Amber Sky Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Praise for Amy Braun

  If you enjoyed AMBER SKY...

  Crimson Sky - Chapter 1

  More From Amy Braun

  AMBER SKY

  A Dark Sky Novella

  Amy Braun

  Amber Sky, a Dark Sky novella by Amy Braun

  © 2016 by Amy Braun. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author.

  Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design

  ISBN: 978-0-9938758-9-2

  For my friends and family.

  Chapter 1

  The fight couldn’t have been going worse.

  I got that Ryland wanted his champion in the Crater. I got that he wanted to give the Runts and the Dogs a show. I even got that he wanted to push me so I’d stronger, faster, better.

  But I didn’t get why he had to pick the two biggest, meanest bastards from the crew to fight me. Two men who wouldn’t stop beating me until I was just a red stain on the ground. The taunts and advice from the crowd over our head didn’t help either.

  “Crush ‘em, Nash!”

  “Come on, Stanner!”

  “Hit him, Dylan, hit him!”

  “Nash is costing me bets! Someone kill him already!”

  Being the Crater’s reigning champ definitely had its drawbacks.

  Stanner moved along the edge of my vision. He lifted his foot, ready to drive it into my head and crush my skull. I rolled, grabbed his foot, and pulled. Stanner barked angrily as he lost his balance and landed hard on the ground. I crunched up and slammed my heel into his chest. There was a loud crack that made Stanner cry out in pain, and gave me a chance to–

  If Dylan hadn’t shouted his rage, I never would have known he was coming. He snapped a kick down at my head. I crossed my arms and blocked him, gritting my teeth as his shinbone connected with the bruises on my arms.

  I pushed his foot away and blocked the punch that sailed toward my head. I surged to my feet and pushed Dylan back. He swung a fist at my skull. I ducked under it and plowed into him. Dylan might have more muscle than me in this two-on-one brawl, but I wasn’t small or helpless.

  The moment he hit the ground, I hammered blows onto him.

  Skin bruised and split under my knuckles. Bones crunched and cracked. I didn’t stop when his eyes swelled shut. I’m not sure I would have stopped at all if a thick forearm hadn’t wrapped around my throat and tightened.

  I clutched the arm and tried to yank it off, but the hold was good. Wasn’t long before my lungs started to burn. Punches started smashing into my battered ribs, each one harder than the last. Weakening me. Keeping me from fighting back.

  But my sight was red. I lost control when I got Dylan on the ground. It was out of my reach now.

  And I didn’t want it back.

  Growling like an animal, I bent my knees and jumped back, letting myself fall onto the ground. Crushing Stanner beneath me. He screamed as my weight pounded on his fractured chest. The arm around my neck was gone.

  Then I rolled off him, and really started the beating.

  Stanner couldn’t move. Probably couldn’t breathe. None of that stopped me from kicking and stomping every part of him I laid eyes on. He tried to kill me. Would have killed me.

  Should have known better.

  “Nash!”

  I stopped. He called my name, shouted it at the top of his lungs. The rest of the crowd fell silent. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d shouted at me.

  I looked over my shoulder, lifted my eyes from the wide dirt pit, and found Ryland.

  He was impossible to miss, nearly twice as big as me, despite his age. Broad shoulders and swollen biceps strained against his black leather vest. With long grey hair hanging to his shoulders and a wild grey beard, Ryland looked every bit as rabid as the snarling dog tattooed on his chest.

  He stood on the rim of the Crater, staring at me with piercing grey eyes. A scowl twisted his weathered face, slowly turning into a smug grin.

  “Congratulations,” he said for the crowd to hear. He looked at the rugged Dogs and the filthy Runts. “Let’s hear it for Nash, still the undefeated Crater champion!”

  Most of the crowd roared with joy. Others booed. I was too tired to care about which I appreciated more.

  A rope ladder was rolled over the edge of the Crater. Before I went to it, I looked back at my opponents. Now that the rage was gone from my vision, I could clearly see what I had done.

  Dylan was still lying in a heap, his face red, swollen, and lumped from bruises and broken bones. Stanner groaned and winced, rolling on the ground with his hands wrapped around his ribs and chest as if to hold his bruised and likely broken bones inside his skin.

  Horror filled my chest, the way it always did when I finished a fight in the Crater. Crushing shame filled my heart and drowned me. I took a couple steps closer to Stanner, wanting to help him.

  He cringed at the sight of me.

  “Nash!”

  I stopped and glanced over my shoulder at my captain. He was waiting impatiently. As far as Ryland was concerned, anyone beaten in the Crater didn’t need help from the Dogs. Until they proved otherwise, they were beneath us. Weak and useless.

  I grabbed the rope ladder and climbed from the Crater, my victory feeling more hollow with every step.

  Chapter 2

  The Runts that didn’t see the fight were waiting for me when I limped back to the den. I wrapped my arms around my middle and shuffled along the wall. As much as I wanted to ignore them, I could feel every slave’s eyes on me.

  Most of them stayed along the opposite walls, not wanting to provoke me. Even if I said the fight was over and I just wanted to sleep, they wouldn’t believe me. I was one of the Stray Dogs, member of one of the dangerous marauder Clans still active in Westraven. Most had been slaughtered in The Storm, or taken to the massive Hellion ship looming in the dark clouds. Those that remained were scattered into small hovels and corners to avoid the raiding skiffs.

  Some survivors, who hadn’t been marauders before— like me— were press-ganged into servitude and able to advance through the Clan’s ranks, though not every Runt had been as lucky as I was.

  If luck was even the right word.

  Keeping to myself, I wandered through the slave den to the earthy archway leading into the Alpha den, ducking my head to the little corner room that was mine for the next few hours. Most of the Stray Dogs slept on the floor in the Alpha den. Since our Clan lived in a series of underground tunnels, there wasn’t much to be done for accommodations or living space. A few sparse rooms were dug into the walls of the cavern and blocked off with sturdy wooden doors. They were the only barriers separating the Runts from the Dogs, the Crater, the holding cells, the electric-room, Ryland’s quarters, and a couple tiny hovels used as healing rooms. I couldn’t see where Stanner and Dylan were, but the other Dogs paid me little mind as I entered the den. Muttered whispers carried through the cavern as I clung to the shadows.

  “Did you see Nash beating on Dylan? Never thought the kid would take that big bastard down.”

  “How about the way Stanner
got scared off? Not like him to be afraid of a boy.”

  “It’s all luck. One of these days, someone’s gonna knock that brat down a peg. Hope it’s me.”

  I sighed and pulled a skeleton key from my pocket, which Ryland had given me after I emerged from the Crater. He insisted that I get some rest and relaxation. I would have found his words comforting if I didn’t know how just he just wanted me to heal fast so I could fight for him again.

  I opened the door and walked inside, happy to have some time alone.

  Except that I wasn’t.

  On the far wall of the room was a wooden pallet with a straw mattress on top. As well as a woman. She turned her head and smiled at me. I was in too much pain to smile back. Even if I hadn’t taken a beating, I don’t think I would have managed so much as a smirk.

  With her long blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and smooth skin, Sonya was undoubtedly beautiful. That came with a price. The Dogs had needs, and when they chose to satisfy them, they were anything but gentle.

  I didn’t know how Sonya dealt with it, being the prize for anyone Ryland was pleased with at the moment. Did she force herself to enjoy it? Was too scared to defy them? Was she used to it by now?

  Seeing her bare, freshly washed skin under the blanket from on top of the mattress made her intentions impossibly clear.

  I closed the door behind me and shifted on my feet, trying not to look at her and remember how that skin had felt under my hands.

  “I didn’t think you’d be here,” I muttered.

  “Of course I am,” She smiled, but I saw the tension in her eyes and heard it in her voice. “You won the fight, which means you won me.”

  I winced. Sonya frowned and I quickly looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just… The fight gave me some new bruises and I kind of lost it, and…”

  I thought we’d stopped doing this.

  Last year, when I turned sixteen and won my first fight of the year, Ryland offered Sonya to me as a gift. I knew who she was. She was always kind to me. But I didn’t know what she did for the crew.

  She showed me that night.

  It was also the first time I found out her bruises weren’t very different from mine.

  Sonya did her best, but it had been awkward and uncomfortable. Every slight movement caused one of us to wince. I hadn’t known if I’d been too rough with her because of the bruises and even with her gentle instructions, I hadn’t known if I was doing the right thing to her.

  Afterward, when we lay on the mattress with nothing but bare skin and a woolly blanket to keep us warm, Sonya told me that I’d been her gentle and hadn’t hurt her. It was the others who did. She told me she trusted me and felt safe with me.

  The more fights I won, the more I learned from Sonya. Our lovemaking was slow and delicate, and when I tried to change it, I could see the fear grow in her eyes. Fear that I would become too wild, too much like the other lovers she’d had.

  I told her I would never hurt her, that I would protect her from them. I even told her that I loved her, and believed it.

  But Sonya had shaken her head. This isn’t love, Nash. It’s comfort, and that isn’t the same thing, she’d told me.

  For the next few months, things were even more awkward between us. I tried to convince her that I loved her. I was even more gentle with her when we lay together. I held her, stroked her hair, did everything I could to make her feel like the most precious person in the world.

  When Sonya couldn’t stand it anymore, she broke my heart.

  I don’t love you, Nash, she’d whispered. I care about you, but I lost the love of my life in The Storm. No one will replace him, and I don’t want anyone to try. Then she’d offered me a small smile and said, But if I’m sure of anything, it’s that you’ll find another girl to love. And when you do, she’ll be the luckiest girl in the world.

  Sonya may have broken my heart, but that she introduced me to lust, love, and passion made me glad to have slept with her. I recalled those sensations when they’d been at their peak. I wanted them again, and wanted them with someone who would extend them my way.

  Pulling free of the memories of us, I walked from the door to the pail of clean water resting on a crate of clothes and medical supplies. All things she must have brought me before coming into the room and stripping off her clothes.

  “You’re not in the mood at all, are you?”

  Hearing her voice outside of my memory sent me back to reality. I glanced over my shoulder to where she was sitting up on the mattress, the sheet clutched loosely to her chest, exposing the top curves of her ample breasts.

  Sonya tilted her head, golden hair spilling down her shoulders. “Or are you?”

  Her husky purr and the playful smile on her lips sent a warm shiver through my stomach, and curled well below my belt. Heat rose in my cheeks and I quickly turned to the wash bin.

  “No, I… I mean, I didn’t remember you might be here.” I winced. “I mean, I didn’t forget you, I wouldn’t do that because you’re gorgeous, but I… um…”

  I dipped my fingers in the lukewarm water and slapped my wet hands against my face.

  My sputtering died off when Sonya gently laughed behind me. “It’s all right, Nash. I think I picked up what you were trying to say.” She fell silent, but I felt her eyes on me for a long time.

  “Are you all right?” Sonya finally asked.

  “Yeah, just…” I looked at the dirt under my feet. “The fight was rough.”

  “I can see that,” she said, trying to make light of the situation. “I have to stay here for at least ten minutes. Long enough for Ryland to think I did something.” She paused, then asked, “Do you want help with your wounds?”

  I was tempted to say no. I could take care of the wounds myself. I’d learned to do so before I learned how to touch a woman. But it was just us here. I’d shared my body with Sonya and offered her my heart. She hadn’t betrayed or laughed at me. She was someone I could trust, even if she didn’t love me the way I’d tried to love her.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” I mumbled. “But can you please put some clothes on?”

  “Nash Worthington, are you saying you’d give into temptation if I cleaned your wounds while I was naked?”

  My lips curled downward. It had been a long time since I’d heard my last name. Sonya was the only one I’d ever told it to.

  “My brain would say no, but my body…” Recollections of her pale skin under my dark, rough calluses and her soft moans of pleasure sent another hot ripple through my belly. I gathered more water and threw it on my face.

  Sonya laughed. “All right, all right, give me a minute.”

  The sheets rustled as Sonya pulled on her clothes. A few seconds later, she padded to my side dressed in a simple, threadbare dress with tattered edges. A piece of cloth that did little to compliment her beauty. An insult to a woman who deserved so much better.

  Sonya’s gentle smile faded as she looked at the bruises, dirt, and blood coating my skin. She reached into the crate, took out a moderately clean cloth, dabbed it in the water, and rubbed the grime off my face. Her smile was gone the moment she started touching me.

  “You know it won’t get any better, right?” she said. “This is the most we can ever hope for.”

  I looked at my reflection in the murky water. “I know.”

  “Then why do you fight it? You have protection. Food. A room to sleep in for a few nights. You can have me. Might not be the life you dreamed of, but it’s better than most. Don’t you want a little bit of happiness? Can’t this be enough?”

  I watched the water ripple, an obscured mirror of myself.

  “Could be. But it’s not.”

  Sonya kissed my cheek and tried to make casual conversation as she cleaned and wrapped my wounds. Thankfully nothing was broken this time. I did my best to be polite and friendly so she would smile, but my mind was on autopilot. I barely even noticed when she left.

  Sonya’s words nag
ged at me when I was alone. Pushed against what I believed.

  Three years of fighting for my life in the Crater taught me how to survive. But not how to live. And that was what I was hoping for.

  A life where I didn’t have to suffer in battles for my life. Where I could trust someone on my own terms. Where I could fall in love again without worrying that I’d only be a way to pass time.

  Stupid hopes in a world overrun with bloodthirsty monsters and cold-hearted warlords. But I remembered my life before The Storm. I remembered having a family. Being safe. Cared for.

  I wanted those feelings to come back more than anything, but the more I fought, the more I saw, the more my hope began to fade.

  Chapter 3

  Being around the Runts should have made me feel lucky that I wasn’t considered one of them anymore. Ryland and the Dogs considered them lower than dirt, men and women debased and abused until they lost all strength and willpower. They looked empty and weak, like beaten children with the most basic needs. I felt pity every time I looked at them.

  I moved the supply crates into their hundred- foot den, a tiny space with ragged, patchy fabric strewn across the ground to serve as blankets. I knew from experience that the fabric was scratchy and so thin you could feel every rock that stabbed into your back when you tried to sleep.

  Dirty cookware sat discarded on the bare patches of dark brown earth where small fires would be made to cook dismal amounts of food. The Runts were given scraps– which I was currently bringing them– so the air constantly smelled rotten. The putrid stench wasn’t helped by the holes dug in the ground to serve as chamber pots. The only light in the area came from the dim light bulbs strung around the room, hammered into the wooden beams that supported the ceiling.

  Sadder than the living conditions were the Runts themselves. The grime and dirt covering their bodies did nothing to hide the bones I spotted under the burlap sacks they used as clothing. At least on those lucky enough to have “clothes.” Some of the Runts wore nothing at all.