[English] KNIGHT AWAKENED

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Another strange sensation rolled through her, followed by the red mist. Afina squirmed against the hard wagon bed, trying to quash the tingle working its way from fingertips to her shoulders. She flexed her hands, curling and uncurling them in her cloak. Had she been sitting in the same position too long? Were her limbs falling asleep?

It didn’t feel like it, but the explanation made sense. Mayhap the cold combined with confinement had—

“If you wish to live, don’t fight,” the girl said, her haunted gaze darting to Afina then away again. “Just do what they want.”

The tingle settled, drawing a soft circle on the small of her back. Afina sucked in a shaky breath and glanced at the ugly welts on the girl’s skin. “You didn’t.”

The split in her bottom lip trembled. “Don’t fight. They’ll hurt you worse.”

As if understanding the message, Sabine whimpered. The sound of distress bumped along Afina’s spine. The strangle prickle spiked, hitting the base of her skull as she rubbed a gentle circle on her cherub’s back. Moisture threatened in the corners of her eyes. She pushed the tears away. She must stay calm. The more afraid she became, the more terrified her daughter would become.

“How long have you been...” Afina almost said with them. But she knew that wasn’t right. No one, least of all a woman, would be with this group, not by choice. “Here?”

“T-three days.”

“Is there anyone who—”

“No one.” Were it possible, the girl became even smaller, curling in on herself like an opossum, nose tucked to belly. “They k-killed my father to take me.”

Just like they had killed Xavian.

Afina’s vision blurred before she caught herself. A picture of him sprawled face down in a pool of his own blood surfaced and despair settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She picked up the weight and tossed it aside, grabbing for the image she’d created earlier. Twin swords, she reminded herself...twin swords carried by big, strong hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not nearly as much as me,” the girl said, her thread-barren voice raw with pain.

Silence settled as they waited for the day to fade into dusk. The sway and bump of the wagon, the leering threat of men, the red mist, the tingle and setting sun constant things around her, she finally said, “I am Afina.”

Matching her tone, the girl whispered back, “Maiya.”

Afina nodded, feeling a certain triumph at having discovered the girl’s name. The sharp taste of victory faded, however, when the thugs turned off the road. As the wagon thumped down a hill toward the small dell beyond, the eerie prickle drew her tight. A scrolling list of if onlys raced through her mind, but it was too late.

She’d done this to herself. And no one was going to save her.

The one with the beard would be the first to die. The mangy bastard had looked at Afina one too many times. Had said something as well, and although Xavian wasn’t close enough to hear he knew from her reaction that it had scared her.

He didn’t like her fear, but he was too angry to care much why. The why of the thing would have to wait. The how of things he had all worked out.

The slavers didn’t know he followed, hunting them from a distance. No one ever did...until he struck. Then the blood flowed. Always in silence as he gave his prey no chance to scream. This time would be different. He wanted to hear them squeal like stuck pigs. To beg for their lives even as they realized no quarter would be given. Mercy wasn’t in the cards. Only brutality would do; would satisfy the howl of possessiveness inside his head.

’Twas their punishment for touching her. For frightening her and the little one she protected.

The caravan veered right, heading for a copse of pale trees. His gaze left the scum riding alongside the wagon to touch Afina. Curled around Sabine, the child’s blond hair barely visible beneath her cloak, she looked composed enough. But Xavian knew better. Even at a distance, he saw the strain in her expression. And she was breathing too fast. Thin clouds rushed between her lips, coming one on top of the other, frosting the cold air that descended with the gloom of twilight.

The prison cart slowed then stopped, swaying in the dimness. With the slash of his hand, he signaled to his men and dismounted. As he moved on silent feet through the underbrush, his focus shifted back to the one with the beard. The bastard unlocked the wagon door. He swung the barrier wide and crooked his finger at Afina.

Stone-cold aggression slid through his veins. The killer deep inside him—the one he kept leashed—seethed, begging for freedom. Focused on his prey, Xavian unsheathed his knives and let the monster loose.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Iron hinges creaked as the cage door swung wide, leaving the thug framed in the open doorway. Freedom lay just beyond him, but Afina knew she would never make it to the forest. He blocked the exit too well and his companions were too many. Even if she got past him, the others would run her to ground like a fox chased by a pack of hounds.

“Get out.” Bearded chin tipped down, he stared at her from beneath his brows, fingers flexing as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. “And leave the cub, *****cat.”

Maiya moved, her crab-like shuffle painful to watch as she approached the opening. A low whimper came on each rasp of breath, and as the girl passed, she brushed the toe of Afina’s foot. She drew her legs in, giving Maiya the room she needed to reach the door.

Head low, Maiya shot her a furtive glance. “D-don’t.”

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Afina almost told her to go to the devil. Unkind, she knew, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was fight: to lift her booted foot, slam it into the thug’s bushy face, and flatten his nose. If she got lucky, she might drive the bone straight into his brain. Not that he had much of one. What little he possessed no doubt ran on one track—the one where pain and the anticipation of delivering it rode—and unfortunately for her? She was planted between the rails.

Collision inevitable.

Drawing in a shallow breath, she kissed Sabine’s temple then the tip of her nose as she undid the tie holding her cloak in place. Her daughter would need the added warmth. As Afina lifted Sabine from her lap, she arranged the soft fur around her, praying it would shield her as well. She didn’t want her cherub to witness...or see...

Tears burned her throat. An impatient growl came from the end of the wagon, and with quick hands, Afina tucked Sabine’s blond curls behind her ears and the cloak around her wee head.

Her daughter stared at her, eyes huge in her small face. “Mama.”

“Sabine, love, stay here,” she said, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “Mama will be right back.”

“Move it, woman.”

Little hands grabbed at her. “Mama...no go.”

“It’s all right, cherub.” Afina faked a smile, pulled the fur tighter around her daughter then shuffled backward toward the door. The rough wood of the wagon bed scraped her knees, but she kept her gaze steady on Sabine, trying to keep her calm. “Mama will be right back.”

As soon as she reached striking distance, a large hand grabbed her upper arm and hauled her sideways through the door. She kicked against the rough frame, trying to stay clear of the metal stairs. Her left foot dragged and caught, pulling her leg straight as it slid between two stair treads. The thug yanked. Afina screamed as her knee twisted, agony driving a spike deep before it clawed her from ankle to hip.

“Mama!” Sabine’s high-pitched wail scraped Afina raw. “Mama! No go...Mama!”

The slaver laughed. “Told you I’d make you scream.”

Holding onto the back of her calf with one hand, Afina shoved at the thug with the other. He grabbed a handful of hair and, bending her sideways, bashed her head against the side of the wagon. Stars exploded before the twinkling turned and black spots swam in her vision.

“Bastard!”

Blood seeped from her temple then oozed across her cheekbone. He sneered and wrenched on her boot, releasing her foot from the tread’s hold. Air rushed from her lungs, agony along with it as he fisted his hand in her gown and hauled her to her feet. Pulled in his wake around the end of the cage, Afina hopped on her right foot, dragging her injured one behind her.

Sabine’s screaming sobs echoed in the crisp air, rebounding around the clearing.

The thug cursed.

The amulet growled, a silent protest that pounded between Afina’s temples as he shoved her against the solid wood at the front of the wagon. “Make the little bitch stop.”

“C-can’t.” Afina wheezed, fear and pain making her breaths come short and fast. “Needs me.”

He grabbed her throat, squeezed, and lifted. The toe of her right boot barely touching the ground, she wrapped both hands around his wrist to loosen his hold as the air in her lungs became thinner and thinner.

“Then she’ll scream, but you do exactly what I want or...” He trailed off and pressed her harder against the wood at her back. He leaned in, foul breath tracing her mouth before he glanced to his left. “Your cub gets cut. Right, Bruno?”

Afina turned her head, straining against the grip on her throat. A dark man, just as scruffy as the brute holding her, stood with a dagger in his hand. He tested the tip for sharpness then ran the blade along the bars. Metal grazed metal, the soft clink as ominous as her daughter’s wails mere feet from where Bruno stood.

“Right,” Bruno said, his eyes cold as he stared at Sabine.

Afina closed her own. The canny bastard. With a few well-placed words, he’d stripped her of the right to fight. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t. Not now. She wouldn’t risk Sabine. She could endure anything—anything—as long as her daughter remained untouched.

He shook her, thumping her head against wood. “Whatever I want, *****cat.”

Bile threatened her throat. “W-whatever you w-want.”

“Good.” A smile beneath the beard, he dropped his hand from her throat to grab her breast. As his fingers bit into her flesh, Afina turned her face away. He chuckled, tightened his already fierce grip and fisted his free hand in her skirt, thigh level. Cool air hit her calves as he raised the wool. “Let’s see what treasures lie beneath. Time for the first ride, *****cat.”

She clenched her teeth, trying to keep them from chattering as she retreated—mind, body and soul—to a time and place she felt safe. Xavian’s face surfaced. She swam toward it, needing him and his steady strength to see her through. To help her block out Sabine: the relentless wailing, the horror of the foul-smelling thug, and the reality of what was about to happen.

Something warm splashed across her cheek.

Her captor’s grip went lax. Afina opened her eyes and looked into his dark ones. Surprise drained from his gaze until nothing but emptiness remained, and he listed sideways. Her attention jumped to his neck. The tip of a black dagger protruded from one side of his throat, the hilt flush against skin on the other. As the thug went down, he took her with him, but not before she saw Xavian across the clearing, a knife in one hand, nothing in the other.

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Xavian pinwheeled, unsheathing his twin swords midspin. The failing light glinted off the blades, forewarning, challenging, inciting those closing ranks to come closer. The first swing struck full force. Teeth rattled and blood splattered, painting the turf crimson as the slaver’s head hit the ground. He barely noticed, too intent on reaching Afina. She’d gone down, pulled sideways by the bastard as he fell.

Jesu, she wasn’t moving. He couldn’t see her moving.

Sabine’s screams throbbed through the clearing. Like a winch pulling cable, each wail drew him tighter, and control became a distant memory. Teeth bared, he whirled and sliced, cleaving flesh from bone, delivering death with each blow. Men dropped at his feet. He stepped over them, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, single-minded focus on Afina and Sabine.

The little one stopped howling.

The silence pressed against Xavian’s breastbone, boring deep as the clang of steel and gasps of dying men filled the void. Christ, was the baby—

He sidestepped, moving left to avoid an enemy’s blade. With a thrust, he pierced the bastard’s heart and looked toward the wagon.

Empty. Naught but the crumpled shell of the cloak sat on the wagon bed.

Xavian’s heart stopped inside his chest. Rahat. Where the—

“Got her!” Andrei’s voice rose above the clash of swords and curse of men.

The shout accompanied a whirl of movement from the other side of the cart. One arm around Sabine, Andrei tucked her tight against his hip. She pressed her wee face into his shoulder as he shifted to shield her from attack. Two slavers closed in, trying to pin him against the side of the wagon. Xavian saw a blur of black and a flash of steel. One man jerked, face gone blank as Andrei spun left. With a flick of his blade, he decapitated the second man before the first hit the ground.

He met Andrei’s gaze through a gap in the metal bars. “Go!”

Andrei pivoted, holding Sabine, and ran for the horses concealed in the woods.

Xavian watched his retreat then swung right to engage the three poised to strike. Cristobal mirrored him, settling into a fight triangle that was one man short. Trained in the same unit, they caught the other’s rhythm, each swing timed with precision and edged by grace. The smell of blood and urine in the air, men screamed and fell, littering the path as Xavian cut his way toward Afina.

Halfway to his target, the bearded bastard moved. Xavian clenched his teeth, praying that the slaver was dead. Logic told him he was—that his dagger had flown straight and true—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t. What if he’d missed...been an inch off target? A man could live with a spike through his neck, at least for a while.

What if the bastard had his hands wrapped around Afina’s throat?

Rahat. Let her be alive.

He fought harder. Spun with dizzying speed. Taking enemy heads and limbs without mercy or regret. He needed to reach her—had given his word to protect her, and he would keep it, even if it killed him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sabine was screaming; a terror-filled wail that left tiny pieces of Afina’s heart scattered inside her rib cage. The shards jabbed, sharp edges digging into flesh until all she wanted to do was give agony a voice and scream herself. She planted her hands and pushed instead, fingers tearing at the tunic of the bastard bleeding all over her.

The goddess help her, she needed to get out from under him. Bruno had a knife. He was hurting her cherub and she couldn’t get free to stop him.

“Please, help me.” The prayer was more sob than plea. Twisting her hands in the linen at the dead man shoulders, she closed her eyes, reaching deep to find a faith long forgotten. “Great goddess of the moon, of shadow and light, hear me now. Help me.”

The amulet pulsed, sending shockwaves arcing before it started to sing. The trill tripped into sorrowfulness as though adding its appeal to Afina’s, and heat pooled in her fingertips.

Afina shoved again. The corpse rolled, spinning with astonishing speed in the opposite direction. She stared at it a moment, surprise an empty echo in her mind.

The amulet hummed, and a voice whispered, “Welcome, daughter.”

She barely registered the soft words. And didn’t have time to wonder. Her daughter was—

Sabine stopped screaming.

The silence sliced, cutting Afina wide open, shattering her ability to move. One moment ticked into another before she shook herself, fighting through fear to grab the edge of the wagon bed. She needed to make sure her baby was still there...still whole and breathing. The air felt flat, too thin to breathe as she hauled hard, pulling to her feet. Her ankle gave out, and pain shot in a blistering streak up her leg only to slam into her hipbone. She fell sideways, a strangled cry in her throat as her knee folded.

A man shouted, his voice carrying over the clash of steel. Another answered.

Through the blur, Afina recognized the voices. Andrei? Xavian? Did they have Sabine?

Dear goddess, please...please, please, please.

On her knees in the dirt, she tried to focus...to hear over the screaming horses and cursing men. A black flash brought her head around. Andrei. Sword raised, he sprinted toward the edge of the forest, a golden-haired bundle in his arms.

“Run!” The force of Afina’s scream came out whisper-thin. The sounds of death and the smell of blood swallowed it whole, but she didn’t care. Her baby was safe, each of Andrei’s long strides taking her farther from the heart-wrenching violence.

A tear rolled over her bottom lash. Even knowing he couldn’t hear her, she rasped, “Run.”

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“Afina!” Xavian’s snarl snapped her attention left.

Twin swords flashing, he spun, severing a slaver’s head with the ease of scissors on thread. Blood flew, splattering the man beside the dead one with crimson. With a bellow, the thug turned, eyes wild, retreat in the lines of his face, searching for the quickest escape. His hunted look turned to one of determination when it landed on her.

Her heart went loose inside her chest.

“Retreat,” the strange voice said. “Retreat to safety, child.”

Xavian echoed the sentiment and, slashing another slaver, roared, “Move!”

Damp earth pushing between her fingers, Afina scuttled backward. Under the wagon now, she pivoted on her knees and crawled toward the opposite side. The horses reared. The cart lurched and went sideways. Old leaves hit her in the face as the wheels bit, mounding dirt against the rounded wells. The one next to her dug a trench, sliding closer as the horses bucked against the wedge locking them in place.

The beasts protested, high-pitched shrieks snaking through the air. Blood rushed in her ears and into her muscles, giving her the strength to keep moving. She was almost there. Just a little farther, and—

Someone grabbed her from behind.

She yanked on her skirt. The bastard’s grip held then tugged, trying to drag her from beneath the cart. Her teeth clenched, Afina flipped onto her back, planted the heel of her uninjured foot in the ground, and kicked with the other. She bashed the back of the slaver’s hand. His curse echoed her own as pain shot up from her ankle.

His arm arched, swiping at her. Musty leaves and the scent of fear all around her, Afina scurried for the other side. She could hear him behind her, felt his breath on her neck as he pursued her farther under the wagon. Panting with exertion, she whispered Xavian’s name over and over to borrow his strength. She could do it, escape the man after her. Xavian was fighting his way toward her. All he needed was time...just moments more.

Rolling free of the wheels, she crawled over a dead man. She tried not to look at his wide, blank eyes, too intent on the wicked-looking hatchet in his limp hand. A weapon. She needed one, something sharp to hold the bastard slithering behind her at bay.

Concentration set on the handle, she reached, stretching hard to gain it. Just as she grasped the leather-wrapped hilt, a big hand seized her thigh. He laughed, hot breath puffing out like a call to victory. With a hiss, Afina turned, hatchet raised high, and swung, aiming for his wrist. The razor-sharp blade bit, slicing through flesh to find the bone. The slaver jerked, a horrific howl in his throat, and flailed backward.

Afina lost her grip.

The weapon went skyward. She watched it spin, head over handle, until it landed with a thud six feet away. Glancing from it to the slaver, now clutching his arm in white-faced disbelief, Afina experienced the same bewilderment. Had she done that? It didn’t seem real, but the blood running from his almost-severed wrist told a different tale. No matter how much he deserved it, she couldn’t...

Dear goddess. The urge to apologize, to find her satchel and tend the wound hit her full force.

Cristobal rounded the end of the wagon, the tips of both swords running red. “Afina, are you—”

A woman’s scream split the air.

Afina’s head whipped around so fast it nearly fell off her shoulders. Oh, no...Maiya.

A knife in each hand, the man in purple held a blade to the girl’s throat. Pressing another against her abdomen, he backed them toward a roped enclosure. Horses paced inside, the scent of blood whipping them into a frenzy. The goddess preserve her, the bastard was getting away.

“Ma rahat.”

The curse told Afina all she needed to know. Cristobal was too far away to stop the slaver’s flight. And Xavian...where the devil was he? Was he...had they—

“No,” Afina said, voice soft with gathering fury. “No.”

She couldn’t allow it. He was the cause of it all. Had the bastard left them alone, Sabine would never have been in danger. Maiya would not have been brutalized. And Xavian wouldn’t be...he wouldn’t be...dead.

Red mist washed in behind her eyes. Afina glanced toward the hatchet. She needed to reach it and stop the slaver’s escape. If only she could...

Her vision dimmed, narrowing on the back of his tunic.

An echo in her mind, the voice murmured, “Concentrate, child. See it, and so it shall be.”

She painted a picture in her mind’s eye. Envisioned her hand around the handle. Felt its weight and her strength as she threw it. Oh, if only she had the strength to throw it.

One moment the image was nothing more than a thought, and the next? The hatchet was flying end over end through the air. It struck with a thunk, dead center, cutting through flesh and bone to split the slaver’s head in two. Blood spilled in a river, flowing down the back of his head as he fell.

The amulet chirped as though it approved.

Belly down in the dirt, Afina stared, teetering on the rim of coherence.

What was happening to her? The red mist and headaches, the swirling heat in her fingertips and strange voice...none of it made sense or felt familiar. That ill-advised moment with Xavian had fractured more than her maidenhead. It had somehow touched her soul. Now she lay broken, perched on the edge of a chasm into the unknown.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Afina couldn’t take another moment. She was going to be sick. The motion of the horse beneath her—the blur of tree limbs and the cruel slap of frosty air—turned her inside out, sending her stomach into a freefall. She gagged and clung to the saddle horn to keep her perch.

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Xavian was inhuman. How could he travel at such an unrelenting pace?

They’d been riding for over an hour: on narrow trails, up hills, around twists and turns, cutting through a forest no sane person would ever have entered. Were she brave enough, she would throw something at the back of his head, rein in, and rail at him until her throat hurt. The problem? She couldn’t find the courage. Was too afraid he would yell back.

She didn’t want his fury, even though she deserved it. Her escape had put them all at risk. Sabine could have been killed, along with his men, and Afina knew they would never forgive her.

Such foolishness. She hadn’t gained a thing. Except mayhap Xavian’s disgust.

He hated her now, couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Even without him saying so, she knew what he planned. He was riding hell-bent to Castle Raul, intent on dumping her in Vladimir’s lap. It was the only explanation—particularly since he’d tossed her in the saddle and ordered Cristobal to take Maiya in a different direction.

Two years spent running...for what? To end up back where she started? Only this time she didn’t have her sister to shield her. Bianca was dead, and how was Afina going to honor her memory? By breaking her vow and leaving Sabine to grow up without a mother’s love to hold her.

Goddess forgive her, she’d failed them all.

Afina closed her eyes to hold the tears at bay. The slow swing of inevitability pulled her off balance, making her head spin and stomach churn. One hand pressed over her mouth, she swallowed the burn, determined to stay on the horse and keep what little remained of her pride. The beast had other ideas and, tossing its head, sidestepped. She lost her grip and slid in the opposite direction. The ground rose to meet her, and she landed with a bone-jarring thump.

Dead leaves and dirt flew up, surrounding her in a cloud of dust. She ignored her aches and pains, more concerned with her stomach as she crawled toward the edge of the trail. Unable to control it, she heaved, bringing up nothing but air and bile.

“Rahat.”

Horse’s hooves pivoted then galloped back toward her. On her knees amid small bushes and damp turf, Afina threw up again. Xavian’s boots touched down a few feet away. Flicking the reins over his horse’s neck, he knelt, coming to his haunches at her side.

“Afina,” he said, his voice sounding far away.

“Go...away.”

“Nay.” With gentle hands, he drew her back until she sat on one hip, both legs curled beneath her. Her ankle throbbed in time with her heart as he looped her hair around one hand and brought a flask to her mouth with the other. “Drink.”

She jerked and turned her face away.

“Easy, draga...be easy.” He released her hair to cup the nape of her neck. His fingers shifting through her hair, he stroked at her sore muscles.

Better than a soothing balm, his touch unlocked the tension. With a sigh, Afina curled into him, needing his warmth more than the water. His arms tightening around her, he murmured and tucked her head beneath his chin. The red mist receded, sweeping aside the jumbled mess inside her head along with the nausea.

“Apologies, love. Had I realized how bad—”

“My fault...not yours.” She snuggled closer, searching for his scent beneath the smell of blood and death. “I shouldn’t have run. Should have known I’d never make it, but I had to try.”

He coaxed her to take a sip. Cool liquid trickled down her throat, soothing the soreness as he asked, “Why then?”

She shook her head. “How much longer do I have?”

Xavian drew away to look at her, a clear question in his eyes.

“Before you deliver me to Vladimir.”

“Afina, I’m not—”

“Promise me you’ll look after her.” Afina clutched at his arm, fear for her daughter binding her heart. Sabine’s future was more important than hers. Despite what he intended, she knew if Xavian gave his word he would keep it. “Promise me.”

“Who, love?”

“Sabine.” Tears filled her eyes then spilled over her lashes to nest in her hairline. “Please...she cannot come with me. He’ll hurt her. Please, keep her safe. Give her a good home after I’m gone.”

“Jesu, Afina.” Expression set, he scooped her off the ground and stood. Strides long and even, he crossed the trail toward a huge beech tree. Spread like a fan above them, the canopy swayed, pushed by the soundless rhythm of the wind. Afina swallowed as he set her down on a moss-covered log. His knees hit the ground on either side of her, caging her with his strong thighs and big body.

She shivered. “I don’t blame you.”

“For what?”

“For needing the coin,” she said, her voice so soft she barely heard it. Pressing her hands between her knees, she tried to chase the chill in her blood—in her heart—away. “Vladimir is wealthy and willing to pay, but—”

“Stop.” He framed her face with his hands and, wiping at her tears, forced her to meet his gaze. “I’m not taking you to the bastard.”

“I don’t understand. I thought...you said...how...”

“Vladimir approached me...offered me coin to track you.”

“But you don’t intend to—”

“I told him I would find you. I never said I’d bring you back.”

She frowned, confusion warring with relief. “But you sent Cristobal away. If you aren’t taking me to...where are we going?”

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“The hot springs. You need a bath, and the warm water will help with the pain.” He brushed another tear away and released her. Settling back on his heels, he cupped her calf and set her injured foot on the top of his thigh.

Agony came calling, licking up her leg like fire. Afina bit down on a whimper and tried to keep her bottom from walking along the log.

“Hurts?”

Unable to answer through clenched teeth, she nodded then squirmed when he flipped her skirt above her knee.

“Relax, draga,” he murmured, sweeping gentle circles up the back of her calf.

Magic in his fingertips, he increased the pressure, massaging to ease the muscle. Each stroke lessened the pain, drew comfort a little closer, and slowed her heartbeat until her eyelids felt too heavy. Eyes drifting closed, Afina fell into his rhythm, let the heat in his hands lull her into relaxation.

Cool air touched her thigh. Afina twitched then sighed when Xavian’s hands followed. Calloused and warm, one circled her knee while the other traveled, cupping the back of her thigh. He stayed there a moment then shifted to massage the top of her leg on an upward glide. Alarm bells sounded somewhere inside her head. Afina ignored them. The stroke and release of his hands felt too good to stop. The terrible throb was almost gone.

A warm rush of air brushed her before Xavian’s mouth touched down. His whiskers pricked her skin as he drew a heated trail down the top of her thigh. Afina opened her eyes. Xavian nuzzled the inside of her knee and raised his head.

“Better?”

“Ah-huh.”

“Good.” A wicked gleam in his eyes, his hands continued to play, massaging in wide circles as he dipped his head again. Afina held her breath as he planted a gentle kiss on her knee. “Now tell me. Why is Vladimir after you?”

His tone was quiet, the question delivered with an innocent lilt designed to coax an answer. Still Afina hesitated. Could she trust him with her secret? It was the ultimate question, one she had struggled with since he’d taken her from Severin. A number of things stood in his favor—the fact he didn’t intend to give her to Vladimir chief among them. But in the end, it all came down to one thing. Anyone who helped her would always be in danger.

If she told him the truth of her heritage—all the awful things that always happened because of it—she put him in jeopardy. Drachaven wouldn’t be safe from Vladimir. The swine would lay siege to Xavian’s home and kill everyone in it. The only chance she held was to hide, to stay one step ahead of him.

“You need to let me go,” she said, hearing the panic in her voice. “He won’t stop. Ever. He’ll—”

“Stop protecting everyone but yourself and tell me.”

Afina chewed on her bottom lip. He held her gaze, hands skimming her skin, waiting for her to obey. A new plan took shape. Mayhap the truth was the only way. If he knew her history—the terrible legacy given to her at birth—he would turn away.

Between one heartbeat and the next, she told him...everything. She didn’t make it look pretty. Didn’t cover up her mother’s viciousness or gloss over Bianca’s death. Even went so far and told him what he had unleashed by his possession in the stables. No, she didn’t understand it—wasn’t sure what it meant or even what she was now capable of—but she refused to tell him that. She wanted him to run...for him to take her to Sabine and let them both go.

“A high priestess,” he said, so low Afina barely heard him.

“Yes,” she whispered back, accepting her legacy even as she wished to erase it.

“He will hunt me to the ends of this world to take the throne.” Afina gripped his forearms, willing him to understand. “It would be safer...better for you and Drachaven...if you let me go.”

“I told you once, now I’ll say it again. You belong to my circle. Mine.” His gaze bore into hers, his determination unmistakable. “Accept it, draga. Vladimir will never take you from me.”

“Xavian,” she said, gratefulness and fear a mixed-up mess inside her chest. “I know you mean well, but—”

“Christ, don’t move.”

Afina tensed, her focus on the hard planes of his face. “W-what?”

“Do. Not. Move.” He shifted, the movement measured and slow, his attention on something over her left shoulder. Unsheathing a blade from his boot, he rotated the weapon until the hilt sat in the palm of his hand.

A hiss came from behind her head.

She twitched.

Xavian cursed as his arm shot forward, knife at the ready.

A dark brown head flew, end over end, to land in the dust a foot from her own. Air left her lungs on a rush. A northern viper. By the goddess, had—

Afina turned to Xavian. “Were you bitten?”

He grimaced and rotated his wrist. “’Tis nothing.”

“Were you bitten!” She grabbed his arm.

Two small puncture wounds, the skin already red around them, marred the flesh of his forearm. He tried to pull away. She held firm and shoved, putting him on his backside. No doubt shocked by the move, he sat unmoving as she lowered her head and set her mouth over the bite.

“Afina.”

She sucked then spit, repeating the process before coming up for air. “Be quiet. I have to get the poison out.”

“We have to move.” He twisted his wrist, breaking her hold. “The spring is not far. We cannot stay in the open.”

“But—”

Fisting his hand in the front of her gown, he hauled her to her feet and, with a low whistle, called the horses to attention. Aches and pains gone in the face of his peril, Afina didn’t complain when Xavian tossed her into his saddle, mounted behind her, and set his heels to his warhorse’s flank. She needed him to hurry. No matter how strong, Xavian couldn’t withstand the viper’s venom for long. If she didn’t treat the bite fast, he would slip away before she got the chance to save him.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was time to end the game. The visions grew bolder, but even without them, Halál knew it deep inside. Just to be certain, he rattled the bones in the cup and tossed them again. Sure enough, the small white sticks taken from a child’s hand landed in the same scattered position on the low table.

A new beginning. The bones demanded one.

He was more than eager to do his part. Thus far, he’d done nothing but play, sending those of lesser skill after the Betrayer. Not that many equaled the artistry of his former pupil. Xavian was an exquisite killer, the best he’d ever trained. Now, however, came the turn and hollow, the point at which he could no longer afford to expend so much effort in one direction.

Halál sighed. Using the tip of his index finger, he stroked the grooves in the bones. Such a shame. He so enjoyed pitting one assassin against another. Particularly if they had any fondness for each other. The torment was highest then, a grand match where one must bleed the other *****rvive. Death. The pleasure of it came in so many interesting forms, but his amusement must end.

He’d received word.

Grand Master Stein of the Teutonic Knights would arrive soon. And all loose ends needed to be tied off. Stein disliked disorder as much as Halál enjoyed chaos. Not that the difference bothered him. Each to his own, and so long as the grand master paid the coin to retain Al Pacii’s services, Halál would allow him to keep his preferences.

A bell tolled. Four counts, announcing the fight hour.

The ringing echoed, bouncing off the barren stone walls with a ripple that filled Halál with purpose. Reaching across the low table, he palmed the thin roll of parchment. Three inches wide and twice as long, the strip had been painted with a waxy film, giving it the necessary durability. He rubbed the corner between his thumb and forefinger, comparing the paper’s slippery quality to the alluring feel of Beauty’s scales.

He would visit her now, up on the roof while the sun warmed her and he assessed the new arrivals.

Slipping the parchment inside his robe pocket, he crossed to the circular staircase in the corner of the chamber. His gait smooth and unhurried, he climbed, soft eagerness guiding each step. Fresh blood. The Pit always hummed with more potency when the new ones were brought in. The more accomplished relished the chance to return the brutality they had received their first time around. The game would turn bloody, though not deadly.

At least not this day.

The purpose lay in the method. He needed to know which of the fledglings held the greatest potential for the academy and which the least. Al Pacii was only as strong as its weakest link. Perseverance in the Pit was key, as important as physical prowess. The ability to defend and deliver wrenching violence with cold efficiency were traits without equal. Something at which Xavian excelled.

The sunlight caressed Halál’s face as he came out onto the rooftop, the warmth doing little to assuage his disappointment. He imagined his former pupil in the Pit, blades raised, face expressionless as he spilled fledgling blood. Such a pity. Such wasted potential. But then, had Xavian not deserted Al Pacii, Halál would never have entered the game he now played. And truth? He was enjoying himself more than he had in months...years, in fact. Nothing was better—or more satisfying—than a worthy opponent.

The smell of sweat and leather teased his senses before he heard the whisper of movement. A boot scraped against stone. Without turning, he said, “Shay. Why are you not in the Pit?”

“Master, I bring news.”

“What sort?” Halál stepped up to the cage. Thin metal bars, an inch apart, crisscrossed, keeping Beauty in even as they allowed her to see out. The viper raised her sleek head, uncoiled her length from around a sun-warmed rock, and hissed in greeting.

“Bodgan failed. He is dead.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Shay shuffled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “A carrier pigeon arrived with a note, written in Xavian’s hand.”

Halál smiled softly and, unlatching the lock, flipped the cage door open. Beauty rose on her belly, chin down, ready to strike. With sleight of hand, he distracted her, and she hesitated, giving him the second he needed to grab her by the throat. Fangs bared, she fought, black body bucking before settling enough for him to pull her from confinement.

He stroked the underside of the viper’s chin, murmuring just loud enough for her to hear, “Skilled, just like you. He makes me proud, Beauty. Indeed, he does.”

“Master?”

“Unleash The Three, Shay.” Silence met his pronouncement. Halál hummed, relishing the scent of his apprentice’s uncertainty. One brow raised, he pivoted, Beauty coiled around his forearm. “You question me?”

“Nay, master,” Shay said, chin low. “But they are mad...uncontrollable. How do I ensure their obedience?”

Withdrawing the rolled parchment and a key from his robes, Halál tossed both between Shay’s feet. “Give them this as you release them from the ****. They will obey and leave for the hunt.”

“Of course, master,” he said, bending to retrieve the paper.

Halál turned toward the lip of the roof as a scream echoed up from the Pit. The sound unfurled in his stomach like a soothing tonic as he reached the low wall of the roof’s edge. Three deep, his men ringed the fighting circle, watching the action at its center. Sharp metal flashed in the sunlight, the knife sure in the hands of one of his more accomplished killers. The fledgling’s blood flowed in rivulets of red, his movements clumsy, his steps uneven.

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He shook his head. Weak. The newcomer was weak, without the innate skill needed to create a great assassin. He needed more like Xavian for Al Pacii to thrive. Why could he not find more?

Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth to the back of Beauty’s skull. She hissed. His apprentice shifted.

Halál glanced over his shoulder. “That is all.”

With a bow, Shay made for the stairs. Halál watched him go, aware it would be the last time he saw him alive.

Shadows lingered, clinging to crooked tree trunks along the dirt path Shay traveled. Thick canopies overhead turned down, frowning at him, the leaves so dark their jagged edges appeared almost black in the dim light. Despite their disapproval, he walked on, reins of his warhorse wrapped around his fist, ignoring the rasp of Tia’s breath coming from behind him. She clung to the saddle horn, knuckles white as he led her farther into the gloom.

“How much farther?” she asked, the clicking sounds of her teeth interrupting the question.

“Almost there.”

“Alls I got to do is turn the key, right?”

“Aye.” He kept his voice low in the hopes of calming her.

“And the paper?” She shifted in the saddle, the movement as frayed as her nerves must be. “The paper will protect me?”

Shay nodded.

“Then I’m free, right? To go where I please.”

“As free as a bird, Tia,” he said, tempting her with the one thing he knew she couldn’t resist. A whore to the men of Al Pacii, she was well used, willing or not. It was sad and also the reason he never slept with any of the women brought into the fold. He refused to take from them what had been taken from him—the right to choose their own path. “You may even take the horse.”

He didn’t add—if she survived.

He hoped she would; had taken pains to research The Three and their preferences. Women were not among them. The book of history locked away in the master’s study had told him that much. Aye, they might feed on human flesh, but Halál kept them well fed and always with the blood of men.

Stopping half a league from the ****, he released Curio’s reins and turned to look up at the girl. Her brown eyes were huge in her pale face as he palmed her waist and lifted her down. She stiffened, hands fluttering against his biceps, and guilt hit him hard. She didn’t like his touch, and he didn’t blame her. The rough sport Al Pacii played with their female captives wasn’t pleasant.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, he let go and stepped back. “This way. It isn’t far now.”

She nodded.

With a hand gesture, he instructed Curio to stay. He liked his warhorse too much to risk him; didn’t want him anywhere near the **** when the beasts took flight. Turning on the little-used trail, he listened to Tia’s light footsteps behind him as he tracked north toward The Three’s prison. The climb grew more difficult the farther they went, but he didn’t turn to help the girl. She would no doubt refuse his hand, not wanting to endure his touch again.

They reached the entrance just as twilight fell, the sun nothing but a soft glow in the western sky. His back to Tia, Shay stood on the lip of the ****, staring into the black hole, knowing Halál had meant to serve him up as The Three’s next meal. The bastard. No wonder Xavian had left Al Pacii. The old man’s depravity knew no bounds...disloyal to the core.

Unclenching his hand, he lifted the flap on the satchel slung across his shoulder and dug out the small piece of parchment and a skeleton key. The dark grey metal sucked at the shadows, the grime in the nicks at its throat as pronounced as the demons feeding on Shay’s soul.

He was about to deliver a young girl—an abused one—into the jaws of death. All to save his own skin. What kind of man did that make him?

Not a very good one.

Killing the sudden surge of conscience, he pivoted to face Tia. She was as pale as ever, but a determined light had replaced the frightened one in her dark eyes.

He held out the key and slim piece of paper. “Toss the parchment to the floor inside the bars, unlock the gate, and put your back to the wall. Stay low, stay silent. Understood?”

Her chin dipped as she took his offerings. “Thank you for choosing me, Master Shay.”

Shay closed his eyes. ****. Gratitude. He hadn’t expected that, and for a moment—a rare one colored by honor—he almost called her back. But his voice failed, and instead of stopping her he watched her slim silhouette disappear into the black. When he couldn’t see her anymore, he found a foothold in the cliff face and climbed to the ledge high above the ****’s entrance. There, hidden by shadow and rock, he waited.

The girl screamed.

The terrible sound of feeding ensued, drifting up *****rround him.

Shay hung his head and watched three winged shapes fly from the ****’s mouth. Contrary to the book and its predictions, the beasts enjoyed female blood as much as any man’s.

God forgive him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Xavian wiped the sweat from his eyes as they crested the last rise. The sting blurred his vision, but he could see enough. His destination lay just beyond the circle of standing stones guarding the ****’s entrance. He needed to reach it. Full night was almost upon them, and Afina would be vulnerable without him to protect her.

For some reason, her welfare was more important than his own. Foolishness, no doubt, but he couldn’t fight it. His reaction was more primal than rational. Even in his weakened state, he knew it. He just didn’t care.

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Feeling himself sway, Xavian stopped at the mouth of the ****rn and slid from the saddle. He dragged Afina after him.

The wolves would be here soon. He heard them baying in the distance, forewarning in each howl. The beasts would pick up their scent and come, but he refused to give them the advantage. A fire needed to be built in the circle of stones. It would shield the entrance and keep predators away with the added benefit of keeping Afina warm through the night.

But first he needed to start the damn thing.

“Afina.” He gripped her shoulder, using her to steady himself. “Get the horses inside.”

“After. Let me tend you first.” She wrapped an arm around his back, trying to steer him toward the ****.

He tightened his grip and, using precious strength, shrugged out of her hold. “Get moving. We’ve not much time.”

With a push, he shoved her toward Mayhem. Her bad ankle gave out, and she stumbled before regaining her balance. Xavian shrugged aside his regret. He didn’t have time to feel bad. She would understand once the wolves started circling.

He sank to his knees beside a fire pit. Thank God for foresight. He often stopped here, maintaining the underground passage that led to his mountain home. The woodpile sat just as he had left it, the dry tinder and long logs all he required to keep a blaze going for days.

Double vision struck.

Xavian shook his head and set the firewood before reaching into the pouch at his waist. Almost blind now, he found the flint by touch and struck a spark. And then another until a small flame took hold. He smelled the smoke and felt the heat an instant before his legs gave out. Pressure banding around his chest, he crumpled, coming to rest on his back against cold earth.

Cool hands touched his forehead. Xavian cracked his eyelids open. Hazel eyes full of concern, she flipped the strap of her healing satchel over her head and settled beside him.

“At dawn,” he whispered, taking a sip from the vial she brought to his mouth. Sweet mint combined with something bitter flowed over his tongue. He swallowed and took a shallow breath. “Take the...underground...passage...at the back of the ****. Leave me...and go.”

She forced more liquid down his throat. “No.”

“Mayhem...knows the way.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

He gripped her hand, trying to make her understand. She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe. “Afina.”

“Be quiet and drink.”

Too weak to fight, Xavian obeyed. His vision went wavy. He struggled to find focus, tried to memorize her face before the light winked out, and he fell headlong into the darkness.

The fire needed another log, but Afina couldn’t make herself move. Yellow eyes, ever watchful, stared from beyond the circle of stones. Razor-sharp teeth no doubt sat beneath the feral gazes, awaiting a taste of her blood. She tightened her grip on Xavian’s dagger. The leather-bound hilt bit into her palm, making her hand ache. She rotated her wrist to release the tension, her gaze jumping from shadow to flickering shadow.

She couldn’t stay here, crouched in the **** entrance. If the flames grew any smaller, she would lose her opportunity, but...

The wolves.

What if her movement made them bold, and they leapt over the standing stones? If she died, Xavian wouldn’t stand a chance.

A full day had come and gone, and still he lay unconscious. No matter what she tried, his fever raged and the nightmares came. Her heart broke each time he lashed out, cursing her attempts to comfort him as he fought demons Afina couldn’t see, much less imagine. Were they real or was the venom inventing stories? Either way, he was suffering, and none of her medicine was working.

Afina swiped at her eyes. She needed help, but that wasn’t going to happen. Xavian’s men were miles away, and Ismal wasn’t an option. She’d never make it back to the marketplace. Her sense of direction wasn’t, well, truth be told, she didn’t have one. Could hardly tell the hind-end of a horse from a fetlock, never mind point the beast in the right direction.

No, she couldn’t go back. The only choice was to move forward.

Her legs shook as she pushed to her feet. She took a moment to still the trembling. It wouldn’t do. Animals sensed a person’s unease, counting it as weakness. If the pack felt her fear, they would tear her apart then turn on Xavian. She must protect him—had promised not to leave him, and death was simply another form of abandonment.

“Get ready, you mangy mongrels.” The strength in her voice steadied her, allowing her to step from the ****, into the firelight.

A snarl came from her left.

Afina stilled, spotting the beast from the corner of her eye. Almost completely white, he stood at the cornerstone: head low, ears back, fangs bared. She met his yellow gaze from beneath her brows. If she gave an inch, he would pounce and bring the others with him.

Staying low, she set her balance and, dagger raised, moved toward the fire pit.

A vicious growl came from between his teeth.

She shook her head. “Not today, my friend. Go find your meal elsewhere.”

He blinked and, nose twitching, angled his head to the side.

Goliath.

The name whispered through her mind. Afina’s heart shuddered. The voice again. Who was that? She wanted to look over her shoulder—to check if a woman stood behind her—but didn’t dare. Real or imagined, the voice could wait. Every moment counted. One wrong move would seal her fate.

The pack leader inched forward, around the tall stone column.

“Goliath,” she said, uncaring whether the name was a figment of her imagination. It suited him; made him seem more like a pet and less like a beast. Tame, she could handle. Wild and unmanageable, she could not. “I know you are hungry, but you cannot have me or the one I protect.”

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He snorted and, muzzle crinkled, took a step back. Then another.

Her jaw went slack. Impossible. He was retreating, inch by precious inch.

Dagger at the ready, she scuttled sideways until she reached the pit. A branch, free of fire at one end, pointed heavenward, as though begging for divine intervention. Afina echoed the sentiment, grabbed the stub, and swung left, placing the flames between her and the wolf.

Panting now, he stared at her, ears forward, a perplexed look on his furry face. Perplexed? Good goddess. Her imagination was definitely getting the best of her.

Slow and steady, she set the burning branch on the ground between them. “Off you go, then. The moon is high, Goliath. You still have time to hunt tonight.”

Goliath made a sound she thought might be disgust.

Afina bit her bottom lip. She shouldn’t feel like laughing. The wolf could still come over the rocks and tear her apart. But she didn’t think he would. They had come to an understanding...insane as that seemed. But then, she refused to quibble. Crazy sounded better than dead.

The wolf pivoted, took two steps, and swung back. A death grip on the knife, Afina held her breath and waited. Goliath gazed at her, head tilted. Time hung like smoke in the air before he dipped his snout and yipped.

Instinct guiding her, she whispered back, “Good-bye.”

White fur became a silhouette then passed from shadow into nothingness. Clawed feet scraped against stone as the pack followed Goliath’s retreat. Muscles gone liquid, Afina’s knees gave out. She landed on her behind with a bump. The bone-deep chill came next, blowing through her like an ice storm. Releasing the knife, she held out her hands. Her fingertips trembled, casting long shadows on the dirt.

She should be stronger than this. Shouldn’t be so afraid, especially after...

What was happening to her? The whole mind-throwing-the-hatchet incident along with the headaches and strange voice were terrible enough. Now she talked to animals. And they understood. How was that possible?

Sorcery.

The dark word slithered up her spine, dragging a shiver in its wake. Her mother had often spoken of black magic. She’d been adamant—obsessed—telling the awful stories with relish, as a warning to her and Bianca. What had her mother known but not shared? Had she tested the darkness she loved to lecture about and been drawn too deep? It would explain the violent outbursts at the end, along with her mistake. No one in her right mind would believe Vladimir fit to rule Transylvania.

So many questions.

Her mother’s love of secrecy had left her ill prepared. She wanted to believe her new skills were expected of a high priestess, desired even. But the opposite side of the equation must be examined. Good could not exist without evil.

“Well done, lass.” The deep voice came from the shadows, just beyond the circle of stones. “I have a liking for wolves and had no wish to destroy him.”

With a gasp, Afina reached for the knife and shot to her feet. Her bruised ankle protested, upsetting her balance. Right boot planted to compensate, she recovered from the wobble and spun to face the intruder. He paused at the cornerstone, a bow notched with an arrow in one hand, the reins of his horse in the other.

Dagger raised, Afina stepped right, placing herself between the stranger and the **** entrance. “Stay back.”

Stepping into the light, he frowned, his focus straying to her leg. “Are you hurt?”

“Do I look injured?” Afina adjusted her stance. Pain ghosted up her calf. She ignored it, refusing to show weakness. This man was more dangerous than the wolves. He bled power, the same kind Xavian and his men did. Was he one of them?

Afina toyed with the possibility. He looked like them: dark hair cropped short, dressed in black, his muscular build and towering height, the directness of his gaze, and the amount of weaponry. All spoke to an aggression they wore like armor. She bit the inside of her cheek. Could she trust him? Xavian lay helpless just behind her. If she made the wrong decision, he would never wake up.

“Be at ease, sora.”

Sora? Had he just called her sister? Afina didn’t know much, but one thing was certain, she didn’t look like a nun. Not in a ripped gown and covered in day-old blood. She tightened her grip on the knife and turned the blade sideways, warning him she wasn’t a weakling.

Tugging on the reins, he brought his warhorse forward to tuck his weapon into a quiver behind the saddle. Hands free, he held them out to the side, palms up. “See? I’ve no intention of hurting you.”

“And Xavian?”

His gaze sharpened. “Ram is here?”

“Who are you?” She wasn’t a fool. His bow might be stowed, but the daggers sheathed on his chest were within easy reach and his big hands were no doubt lethal. “One of his men?”

“Henrik, at your service.”

Afina breathed a little easier. He knew Xavian. Even so, she needed more information before she dropped her guard. “What brings you here?”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “You do not trust easily.”

“Answer the question.”

“’Tis one of our hidey-holes, lass. A place to rest before continuing on to Drachaven.”

She stared at him. He wasn’t lying—exactly—but something wasn’t quite, well...right.

“Take a look around.” He swept one hand out to the side. “Do you think the wood piled itself? Or the pallets inside and the trunks filled with foodstuffs appeared by magic?”

Afina huffed. He was teasing her. The dolt. Of course she’d seen the supplies. She’d been using them to treat Xavian and feed herself.