[English] KNIGHT AWAKENED

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“You’ve naught to fear,” he said, taking a step closer. His horse followed, frosting the air over his shoulder. “Not from me or anyone else who comes here. ’Tis a hidden place, one that’s secret is well-guarded.”

What Henrik said made perfect sense. How would he know of the preparations inside the **** unless he helped maintain them? Afina lowered the dagger. She needed help, and holding Xavian’s man at knifepoint wouldn’t solve anything.

The warhorse bumped him with her nose. With a murmur, Henrik stroked the beast’s muzzle. “What is your name?”

“Afina.”

Henrik nodded and looked away. The horse nudged him again. He patted his steed one last time and unbuckled the halter before moving to the belly strap. Metal rattled as he lifted the saddle from the beast’s back and set it down beside the fire.

The strain of the last day pushed tears into her eyes. With a helpless shrug, Afina gestured with the knife. “Sorry about before, but...it’s just...Xavian is ill and I—”

“Ill?” Henrik glanced away from his saddlebags and raised a brow.

“Snakebite.” A pang hit her chest level, making her heart feel hollow. It was her fault. He wouldn’t be sick if she hadn’t taken a fall. “He was protecting me.”

“A viper?”

“H-how—”

“They are common in this area.”

“I am treating him, but it’s been a full day and he’s yet to awaken.” She kicked at the dirt, making a hole with the toe of her boot.

Crouched beside the pit, Henrik selected an enormous log and reset the fire. “If the venom went deep, ’twill take more than a day.”

To what? Kill him or for his body to expel the poison? Afina swallowed, praying it wasn’t the former. If Xavian died, she couldn’t...

No, she refused to acknowledge the possibility. He was strong and the medicine would work. It had to. Besides, Henrik was here now, and he would protect them.

Halál plucked the scrap of paper from the dead girl’s hand. Two fingers were missing, the ragged ends little more than shriveled stubs. The stench of human decay a living thing, she lay supine, eyes wide open, the horror in their vacant depths easy to read. His gaze drifted to the bars anchored in the **** walls. Twisted, the gate hung from one hinge, a visual reminder of the monsters it had imprisoned for almost twenty years.

Magnificent creatures. If only they would obey him. If only...

Halál returned his attention to the girl. He flicked at the shreds of her bodice. Dry blood drew interesting patterns on her skin, the gaping wounds astonishing even to him.

A day, mayhap two, since The Three had made a meal of her.

He shook his head and pushed from a crouch. Clever, clever Shay. He’d used the whore to save his own skin.

The realization lightened Halál’s mood. It was a worthy play, one only a full-blooded assassin would make. The brutality of the girl’s death was proof enough of that.

Halál ran his thumb over the piece of parchment. His skin stuck, blood and decay impeding its progress across the once-smooth surface. Using spit, he wiped the stickiness away to reveal the looping scrawl. Uneven words jumped into focus. Halál cursed. The handwriting was not his own; neither was the message.

He crushed the paper in his hand.

The bold bastard. Shay had altered the incantation. Now The Three were on the hunt and he was left with little choice.

Halál half-turned toward the **** entrance. “V.”

“Aye, master?” Valmont shifted from his position near the lip of the ****rn, his height throwing long shadows on the jagged stone walls.

“Castle Raul...do you know it?”

“Vladimir Barbu’s keep.”

“Yes.” Halál smoothed the creases from the parchment. He would need it. Preserving the message was the only way to undo what Shay had set in motion. “Within his lands to the south lies the White Temple. Bring me the High Priestess of Orm.”

Boots whispering over stone, Valmont turned to leave.

“One other thing.”

Poised in the mouth of the ****, his new apprentice glanced over his shoulder.

“Choose six others to ride with you.”

“Seven,” Valmont murmured, quiet reverence in his voice.

Engrained in the hearts and minds of his men, the number seven symbolized the strength of their order. It was in everything: from the walled sides of the Pit and their crest to the number of daggers each wore, and the chronicles of Al Pacii. A mystic long ago had written about the group of seven...a divine force so brutal none could defeat them. Superstitious nonsense, mayhap, but Halál allowed his assassins their illusions.

Fear and rage only got a man so far. Faith and magic, however, drove men past their natural limits into the soulless places he wanted them to go. His assassin believed in the power of seven, and so he would use it. He must stop The Three before they found Xavian. Otherwise he would hold an advantage Al Pacii could ill afford.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

On his haunches beside the pit, Henrik stirred the fire with a thin stick. Sparks snapped, rising to greet a jet-black sky. He watched the embers float, lost in the whisper of tree limbs and night sounds. Afina’s voice drifted from the ****rn, tone soothing as she tended Ram. Henrik glanced over his shoulder at the **** entrance. When would she be finished?

He had so many questions. Useless wonderings. The sum of which didn’t amount to much.

Deep down, he already knew the answer to the most important one. Bianca was dead. He’d felt the fragile bond he shared with his twin sister snap nearly two years ago. While he’d been in Poland, doing Halál’s bidding.

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With a silent curse he jabbed at the coals. The logs shifted and flame roared, sucking air in and spewing smoke out as it fed on the wood. He wished he could do the same: explode and find some small measure of relief.

Damn the old man and his infernal ways.

Had he been at Grey Keep, he would have heard of the trouble, and Bianca would still be alive. But then, Halál knew of his attachments and used them to effect. His sisters were the bastard’s only leverage. A way to keep him in the fold after he reached maturity and Al Pacii could no longer contain him. If not for Halál’s promise to leave Bianca and Afina untouched in return for his service, he would never have stayed.

“Henrik?”

He pivoted on the balls of his feet. Afina stood in the mouth of the ****, bucket in hand, the firelight casting shadows on her face. Christ, she looked so much like their mother. The only true difference was her coloring. Mother had been blond and fair, like Bianca. Afina shared his dark hair and hazel eyes, though hers were touched with green and his, with gold.

He stood, pushing memories of his mother’s betrayal to the back of his mind. Like ghosts rising from the ruins, they rushed back, grabbing at him with greedy hands. Goddamn, he’d only been eight years old, but that hadn’t stopped her. He’d been naught more than an abomination; a male born in a place where only females were accepted.

Afina took a step back as he approached.

Henrik tucked the fury deep and stopped a few feet away. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. Fear didn’t belong in families. Honesty, however, did. But truth wasn’t his forte. Deception fit him better. With a history like that, how could he dispel his mother’s lies and make Afina believe him—treat him like a brother instead of a stranger?

She thought him dead, he knew that; just like he knew she would be better off if he left her alone. Problem was, he couldn’t. Despite everything, she was his sister, and blood ties were too important to ignore.

He cleared his throat. “More water?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He held out his hand to take the pail. “How is he?”

“Better...cooler.” After relinquishing the bucket, she pressed her fingertips above her eye then shifted to rub her temple.

His grip tightened around the rope handle. “You need to sleep.”

“I know, but—”

“You will be no good to him if you exhaust yourself.”

“Arrogant, aren’t you?” She huffed. The small sound mixed with laughter, lightening his heart a little. “You and Xavian are cut from the same cloth.”

“Mayhap, but we are often right.”

“So you believe,” she said, tone full of exasperation. “I need to mix more medicine before I rest. One more dose, and mayhap...I’m hoping it will help him wake.”

He nodded and, with a wave, motioned Afina back inside the ****...to heal his former friend. What the hell was he doing? Ram was defenseless, and yet here he stood, ready to fetch and carry. He should be in there helping him die, not aiding his little sister while she tended him.

Henrik glared at the fire. Life or Death. Kill or be killed.

It wasn’t that simple anymore. Afina cared for Ram. Mayhap strongly enough to call it love. He could see it in her eyes, in her determination to see him healed. Did he have the right to take that from her? From either of them?

The code by which he lived said aye. But then, he no longer needed to appease Halál or walk a fine line with Al Pacii. The bastard had lost his leverage. For the first time in his life, Henrik was free to make his own choices. The realization tugged at the tight knot in the center of his chest as he took the path toward the stream.

Reaching the river’s edge, Henrik filled the bucket. Water spilled over the edge, washing the rest of his tension away as he retraced his steps. The future seemed brighter somehow. Al Pacii was a thing of the past. Now all he had to do was keep his sister safe.

What was Ram up to? Did he still intend to hand Afina over to Vladimir? Or had he changed his plans—his feelings for Afina dictating a new path?

Half of him hoped not. No matter how much he wanted to see his sister happy, he couldn’t forgive Ram. His betrayal stung too much. Loyalty mattered. And years of training—of believing revenge was everything—were hard to ignore.

The urge to unsheathe his dagger and bury it hilt-deep in Ram’s chest pressed in, making his head ache. Henrik shook it off. He needed to be patient. Accidents happened all the time, and what Afina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Xavian dreamt of hazel eyes and a soft, lilting voice. It pulled him toward the light, away from the violence and bitter cold. The warmth came next, drifting over his shoulders and chest. Wispy strokes, barely there, yet combined with the scent of mint and woman.

Hmm, paradise.

Years of training told him to deny the pleasure and reach for a weapon. Instinct softened by the haze of slumber stilled his hand. The heat and gentle touch played on the fringes, present but not quite there. ’Twas like lying in the long field grass, arms and legs stretched wide as the sun’s fingers drew warm patterns on his skin. With a sigh, he settled into the rhythm. A moment more, just to drift and enjoy, then he would...

The stroking moved south over his rib cage and across his abdomen. Xavian murmured, lifting his hips to keep contact a little longer.

“Xavian?”

The voice rushed over him, husky warm and sable rich. His eyelashes flickered. Afina. He should have known. No one else sounded like that, naughty and innocent at the same time. He whispered her name and let his eyes drift closed again, clinging to his dream. If he woke, she would disappear. And he needed her to stay.

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“Hello.” Something brushed across his temple then twirled gently in his hair. “Open your eyes for me again.”

He frowned. Did he have to? The dream was heaven, a cocoon so real he swore she was actually touching him. If he refused, would she stop? The possibility was too much to risk. Fighting through the fog blanketing his mind, he cracked his eyelids.

A soft smile played at the corners of Afina’s mouth. She caressed him again. He turned into the touch, a rumble of satisfaction in his throat. Jesu, he wished every night came and went like this...deep in the land of slumber with her hands in his hair and her warmth all around him.

“Come now, wake up for me.”

“Nay.”

“Please?” Water sloshed and dripped before something cool drifted over his brow.

He shifted his arms and legs. Mayhap if he moved, his mind would follow. Sharp pain settled into discomfort as he pushed onto his elbows and forced his eyes open again.

The sheen of tears in her own, Afina whispered, “Welcome back.”

Xavian blinked and squinted hard, trying to bring her face into better focus. Back? From where? He opened his mouth to ask. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Here.” She brought a cup to his mouth. “Drink.”

Cool water trickled over his tongue and down his throat. Afina moved the mug away. He grabbed her wrist, needing more. She brought it back, one hand supporting his neck as she helped him drink his fill.

“Not a dream,” he said, thankful for her support even as his pride chafed at the weakness. Why did he feel so sick? What...Rahat, the viper. Keeping hold of her wrist, he rotated his free arm and looked for the puncture wounds. Linen strips, wrapped end over end, obstructed his view. She’d tended him, placed him above her own safety and...Jesu.

“You stayed.”

“Of course.” Nibbling on her bottom lip, she looked away.

Xavian stared at her, unable to believe her audacity. She’d disobeyed and...stayed when no one else would have. Of a sudden, his rib cage felt too small for his lungs. He wanted to be furious. Wanted to turn her over his knee and paddle some sense into her. But that tight knot in the center of his chest got in the way.

He coughed to cover his reaction. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I promised not to leave you, and I won’t.” Brow furrowed, she tossed the cloth into the bucket. The linen square made a plopping sound then sank, just like his heart. She shouldn’t want to be with him. And he shouldn’t like it so much that she did.

She fished the cloth from the water, wrung it out, and brought it to his face. Xavian watched her from behind his lashes, relishing each cool glide as Afina washed his face and circled around to the nape of his neck.

“How do you feel?”

“Like ****.”

“Understandable.” He sensed more than saw her smile. “Viper venom is nothing to trifle with.”

He grunted then held his breath as she drifted over the top of his shoulder. He should tell her to stop—that he could look after himself—but didn’t want to. Her touch felt so good. No one had ever tended him before. ’Twas the truth; none had cared enough to wish him well. But Afina? Xavian swallowed. She cared. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her hands, each gentle sweep like an undertow, trying *****ck him out to sea.

A droplet trickled down his chest. Xavian wanted her to chase it with her tongue. Follow that bastard until...

Memories of them locked together in the stable blindsided him. Exhaling hard, he refocused on her face. She was so lovely: the shape of her hazel-green eyes and all that dark, flowing—

“What happened to your hair?”

Her gaze swung up to meet his. “N-nothing.”

Before she could protest he buried his fingers in her topknot. With a twist, her raven locks tumbled around her shoulders. “Better. I like it loose.”

“You like...Xavian, you are suffering delusions. You’ve been very ill and...”

She kept talking.

Xavian didn’t hear a word. Weak as he was from the venom, her dark tresses distracted him, and drawing in a quick breath, he explored. The lengths curled around his fingers and played in the valleys between. Incredible. So soft and thick and...He should let her go. He knew that, knew as sure as he knew he wasn’t going to. Right or wrong, he needed a wee touch and a little taste. Surely a few moments wouldn’t matter.

Tightening his hold, he rolled, reversing their positions. With an “oomph,” she landed beneath him on the pallet. The blanket tangled around his hips, he took advantage of her surprise and settled, hands in her hair, one thigh buried between her own.

“By the...What are you doing?”

He nuzzled the underside of her chin. “A wee sip, draga, ’tis all I need.”

“B-but—”

“Mercy, Afina.”

Xavian heard her breath catch and held his own. ’Twasn’t rational, this need to forge a connection, to seek her acceptance and trust. He could make excuses, pretend the urge to reaffirm life after his brush with death made him turn to her—made him want to take his fill for no other reason than to feel. The truth was far more damning.

He craved her, with more than just his body. No matter how hard he fought the pull, it all came down to one thing. Possession. Nothing would do but that he make her submit. He held back, refusing to overwhelm her as he had in the stable. Accept him or nay, ’twas her choice. She deserved better than a soulless romp, but...Christ, he had naught else to offer. He didn’t match up, not to Afina with her high bloodlines and lofty purpose.

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So he handed her the power to decide: pull him close or push him away.

His face pressed to her throat, Xavian waited, every one of his senses focused on her. On a shaky exhale she relaxed beneath him. Gratitude spiraled into lust, sucking him down until nothing mattered but her. Naught but the scent of her skin, the shape of each curve, and the heat of her hands as they drifted over his shoulders. She clutched at him, asking for more of his weight. With a groan, he wrapped her closer, reveling in each soft sigh and gentle touch. Wild sensation skittered down his spine and around to his groin. Xavian lifted his head and cupped her face to capture her gaze. Not shy now, she stared back, her eyes more green than hazel, welcome in their shimmering depths.

He shook his head. How could she want him? How could she possibly—

Afina tipped her chin up and offered him her mouth. His heart stumbled, flipping over in his chest as he lowered his head. She met him halfway, lips brushing his, fingers playing in his hair. He wanted to go slow, but need took hold, made him impatient and sent his tongue deep. With a gasp, she opened wide, matching him stroke for heated stroke.

Dizziness hit him. His brain went sideways inside his head. Jesu, he was going to...

He lifted his mouth from Afina’s. Short of breath, his chest heaved as he placed his hand, palm down, on the pallet to stop the spinning.

Afina steadied him. “What?”

“’Tis...” he broke off, his stomach taking the battle to his throat. “I’m not...”

“Here.” She smoothed her hand over his hair, massaging in circles. Reaching the nape of his neck, she applied gentle pressure and brought his head down. He exhaled as his cheek touched down on her breastbone. “Rest a moment.”

Without the strength to argue, Xavian settled into her softness. Her hands were magic. Each stroke and release evened him out, chased the spinning away until the pitch and roll of nausea followed its retreat. His conscience murmured, told him to pull away as he nestled in, trying to get closer.

“Better?”

He nodded, unraveling a thread at a time deep inside. The result was a messy pile of confusion. She turned him inside out. “Thank you for staying.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“So we’re even now?”

“Not even close.” The devil in her tone, she trailed her fingertips down his spine. He shivered, stretching like a cat beneath his master’s hand. “You still owe me for Severin.”

“Wench,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her. Snared by his whiskers, her gown shifted and the wool slipped to her upper arm. A small mark sat on the curve of her shoulder. He stroked his thumb over it. Not a bruise at all, but a birthmark; a crescent moon with a tiny star nestled inside it. Unable to resist, he traced the outline, savoring her softness as a memory rose. He recognized the mark. Had seen it before, but...where?

Too tired to search for the answer, he tucked the mystery away. He would solve it another time. Right now Afina was beneath him, white skin exposed. Needing another taste, he flicked her with his tongue and almost groaned. God, she was sweet.

“Xavian,” she said, warning him.

Jesu, even with that tone he loved the way she said his name. Foolishness, no doubt, but he couldn’t help it. She wasn’t afraid of him like all the others. But then, she didn’t have much to fear. He was as weak as a babe and just as manageable.

With a grumble, he raised his head, making sure he kept the movement slow and even. An ache pounded between his temples, but his stomach stayed true, only pitching a little. Shadows flickered against the **** wall. Good, she’d kept the fire going.

Afina placed her hand against his forehead. “Does your head hurt?”

“’Twill pass,” he said, not wanting her to worry.

Propped on one elbow, he settled his free hand at her waist and scanned the back of the ****rn, looking for Mayhem. He stilled and counted again. Three horses, not two. His grip on Afina tightened. “Draga—”

“Goddamn!”

The roar came from outside the ****rn. A scrape and claw and hiss echoed, the reverberation against stone walls loud in semi-darkness. The zing of twin blades split the air as ash and the smell of sulfur billowed into the ****.

The hair on the back of Xavian’s neck stood on end. “Afina, where are—”

She pushed against his shoulders and rolled. He landed on his arse and reached for her. Rahat. She was already out of range, heading hell-bent toward the entrance.

What did she think she was doing? Fool woman. She should be cowering behind him, not running headlong into danger.

Metal clanged against metal.

Something unearthly growled. Another round of smoke rolled in, clouding the entrance.

Xavian gritted his teeth and, using the uneven stone wall for leverage, lurched to his feet. The blanket hit the floor, taking his heat with it. He swayed and glanced down. Good Christ, she’d stripped him to the skin. With a curse, he ignored the pile of clothes and grabbed his swords. His trews would have to wait. He needed to reach Afina before whatever was out there killed her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thick yellow smoke burned Afina’s eyes. Tears welled, combating the sting like water dousing fire on a thatched roof. She swiped at the moisture and ran toward the mouth of the ****. Her senses reeled. The sharp stab of intuition made her head ache, and reaching deep, Afina struggled to decipher its message. The meaning floated just out of reach, close enough to taunt, far enough away to deny her the answer.

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What was out there? Why the smoke and now the silence?

The question snapped, crackling in the air around her. Foreboding brushed the nape of her neck, urging her to retreat. The idea was seductive. Save herself and live to see another sunrise. But Afina refused to run away. Henrik was out there...somewhere. She couldn’t leave him to the mercy of the beast.

Beast.

The word rang inside her head and awareness expanded, pushing outward until it struck the inside of her skull like a smithy’s hammer. Dizziness rose in a sickly wave. Afina shook her head to clear her vision and forced one foot in front of the other.

She couldn’t quit now. Something was out there. Something familiar and unfriendly and in need of...what? Taming? Like Goliath and his pack of wolves?

She came through the wall of smoke. The haze went from yellow to white then grey. Fine wisps curled around her forearms, pulling at her, begging her to flee. With a jerk, she sliced them aside, followed instinct, and moved left. A hiss slithered through the fog, wrapping her in a chill so complete an involuntary shiver rolled down her spine. Afina stopped short, aware now the thing stood just beyond the circle of stones. She inched forward, fear and curiosity a morbid mix that weighed like a stone in the center of her chest.

Where was Henrik? Was he dead? Is that why—

A blast of cold air hit her full force as something shifted. Something...big.

“Priestess-ssss.”

Afina’s mouth went dry. “H-hello?”

A guttural snarl swirled in the mist. Menace lived in the sound, pulling the fine hair on her arms upright. The scent of brimstone assaulted her, a harsh accompaniment to the rush of wind that cleared the air enough for her to see over the standing stones.

She saw the huge wing first.

Unfurled, it stretched from one side of the pit to the other. Band after band tightened around her rib cage, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. Spun between disbelief and fascination, she stared, her heart an empty echo inside her chest. The appendage folded, the indigo webbing retreating foot by unbelievable foot until the wing met the side of a body.

Iridescent scales gleamed in the low light. Deep-hued purples moved into blues, the color coming alive as muscle undulated along its flank. A paw, tipped with razor-sharp claws, gripped the top of a boulder, and the jagged spines down the center of its back rippled as it raised its head. Afina tipped her own back and watched it rise, her gaze bouncing from the horns atop its skull to the fangs sitting just below.

Was that a...Blessed mother, creator of all things. It couldn’t be. Dragons didn’t exist. The stuff of legends, they belonged in the imaginations of the storytellers. Not in Transylvania or the mountains surrounding it.

The beast in front of her clearly didn’t agree. Larger than life, it stared at her, hunger in its eyes.

Her muscles quivered.

“Don’t run,” she said under her breath, trying to convince her feet to stay put. The pair shuffled, itching to bolt for safer ground.

She killed the urge and stayed stock-still. Running wasn’t an option. Predators liked to chase. A sudden movement might prompt it to attack, and honestly? Being eaten by a fire-breathing dragon wasn’t high on her list of priorities.

Horned head tilted, it shifted sideways, like a snake before the first strike and...

Afina saw it. The size of a man’s fist, the medallion rested at the base of the beast’s throat. Suspended around its neck by gold links, the disc’s center boasted a blood crystal. Tiny lights swirled in the gemstone’s center. Afina fell into its spin, relaxing into the downward spiral. Her eyelids grew heavy and she swayed, wanting to touch the pendant so badly her fingertips tingled.

The dragon snorted.

Afina flinched, dragging her focus back to the beast. Twin wisps of smoke curled up from its nostrils and a cloud of sulfur rolled into her face. Her nose twitched and she held her breath, trying to stave off the inevitable. It didn’t help. The sneeze shot out like an arrow leaving a bow. The dragon surged, bringing half its body over the high monoliths. Spine and head aligned, it stopped, on the verge of attack.

Her breath coming in shallow drifts, Afina locked her knees to stay standing and prayed. Instead of divine intervention, a curse, followed by a grunt, drifted from behind the beast. One eye on the dragon, she shuffled sideways to improve her view. Held fast in its back talon, Henrik struck the thing’s foot, hammering it with his fist.

Good goddess. Was he insane? What the devil did he think he was doing?

No doubt asking the same question, the dragon swung its head around to glare at Henrik. He kept at it, alternating between punching the beast and trying to pry himself out of its grip. It retaliated, shaking Henrik so hard she heard his teeth rattle.

“Let him go.” The words escaped before she could stop them. Afina took a step back as the dragon’s head swung around to her again. She swallowed, working moisture back into her mouth. “Please.”

Violet eyes with oval pupils narrowed on her. “No.”

No. No? Heaven help her, the thing could talk.

“Goddamn it, woman...run!” Henrik snarled and kicked out, thumping the dragon in the side. Attention trained on her, the beast lowered its foot. Afina cringed as it pinned Henrik to the ground beneath its claw.

She watched Henrik struggle for a moment, torn between following his advice and standing her ground. Courage didn’t come naturally to her. She’d been running and hiding all her life, but the last week had taught her something. Running only made things worse.

“I am Afina, High Priestess of Orm,” she said, feet planted, shoulders squared. Forget Henrik and his idiot command. She knew the beast somehow. Not that they’d ever met. The certainty was instinctual; a truth buried deep, banked but alive in her blood. “By my command, release him.”

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“You hold no power over us-sss.”

“Christ, Afina...go,” Henrik rasped, struggling to breathe.

Afina closed her mind to his plea, more concerned by the dragon’s use of us. “Where are the others?”

Hot breath fanned the back of her neck. “Here.”

Shivers chased the warm air, whispering over her skin in a wave of gooseflesh. Keeping the movement slow, she glanced over her shoulder. Little more than ten feet away, a second dragon, the color of fire, stood between the **** wall and smooth surface of the cornerstone. Green eyes narrowed, its lip curled, no doubt fantasizing about eating her.

“And here.” The smell of smoke came from above, carrying a third voice.

Oh, no, an ambush...three strong.

She was surrounded and as good as dead if she couldn’t bring them around. The fact she believed she could surprised her. But as implausible as it seemed, she saw the truth in it. The proof lay in the conversation and the lead dragon’s willingness to engage in one. He could kill her without effort, yet here he stood, talking.

There must be a reason. He was obviously an intelligent creature. The key was to find out what he wanted and give it to him in return for their lives.

Taking a deep breath, she waded into uncertain waters. “What is your name?”

The dragon drew his head back. A look of consternation in his eyes, he studied her, the silence so thick it pulled her muscles tight. Please answer. The silent plea drifted through her mind an instant before—

“Tareek,” the one behind her said, shifting closer. Firelight flickered, casting eerie patterns on his red-tipped scales.

Violet Eyes snarled at his companion, knifelike teeth gleaming in the low light.

“What matters a name...” Tareek’s forked tongue licked over one of his fangs, “when she will not live to repeat it?”

Lovely. Mayhap the belief she could turn them to her side was based more in wishful thinking than reality. Where was that voice when she needed it? Guidance, a strategy, the last rites...anything at all would be welcome.

Not knowing what else to do, she lied. “The goddess will not be happy if I am harmed.”

Wings flapped as the third adjusted his perch, watching like a vulture from above. “What care we?”

“Remember the White Temple, dragon, and your duty.”

Violet Eyes snorted, smoke rising from his nostrils. “Unwise to remind us from whence you come, Priestess-sss...and of the bitch who whelped you.”

She looked him square in the eyes. A truth shone in their violet depths. Here was her clue. The inkling—intangible but real—rose from deep inside her. It dragged a memory with it...of a girl-child playing hide-and-seek with a fanged beast. “You serve me and my house.”

“No longer.” The whispered growl carried pain in each syllable; of great loss and wrenching sorrow.

The sadness swirled in the space between them and her heart ached. He had suffered a terrible hurt, one so intense he couldn’t see past his anger. Afina had suffered the same and understood, but now was not the time for weakness. Like it or not, the dragon would strike. It was only a matter of time until he did.

“I have no wish to hurt you,” she said, having no idea whether she could. It was so much bravado. The strategy, however, was simple: make the enemy believe you held the upper hand and thereby the power. Her mother, at least, had taught her that. “Release Henrik and be on your way.”

Tareek hissed. “We come for the male...the other.”

The leader raised his hind claw and tossed Henrik over the standing stones. He landed with a thump and rolled to a stop beside her feet. Stepping forward and left, she placed herself in front of Xavian’s man, giving him a moment to recover his breath.

“Where is Xavian?” One paw spread wide beside the fire pit, the dragon closed the distance between them. “I smell him on you.”

“You cannot have him.” Afina fisted her hands as something dark—something dangerous—seethed inside her. Red mist washed in behind her eyes, pulling aggression along with it. What right did they have to demand Xavian? He belonged with her, not them. “He is mine.”

“Afina—”

“Protect Xavian,” she snarled at Henrik, chin tipped down, magic throbbing in her fingertips.

“Where?” The roar echoed, bouncing off stone until pebbles tumbled down the rock face.

“Here.” Edged by violence, Xavian’s voice rolled in around her.

Afina pivoted toward the **** entrance. She wanted to weep when she saw him. He stood warrior strong, sword in hand, belying the illness that had ravaged him. But she knew better. The venom had taken its toll. He was too weak to fight.

“Xavian, don’t.”

He bared his teeth in answer. “Leave her...I am here. Come and get me.”

Tareek reached for him, claws spread wide. Xavian rotated the sword hilt in his hand and brought the tip up. His death flashed in her mind’s eye. Half-crazed by the image, Afina screamed, threw her hands up and out, pushing into thin air an instant before the dragon struck. A gust of wind swept the ground, hit Tareek like a battering ram, and tossed him over the standing stones. Dust and debris flew, clouding the air as he struck the ground on the other side.

The dragon above inhaled, a long, slow draw.

The centers of her palms throbbing, Afina growled, “Henrik, go! Take Xavian and go.”

With a curse, Henrik scrambled to obey.

“Rahat.” Xavian lunged toward her. With a flying leap, Henrik tackled him, sending them both tumbling backward though the mouth of the ****. “Afina, nay!”

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Launched from its perch, the fireball descended, the blaze a thin-tailed inferno. The scent of brimstone licked the inside of her nose. Relying on instinct, she imagined a dome and raised her hands. The flame collided with an invisible barrier then curled, contouring the vault she held in her mind. Black residue stuck to the curved surface, scorched ash floating just above it.

Violet Eyes swung his huge paw, claws tucked under like a fist, spiked tail flying overhead. Settled into her stance, she shifted to meet him, protecting the **** entrance. Henrik needed more time to reach safety. The entrance to the underground tunnel was at the back of the ****rn, a long way for him to go if Xavian struggled. She must hold out a while longer or they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Scaled knuckles closed the distance. Feet planted and eyes wide, she waited for the blow, for the crippling pain and the agonizing death that would follow. A hollow clang sounded, rippling out in all directions. The dragon howled and recoiled, pulling his claw in tight as though he’d hit something hard.

Afina exhaled in a rush. The shield was holding. But for how long? Already exhaustion tugged at her, fraying the edge of her peripheral vision.

“Well done, daughter,” the voice said. “Now...run.”

Had she been able think, Afina would have cursed the stupid voice. Asked it all kinds of questions like...where the devil have you been? Instead she took its advice, turned tail, and sprinted for the ****. The beasts would no doubt regroup. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them when they did.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Afina’s eyes were still glowing. ’Twas not as intense as when she’d blasted the dragon, but...Jesu. Xavian ran a hand through his hair.

Dragons.

Had he not seen them with his own eyes, he never would have believed it. They were the stuff of legends and the only clear memory he had of his father. He remembered the elaborate tales told after the supper hour. Cross-legged, he and Nadia had always settled in front of the hearth, eager for the storytelling to begin. He had a vague picture of his mother sewing, of his father whittling arrow shafts while he talked of great winged beasts and their friendship with mankind.

His father had gotten it all wrong. There wasn’t a friendly thing about them.

Proof enough sat huddled inside her cloak a few feet away. Silent since their narrow escape into the underground passageway, Afina could hardly put one foot in front of the other. He knew, because he’d dragged her most of the way. Now they sat amongst the brambles, in the small clearing at its heart. Several leagues from the mouth of the tunnel, it was the best place to rest and regroup. The prickly shrubs would shield them on all sides and from above, hiding them from view if the beasts flew overhead.

Aye, they were safe for the moment, but Afina...

She looked so small, curled in on herself like that. Knees tucked in tight with her arms wrapped around both, she rocked back and forth. The movement was slight, barely a rock at all and all the more heartbreaking for it. Xavian wished he could see her face. Mayhap then he would know what to do.

She needed ease. Anyone with eyes could see that, but...would he make it better or worse if he offered comfort?

In that moment, he wanted to be anyone but himself. A whole man—one with a normal upbringing—would know how to help her. But he wasn’t normal. He was brutal and didn’t know the first thing about soothing another.

Her clenched hands started to shake. She pressed her legs even closer, and he leaned forward, instinct urging him to hold her.

Still, he hesitated.

She could hurt him if she wanted—use the power she possessed to toss him over the brambles and out into the open. So much strength in such a wee package. The thought was strangely arousing, and of a sudden, the front of his leathers felt too tight. Xavian shifted, hoping to halt his unholy reaction. It didn’t work. All he could think of was Afina; of the glow in her eyes and the determination on her face as she’d sent that dragon tumbling. She’d done it to protect him; something no one else had ever done.

Another round of sensation stirred below his waist. Rahat. He was lower than low. Afina was suffering and here he sat, a full-fledged erection in his trews. Adjusting the traitor, he took a calming breath.

The chill of midnight seeped into his lungs and made him cough. The sound was hollow, a remnant of the viper venom, along with shivers. Tucked into his fur-lined cloak, Xavian cursed his weakness and looked to the sky. Moonlight spilled, casting shadows amid tumbling branches with thorny teeth. The silvery glow reached deep into the thicket, illuminating the rabbit warren and its many trails. His gaze drifted back to Afina.

La dracu. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Afina.”

“Christ, ’tis about time.”

Xavian glanced toward the opposite side of the clearing. “Speaking to me now, are you?”

Henrik shrugged. “She needs help.”

His eyes narrowed on his comrade. He tried to hide it, but concern shone in Henrik’s eyes. Xavian’s territorial instinct tightened. The sentiment didn’t become his former friend. A brilliant strategist, Henrik never did anything without reason, and his interest in Afina was cause for worry. Now, however, was not the time to push for an answer. Now was for the lass coming apart at the seams.

Inching toward her, Xavian stopped an arm’s length away. “Draga?”

She flinched.

Careful to keep his touch gentle, he brushed the dark tresses away from the side of her face. The tendrils clung to his fingertips as through trying to keep him in place, and Afina swayed. Xavian shuffled closer. As though drawn, she leaned in his direction.

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“That’s it, love,” he said, tone so soft he almost crooned. “Let me help...let me—”

She raised her head. Her eyes glimmered softly, the green glow hiding the hazel. “There is something wrong with me.”

“Not true.” Xavian brushed the pad of his thumb across her temple. “You are as you should be.”

Tears trembled on her lower lashes. “Where is Sabine?”

“Safe at Drachaven by now.”

“I need to hold her.”

“I know, but until you can...hold on to me instead.”

He cupped the nape of her neck and waited. The embrace had to be her decision. He couldn’t give her comfort unless she wanted it. Moments ticked into more before she bridged the gulf between them. She settled like home in his arms, coming to him with such trust Xavian didn’t know what to do first: thank God or hug her close.

He settled for both at the same time.

It felt like a miracle. He was soothing her, bringing her the ease she needed. Pride nudged him as he sat back and pulled her into his lap. Like a kitten, she nestled deep, head tucked beneath his chin, her body supported by his. He stroked his hand along her spine, encouraging her to relax. Small animals rustled through the thicket and an owl called, the night sounds as natural as having her in his arms.

In time, her tension ebbed, flowing out of her and into him. He took it all, aware of the strange current ghosting between them. It pricked his skin, raising the fine hair on the nape of his neck and forearms.

With a frown, he shifted to brush the heavy hair away from her nape. His gaze on her face, he massaged the top of her shoulder. A wee sound, more purr than moan, escaped her. He kept at it, working the tense muscle with sweeping circles. The more relaxed she became the more the current intensified, rushing out of her like water from a broken dam. As she went boneless, he channeled the flow, siphoning the sizzle until none remained.

Inhaling through his nose, he blew the breath out through his mouth. Warm for the first time since he’d been bitten, strength swept back into his limbs, dispelling the weakness as though it had never existed. Xavian rolled his shoulders. Christ, he felt as though he’d been placed on a rack and stretched to the limit.

What the hell had just happened?

He glanced down at Afina. Her head bobbed against his chest.

“Afina?” He cupped her cheek and tipped her chin up.

Her eyelashes flickered. “Hmm.”

“Let her sleep,” Henrik said, tone soft with warning.

Xavian’s attention snapped right. Rahat. He’d forgotten about Henrik. ’Twas understandable but not acceptable. No matter his absorption with Afina, he couldn’t afford to lose sight of an enemy.

A whetstone in one hand, his blade in the other, Henrik slid steel against stone. The rasp of each swipe disturbed nearby wildlife. Twigs snapped and the brambles rustled as rabbits sped away from danger.

“What’s your angle?” Body tense, Xavian shifted the precious bundle in his lap, preparing to move fast if Henrik attacked. Evenly matched, he refused to give his former friend the upper hand. If he died, Afina would be left on her own. “Did Halál send you?”

In answer, Henrik slid his dagger into a sheath high on his chest, pushed to his feet, and tossed him a leather pouch. Xavian caught it in midair. His gaze never leaving his comrade, he turned it over in his hand, recognizing it by feel alone. Hell, a trail pack. Filled with dried figs, nuts, and berries, the small sack was what Al Pacii assassins ate while in the saddle and on the hunt.

“Eat and grow strong. I do not kill weaklings.” Pivoting toward a break in the brambles, Henrik glanced over his shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

Afina in one hand, the trail pack in the other, Xavian watched his comrade retreat. Shadows shifted from shades of grey to black until his tunic became one with the night. Senses twitching, he listened, tracking Henrik’s movement through the thorny shrubs. Clouds covered the moon and a tree limb creaked. Xavian’s lips curved. His friend had opted for high ground, no doubt in the large beech at the edge of the thicket. ’Twas a good spot to keep watch and an even better one to launch an ambush.

Though Xavian doubted he would.

Henrik thought him weak from his clash with the viper. No challenge lay in killing an ill opponent, and slitting a man’s throat while he slept wasn’t Henrik’s style. He liked the fight too much, needed the challenge and the danger and the satisfaction of a clean victory. No one would ever accuse Henrik of being a coward.

Nay, the bastard wouldn’t attack tonight. Tomorrow, however, was a new day.

Being away from Castle Raul was bothersome. Vile, actually. Vladimir hated everything about it: the uncomfortable saddles and stiff muscles, the chilly nights and grey days, the absence of soft beds, hot meals, and sweet wine. As it was, he had to settle for ale. Foul brew. But most of all, he hated pissing in the forest. There was something uncouth about it.

His lip curled, Vladimir refastened his trews then ducked. Damnation, the insects were bigger than minted coins out here. Batting the bug away, he started toward camp, dodging swaying tree limbs and overgrown ferns. Some might find the lush greenery beautiful. He found it annoying. ’Twas yet another stark reminder of a good strategy gone awry.

The fact it had all gone so horribly wrong confounded him. A good planner, he’d spent hours looking for holes in his scheme until he dreamed of nothing but the steps needed to be taken. Yet victory stood miles away. Up in the mountains with a bunch of thieving assassins.

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How could Afina prefer that whoreson to him? She was too pure for the likes of Ramir and his ilk.

With a growl, Vladimir unsheathed his dagger and swiped at a fern stock. The leafy top flipped, tumbling end over end, then hit the ground, much as a head would after decapitation. Ramir would suffer a similar fate. The bastard had stolen what belonged to him, and if he had sullied her...dared to touch her—

“Damnation.” Vladimir slashed at an old oak, sending his knifepoint deep into the bark as he passed.

Afina’s maidenhead had better be intact. He owned her virginity along with everything else about her. She was his mate. His.

The truth had come to Afina’s mother in a dream, foretelling his destiny as ruler of Transylvania. As such, Ylenia had explained the mating ritual. The coupling of a high priestess and her mate was a powerful thing. It ignited the magic in her blood and forged a connection that would bind them together for all time. Therein lay a high priestess’s greatest weakness. For once the bonding took hold, she needed her mate close—his touch and attention—to drain the excess magic in her veins. Or she would slowly go insane.

Vladimir thought about bedding her every day: how he would do it, what she would feel like, and where he would take her. In truth, the where of it was the least important detail. He would tup her in the dirt with his men watching so long as he bound her to him. He needed that connection. If he controlled Afina, he held the keys to the kingdom—the power to dominate one of the most powerful creatures in Christendom.

A shiver of anticipation swept through him as he entered the camp. Black birds with red-tipped wings flitted from branch to branch, watching him with tilted heads and beady eyes. He ignored the inspection and swept the clearing with a glance, looking for Stein. Not that he wanted to see the bastard. Christ, he couldn’t wait until the morrow when they reached the mountain pass. The grand master would turn north toward Grey Keep and Halál, while he continued west into the teeth of the Carpathians.

The terrain would grow rough and his men would grumble. Vladimir didn’t care. Drachaven Castle lay within striking distance. Two weeks at best, three at worst and he would claim Afina and, through her, the Transylvanian crown. The ceremony was already planned. The priest and people primed. Now all he required was the priestess’s legs wrapped around his waist and her blessing.

When he possessed those, he would have everything he deserved.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hazy tendrils of sleep loosened their grip one finger at a time. Afina drifted up and out of the fog, ascending through layer upon lazy layer. Something told her to get up and get moving, but she swept the impulse aside. She wanted to stay a while, to float amid warm blankets and no worries. It was self-indulgent, but for once she didn’t care. Sometimes it was good to think of oneself instead of another. Not that it happened often. She served the people, and their needs were more important than her own.

Besides, Bianca would come soon. She always arrived after the bells tolled, giving Afina the extra time to sleep. She smiled, burrowed into the blankets, and waited for the telltale creak. Her sister was sneaky and always opened the door—

The thought jarred her, and awareness struck like a slap in the face.

The dream had been so vivid...so welcome. Afina blinked, refusing to cry. She’d shed too many tears already, a whole river full. Now it was time to wake up and greet the morning along with the truth.

But goddess help her, she didn’t want to face it. Not the magic or the fact she could barely control it. All she wanted to do was hide. Well, that and give it all back. Nothing about her new abilities suited her. Her sister would have been the better choice. Why hadn’t the goddess chosen Bianca instead? Afina shifted under the wool blanket. She’d asked that question countless times, searching for answers, desperate to understand. As always, the reasons eluded her. But fact was fact. The mark of the goddess marred her skin, and no matter how much she scrubbed it wouldn’t come off.

Soft sounds, clinking metal, rustling leaves, and light footfalls caught her attention. The smell of wood smoke reached her next. Afina planted her hand on the rough weave of the pallet and pushed herself upright. Her muscles squawked, protesting the shift. With a groan, she rolled her shoulders, trying to alleviate the stiffness.

“Finally.”

The deep rumble flowed over her, rich with a hint of sweetness...like the honey she’d favored so much at home. She sighed, let it carry and soothe her for a moment, then opened her eyes. Xavian. Crouched by the fire, wooden spoon in hand, he stirred the contents of a small stew pot, looking decadent and far too tempting.

“Good morrow.”

“Eventide, actually.” His gaze on hers, he tapped the spoon against the iron edge. “You’ve slept the day away.”

“Oh.” Afina bit her bottom lip. She’d been more selfish than she realized. “I guess I was tired.”

He set the spoon aside, leaving it to balance on the pot’s rim. “Feeling better?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Good as new.”

Afina ran her gaze over him, searching for any remnant of weakness. His illness had been severe, but as she studied him she realized none of it showed. The effects of the viper venom were gone. In their place was an intensity that made her squirm.

She glanced away. Not in the brambles anymore, large beech trees and big oaks towered above smaller shrubs, blocking out the setting sun. The orange glow of the day’s final moments peeked through the leaves, throwing odd-shaped patterns on the forest floor. They’d traveled while she slept. How much ground had they covered? Had he held her close while riding, cradled her in his lap like he had in the thicket?