirrings and clickings of small insects, the wind crooning and whispering through the leaves, and the birds calling to each other in high, harmonious bursts of song. How she wished she had a tuneful enough voice to add to the mix. If she did try to sing, she’d probably scare the woodland creatures away with her squawking. Instead, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, her hand resting on her swollen belly, hoping that her feeling of joy would transmit itself to her unborn children.

She heard the hiss, a sour note in the harmony of the forest, before she saw the creature she had inadvertently stepped on. By the time she opened her eyes, it was too late; the red serpent had reared up its head and bitten her. She cried out, dropping the flowers she still held and stumbling back, almost falling. The blood-coloured reptile continued to hiss at her, its small, diamond-shaped head swaying and its beady eyes glaring at her malevolently. She ran back toward the village, shouting for her lifemate.

Arik came running, urging their son to stay inside the house.

Bronwyn! Why are you out here? he asked as he reached her, sensing that something was amiss. Is something wrong? Are the babies coming?

No. I’ve been bitten … a … a snake, Bronwyn rasped as the poisonous venom flooding her veins already sapped away her energy. Her lids began to droop and she swayed. Arik caught her before she fell. Despite the added weight of her pregnant belly, he lifted her easily into his arms as if she was no more than thistledown.

He ran, ignoring the knowing looks tossed his way. By the Creator, if only it was as simple as the onset of childbirth! He swept past his young son Devlin, who stood at their door, his green eyes round with concern. Arik rushed through to their bedroom and carefully lowered Bronwyn onto the soft bed pallet.

His eyes roved over her body, searching frantically for the place where the fangs of the serpent had pierced her. He emitted a jagged sound of horrified triumph when he spotted the tell-tale blood on her foot and bent to suck fiercely at the wound, spitting out mouthful after mouthful, desperately trying to draw out the poison. He paused momentarily to catch a look at her face. It was leached of colour, her freckles stark against her pale skin. Her eyes had rolled back in her head.

His cry of dismay transmuted into a terrifying roar as his emotion got the better of him. His teeth briefly lengthened as the leonine characteristics threatened to overwhelm his human face. He berated himself; he must stay calm and think logically. His feral nature would not help him now.

He caught sight of his son, who was standing on the threshold of the room, his face as pale as his mother’s. What’s the matter with Ma? he asked, his young voice squeaky with panic.

Arik strode over and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. She’s just a bit poorly, son. I need you to be a brave boy and look after her. Fetch a bowl of water and a cloth. Bathe her forehead. Make sure she stays cool. Arik moved to leave.

Where are you going, Pa?

I’m going to get help. Everything will be fine, I promise.

Devlin nodded, but he wasn’t sure he believed his father. If everything was going to be fine, why was his mother lying there so still and pale?

He tried to speak to her, but her eyes were closed and she was unresponsive. He felt the pressure of threatening tears behind his eyes but forced them away. He was five summers old. Not a baby anymore! He must be a brave boy, like his Pa had said.

He wiped his mother’s forehead at regular intervals, finding some solace in the rhythmic action and in the thought this might be helping her. The stillness of her body belied the grievous battle that was taking place inside her. The poison had reached her unborn twins.

The stronger of the two, the male, began to writhe and flex within his sac, as though trying to fight against the toxins beginning to seep into his system. This seemed to excite the poison, as if it were sentient. It diverted itself from the placenta of his sister and even from its attack on the life of his mother. It flooded his tiny body, attacking his vital organs with vigour and malice. The child’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain and the sigil on his back glowed bright, the image of a wild cat, becoming beautiful and golden. The animal symbol began to fade as the baby’s life ebbed away, but he made one last reflexive kick and broke the tough skin of his enclosure.

The golden sigil dispersed into the waters as tiny, incandescent molecules flocking and swirling like a school of minuscule fish. They swam away from the dying body of the boy and latched onto the placenta of his sister, entering her system. She opened her eyes, an expression much like surprise on her tiny, nascent features. The feline imprint slowly manifested itself on her upper back. It shone brightly and then the light winked out, leaving its impression behind like a brand on her skin.

Devlin cried out in dismay when blood-streaked fluid gushed from between his mother’s legs. It was at this moment that his father charged back into the room, a tall, fierce-looking man following in his wake. This stranger wore the garb associated with the village Enforcers: a long black cape, fastened at the shoulders with silver clasps in the shape of serpents, and black boots. Dark leather bands crisscrossed his strongly muscled chest in an X shape, ending at his long, belted skirt. The centre of the X was adorned with a large, round breastpin, sporting a curled and hissing snake, marking him out from the ordinary Enforcers, whose centrepiece was plain. Devlin shied away from him. His face was gaunt and unfriendly, his disturbingly orange eyes cold and sneering. He didn’t look like the help his father had promised.

Arik held a syringe-like instrument containing a dark red, viscous liquid. His face was still recognisably human but his amber eyes were those of a cat, with narrow pupils and no visible sclera. His animal identity writhed beneath his skin, so close was he to losing control. He knelt beside his lifemate, found a vein, and administered the shot. Bronwyn’s body immediately spasmed violently.

Arik grabbed her hand. Bronwyn! he whispered when the spasm had passed and her body settled into a death-like stillness, his voice harsh with despair.

He was about to turn and leap on his companion. Sylas must have bamboozled him with a death-dealing agent! But the hand he held, which had been cold and rigid, suddenly warmed in his grasp. He watched in relief as colour returned to Bronwyn’s ashen face. Her eyes sprang open.

The babies! she cried, her voice a hoarse moan.

Are they all right? he asked, his eyes dropping to her distended abdomen.

They’re coming! she screamed as a fierce contraction struck her.

Arik watched in helpless dismay as his lifemate’s weakened body was further traumatised by agonising, relentless birthing pains.

Get Sylvie, Devlin! Arik commanded. Now!

Devlin flashed one fearful glance at his mother and left the room.

Arik seized Bronwyn’s hand again, wishing that he could take some of the agony away from her through transference. During Devlin’s birth, she had been a live wire, shouting at him, even laughing at times, and grabbing on to him when the pain became excruciating. Her passivity and the limpness of her hand only exacerbated his worries.

Though his faith had been shaken by all that had happened, he still prayed fervently that Bronwyn and the babies would survive, this partly vocalised in the one word that he repeated like a litany, over and over: Please. Please. Please.

Sylvie arrived quickly, eyed Sylas mistrustfully, and examined Bronwyn, a frown marring her face.

Help her, please help her! Arik begged, relinquishing Bronwyn’s hand.

Come on, Bronnie love, she said, wringing out the abandoned cloth and wiping her face and body. Let’s get these babies out.

After some time, both women were drenched through with sweat, yet Bronwyn seemed no closer to giving birth. Arik watched in horror as her head sagged in defeat and her eyes began to close.

No! he yelled.

She took no notice but seemed to have given up, turning on to her side and bringing her knees up toward her chest.

Bronwyn! Sylvie berated. She was unresponsive.

Sylvie slapped her.

Bronwyn opened her eyes, their emerald brightness dulled with exhaustion but still expressive enough to reveal the surprise written there.

Arik moved forward, protective of his lifemate, but when he saw Sylvie’s kind and determined expression, his trust in her settled. She knew what she was doing.

"Don’t you give up, Bron! Don’t you dare!" Sylvie urged.

She pushed Bronwyn on to her back and manoeuvred her until she was propped against the pillows in a sitting position.

Arik kissed his lifemate’s forehead and stroked her long, black hair away from her face, his cat’s eyes large and pleading. Come on, love. You can do this. I know you can.

Bronwyn somehow managed to find the strength to start pushing. She emitted a low, wretched groan with each push. After what seemed an age, Sylvie pulled the first child from her slack body.

Arik cried out in desperate triumph, but his relief was short-lived. The tiny boy was silent and unmoving.

Sylvie patted the baby’s back and breathed into his lungs, urging, Come on baby, come on little lad. But her efforts were in vain. The tiny boy lay limp in her hands, his skin an awful, mottled purple colour. Nothing would revive him. He was dead.

Releasing a terrible roar, Arik was only distracted from his grief by the onset of his lifemate’s next set of contractions.

Mercifully, the second delivery was very quick. When she birthed the second baby, Arik braced himself for the arrival of another dead child. As expected, the child was as inanimate as its twin. Sylvie almost dropped her in alarm when she turned her over and found that the baby had no face.

Once Sylvie had recovered from the shock, she realised that the child’s face was not obliterated, but merely covered by one of the shiny, foetal membranes. When this was removed and she had scraped fluid from the baby’s mouth with her little finger, the child screwed up her eyes and let out a mewling cry.

Tears of relief began to flow down Arik’s face.

Sylvie placed the baby in the arms of her mother, who lay grey and debilitated but seemingly undamaged by her ordeal. Well done, Bronnie, well done! she sobbed, tears falling freely down her own face.

Arik rushed forward, kissed Bronwyn, kissed the baby, and wrapped his arms around them both, his large body shaking with great, gulping sobs, his emotions a mangled mass of gratitude and grief.

The touching scene was interrupted by the sibilant voice of Sylas, the tribal Guardian. He had kept so still and quiet, they had almost forgotten about him. You can leave now, woman, the Reptilian said to Sylvie.

Sylvie looked upset and glanced over at Bronwyn. I need to stay, she said. She hasn’t delivered the afterbirth yet.

Sylas’s eyes gleamed like flames. Go now! he spat. Before I have you whipped! Sylvie released a cry of outraged fear and ran out.

Arik was roused by this cruel display of authority and turned from Bronwyn, wiping the moisture from his face. Without her, they both might have died!

"Without me, they all would have died! Sylas declared. You know the bargain you made. Your mate now belongs to us."

I know the bargain we made, Arik conceded, his voice a low growl. But surely you don’t intend to take her this very moment? After what she has just been through? She needs time to recover!

And give you the chance to renege on our agreement and spirit her away somewhere? What kind of simpleton do you take me for? Sylas hissed.

Arik stared at him, disbelieving. You cannot rip a mother from her children like this! How can you be so cruel?

The Reptilian’s eyes narrowed in derision as his forked tongue slid from his mouth. Arik couldn’t control an involuntary shudder at the sight. She is young and will soon be back to strength. She will have more children. Reptilia children.

Never! Arik shouted.

He sprang at Sylas, his body transforming as the restless cat inside him escaped its restraints. Golden fur raced rapidly over his skin and his fingernails lengthened into wickedly sharp claws aimed at Sylas’s face. But the young Reptilian anticipated the attack and moved with the swift, sensuous movements of a snake, avoiding Arik’s lunge. Sylas’s own skin was now swamped with metallic-looking green scales and he bared his fangs, the points sharp and glistening.

You must not fight this. You knew the terms when you accepted them.

I was desperate. I would have done anything to save her. You knew that! Arik entreated.

I gave you my own blood as antidote and you agreed to our price. That price must now be paid. Sylas was unrelenting.

I won’t let you take her! Arik raged.

He was about to leap at him again but was thwarted by the arrival of more Reptilians. There were four of them, dressed in the black cloaks and belted skirts of Enforcers, and they were fully metamorphosed. They held Devlin in their strong grasp, their scales gleaming and their fangs threateningly close to his throat. Devlin was defenceless, not able to call on his still dormant feral abilities.

Do you want to lose your other son as well?

Arik growled at him, all the fur on his body standing up, itching to attack. He looked at Bronwyn, desperation and regret in his hazel eyes. She sat among the bloodied sheets, her arms swaddling her surviving baby, her eyes huge and horrified.

He sheathed his claws and lowered his hands to his sides.

Two of the Reptilians surrounded the bed. Bronwyn cried out as they ripped the baby from her arms. Arik moved forward instinctively, still growling low in his throat, enraged at his own helplessness. One passed his daughter to him. Arik held on to the tiny child tightly as the other grabbed his lifemate. She protested but was too weak to fight him.

Mama! Mama! Devlin screamed, thrashing and twisting in the arms of his captors, his red face contorted with grief and horror.

Settle down, boy! one of the men hissed at him. Settle down or I will bite you!

Bronwyn stopped resisting, now anxious to console her son. Devlin! Don’t fight them, darling. They aren’t going to hurt me. Be a good boy for your Pa. Look after your sister. Her name is Kyra. She glanced across at Arik, who tipped his head in agreement. The father would normally name a child, but he knew this was the first and only gift