Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (17 page)

“Answer my questions and I will leave you in peace,” he said, making sure to keep his voice soft. “I have no wish to harm you.”

She took a stuttered breath, chin wobbling against his hand, and nodded.

“What is your name?”

“B-basim-ma,” she said, the name barely audible.

“Ivan is not dead, Basima. Give him time, and he will rouse.” Air puffed between her lips, and her tension eased, though not enough to bring her any true comfort. He dropped his hand from her face. “Xavian Ramir...he was here, aye?”

“He followed the woman into the alley.”

Henrik raised a brow.

“The dark-haired one.” She bit her bottom lip, no doubt uncertain she should continue.

“’Tis all right.” He shifted, creating more distance between them. He didn’t need to threaten her with his size any longer. She’d submitted; now was the time to reassure. ’Twas the only way he’d get the information he sought without breaking his word...without hurting her. “You can tell me, lass.”

“She went out the side door...away from...my lord X-Xavian,” she said, then paused.

My lord.
So the rumors were true. Lucky bastard. Ram owned land and had a new home. “And?”

“The others came...the ones that work for the man in purple. A slaver, some say.” She met his eyes then shied, shuffling sideways. “T-there was a fight and...they took her.”

“The slave merchant?”

Basima nodded, the movement jerky. “Lord Xavian, he...he k-killed them all. The ones who tried to s-stop him and...w-went after her.”

“Ivan cleaned it up?”

“He h-hid the bodies.”

“Many thanks, Basima,” he said and turned to leave.

Something stopped him halfway down the narrow corridor. He glanced over his shoulder. She stood statue-still, no doubt afraid to move...afraid the slightest noise would bring him back. Vise-like pressure banded around his chest. Without thinking, he reached into the pouch at his waist. Coming away with a coin, he flipped the gold in her direction and was out the door before it hit the floor between her feet.

It was getting cold. So very cold. And no matter how fast Afina rubbed her arms and back, Sabine continued to shiver. Wrapped in the fur-lined mantle, she cuddled her daughter closer, lending as much body heat as she could, and peered through the metal bars. The setting sun bobbed, its rhythm following the jump and sway of the wagon that held them captive.

Or rather, the lion’s cage.

That’s what the man in purple had called it. He’d laughed, calling her his new lioness as he’d shoved her through the jaws of wood and iron and slammed the door shut behind her. The hinges had screeched, the high-pitched scream almost as bad as the click of the padlock. Afina shivered, her gaze on the forest and the deepening shadows on either side of the road.

They would stop to make camp soon. The men were talking. She could hear the creak of leather as they shifted in their saddles, complaining of stiff limbs and sore arses.

So much for escape. True to form, her attempt had only made things worse.

Even Xavian and his plan to hand her over to Vladimir was better than this. At least with him, she held some hope of surviving. The swine needed her alive, after all. These men, the ones surrounding her like a steel trap, didn’t care whether she lived to see Constantinople. It was a long journey; a boring one filled
with an endless supply of women to replace her if she didn’t live long enough to stand on the auction block.

Slavers. She understood that now.

Twenty strong, they were nothing but a bunch of thugs. A band ruled by the bastard who’d dragged her out of the alleyway. Away from Xavian.

Afina tightened her arms around Sabine. Was he dead? Lying in the dirt with his throat slashed or a sword through his belly? The thought made her stomach roll. No matter his intensions, she didn’t want...couldn’t imagine...

He couldn’t be dead. He was too vibrant a man—too strong—to be cut down.

Her knuckles went white against the brown edges of her cloak. If he’d been killed, it was her fault. Had she stayed with Sherene...had she just—

By the goddess. No matter how much she wanted to she couldn’t go back. It was done. Over. And regret was now starting to elbow shock out of the way. It sank deep, like thorny barbs, razor-sharp tips tearing at her.

Afina closed her eyes and pictured Xavian. Twin swords raised, muscled arms flexing, he stood strong, eyes flashing. Yes, she would remember him like that. Hold onto that image like a candle in the dark. She needed it, to soothe her heart as the guilt ate her alive.

The wagon rocked from side to side, bumping over a deep rut in the road. She opened her eyes. Unwelcome ones trapped her own, the leer as much a threat as the daggers Xavian carried. She recoiled, hugging Sabine closer. The thug smiled, yellow teeth flashing from where he rode alongside her prison. Her stomach revolted, but Afina swallowed the burn. The moment she showed fear, he won.

Tucking her lips inside the folds of her clock to hide her chin wobble, she met his gaze. One corner of his mouth curved up. His unkempt beard bristled as his gaze swept her, cruel intent sifting through his dark eyes.

“I’m going to make you scream.” He smirked then glanced at the darkening sky. “Soon, pussycat. Very soon.”

Afina swallowed, tasting bile, and watched him spur his mount to the front of the procession.

“They’ll each take a turn, you know.”

The raspy voice brought Afina’s head around. Her attention landed on the other captive. The one she’d been trying to talk to since the cage door slammed shut behind her. Little more than a scruffy ball in the back corner, the woman rocked—back and forth—one bruised shoulder peeking between the broken threads of her dirty gown.

Afina longed for her healing satchel. She had salve that would soothe the girl’s wounds and tonic that would ease her pain. The agony was no doubt the reason she rocked, trying to comfort herself the only way she knew how. But her bag was gone, taken by the thugs who would rape them both the instant they stopped for the night.

Her mind shied away from the thought, but her body understood and her muscles tightened, preparing for flight. But escape wasn’t an option. Not while locked inside the cage. Even if she managed to break free, she couldn’t run without her satchel. No matter how much she hated it, she couldn’t leave the amulet behind. The stupid thing was her birthright, the only leverage she held to keep herself and the people of Transylvania safe.

As though in answer, the amulet pulsed like a heartbeat. The throb slid across the nape of her neck: searching, stroking, soothing. Afina stilled and stared at the wooden wall at the front of the
wagon. She knew the amulet lay just beyond, probably nestled under the bench seat beneath the driver. But how did she know that? She’d never felt it before—not even when she’d touched the dratted thing.

So what was happening? Was she so distressed her brain played tricks on her, imagining things that couldn’t be real?

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.

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, pussycat.”

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.”

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...