Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (18 page)

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, pussycat.”

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, pussycat.”

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.

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.

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.”

“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...