Birthright

CHAPTER ONE

Any normal fifteen-year-old would have run scared at the sight of the big redhead and his goons, but Kray wasn't like most boys. The past six years in the province of Saranth had taught him to shield himself against those who hated him, to bluff his way out of every situation, and to blindly go on the offense and hope he was the one standing when the smoke cleared.

This was one of those times when offense was necessary.

All five of boys, including Kray, stood on a path in a secluded area of Berkley Park. It was close to six in the evening, and little sunlight shone through the canopy of tall pines. The spring air had been chilly throughout the day and now that the sun was setting, its little warmth was quickly dissipating. Kray had been cutting through the woods, heading toward Liberation, when he'd heard cries of pain, and laughter. Familiar laughter.

He hadn't been surprised when he rounded a corner and saw Oliver Nourse and his band of idiots standing over Malkan Kovos, a dark-haired boy who had no chance against a bully like Oliver. Not because he was weak; he was bigger than all of them and strongly built. But Malkan didn't dare attack Oliver. A Sanser would never get away with striking a human, no matter how much that human deserved a punch in the face.

Oliver stepped away from his victim, sneering at Kray. "You sure you want to do this, traitor boy?"

The phrase traitor boy burned like acid in Kray's stomach. It wasn't true, of course—he might help them now and then, but he'd never betray his kind for the Sansers—but it still hurt him. It reminded him of a day like this six years ago when he'd been a naïve child new to the Mainland, and how quickly the humans turned against him when they found out about his parents.

"What's the matter, Ollie?" Kray taunted. "Beating on Sansers because you don't have the guts to take on anything other than a punching bag? Afraid of getting hit back?"

"I'm gonna' mess your face up," Oliver snarled. "Then we'll see who's afraid of taking a hit, you traitor piece of—"

"Cut the girl talk and get over here." Kray kept his voice and body language casual, though his blood was boiling with anger and eagerness for a fight. In this way, he and Oliver were the same. They both enjoyed getting physical, but the only difference was the targets they picked. Oliver liked pounding into weaker targets, hurting them because he could. Kray enjoyed the rush of a good and honest fight.

But a moment like this, the lines were blurred. He would love nothing more than to hurt Oliver.

Oliver spit near Malkan's feet. "Get out of here. Now!"

The boy rose, shot an apologetic glance Kray's way, and raced off.

Kray wasted no time feeling annoyed over being abandoned to fight someone else's fight. All of his attention was focused on the bully approaching him with determined strides.

It had been a month since they last fought. A lot could have changed in a month, and Kray hoped this was in his favor. It should be; Oliver didn't work out as much as he did. He had no reason to, since he wasn't training to become a Meta. But Kray didn't underestimate him. Not only was his opponent burly and had incredible strength, he also fought dirty.

A slight shift in Oliver's left foot gave away his surprise attack. Kray blocked the punch, grunting when his forearm smarted, and retaliated with a quick jab to the ribs. The next hit landed on his jaw, but he barely felt it through the adrenaline. Realizing Oliver was stupid enough to target his face alone, he shielded it against the attacks and waited until he had a good opening before driving his fists repeatedly into Oliver's stomach and chest.

Oliver ducked low and tackled him to the ground. Kray fell on his back, cracking his head against the hard dirt. Cackling, Oliver began pounding him in the jaw, nose, cheekbones. "You know that blast that killed your parents?" he said between hits. "Wish you'd been in it. Less Sanser-loving trash for the Metas to deal with later."