Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (29 page)

Tight bands of pressure squeezed her rib cage as she watched the gap between her horse and Xavian’s grow. Well, there was nothing for it. Xavian would no doubt throttle her, but what other choice did she have?

Tam-tam drums pounding in her temples, Afina eased her grip on the reins, slowing the horse to a canter. Henrik thundered past her. She heard him curse then whistle softly. Xavian glanced over his shoulder. She was already slipping from the saddle. With a yank, she loosened the belly cinch, grabbed the reins, and led her horse off the trail.

She stopped in a small break in the bracken. Huge oaks held court, shielding them from the sky and the predators who owned it. She took a fortifying breath, planted her feet, and waited for Xavian.

She didn’t wait long.

With soundless precision, he came through the high ferns, the devil in his eyes and a scowl on his face. A sliver of fear took root then grew, strangling her confidence. She held both hands out and took a step back. “Xavian...”

He vaulted from Mayhem’s saddle.

“If you’ll just listen for a moment, I can exp—”

Afina squeaked as his arms closed around her. Without losing stride, he hauled her beneath the oak’s thick canopy and pinned her to its trunk. Sharp ridges of bark bit through the thin tunic into her back, but she didn’t fight him. Instead she let him mold her as he slid his knee between her legs, caging her against his chest.

“Look, I just—”

“Be quiet. Don’t move.” He growled the order against her cheek.

The urge to bash him for his arrogance reared its ugly head. Afina squashed it and shut her mouth instead. His high-handed nature would be dealt with later. Not now. Not with dragons flying overhead and his hands all over her. If she put him in his place, one of two things would happen: he would strangle her or find a better way to keep her quiet. Her body hummed, voting for option two. Afina sighed. If only it were that easy—as effortless as the pleasure he gave her. But the price of oblivion was consequence, and that meant dealing with Xavian’s anger after the bliss had faded and reality returned.

“Anything?” he whispered, his attention now on Henrik.

Under the neighboring oak, Henrik fisted three sets of reins, peering around leaves and twisted tree limbs. The horses shifted behind him, blowing hard, the toll of exertion flickering along their lathered flanks. With a murmur, he quieted them, expression intense as he searched the sky.

One moment tipped into the next until they piled up, one stacked on top the other. The silence pressed in on an eerie echo, hammering her temples with a persistent tattoo. She turned her face into Xavian’s throat. As her skin touched his, he shifted, making space beneath his chin. Greedy, she nestled in, his woodsy scent and the steady beat of his heart more reassuring than the absence of winged shadows on the ground.

Henrik whistled, the sound mimicking the birds that sat above their heads. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Afina watched him tap his ear twice and shake his head.

Xavian nodded, accepting the silent message before he dipped his chin. Day-old whiskers rasped against her skin and heat swirled, raising her awareness along with a shiver. Afina burrowed a little deeper, needing more of his scent, more of his warmth, more of everything.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, tone harsh, touch gentle. The paradox gave her pause. How could he sound so angry, yet hold her so gently at the same time?

Her hands flexed on his upper arms. “We need a new plan.”

“What’s wrong with the old one?” He drew back just enough to look at her.

“Everything.” Seduced by the feel of him, desire ignored the danger and murmured. Her body warmed, and her gaze dropped to his mouth. A whisper away, the fullness of his lower lip looked like perfection. Hmm, his taste. It was temptation, a dark craving she longed to appease.

Afina flicked her tongue over her bottom lip, remembering his kiss in the cave. Surely one more sip wouldn’t matter. She didn’t sense the dragons nearby and—

“Stop it,” he said, low and tight. The ache in his voice matched the heat in his eyes as he removed his thigh from between hers.
On a slow exhale, he stepped away, allowing cool air to ghost between them. “Start talking.”

His withdrawal left her cold. Struggling to combat the chill, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Something’s wrong. Violet Eyes isn’t with the others. I can feel his absence.”

“Who?”

“Leader of the dragons. The one with blue scales and violet eyes.”

“Unbelievable,” Henrik said from a few feet away.

Afina flinched. He moved like the wind. How the devil had Henrik gone from his oak to theirs without making a sound—and with the horses in tow?

He winked at her. “Trust a woman to notice eye color in the midst of battle.”

Xavian threw him an annoyed look. “An ambush?”

“I think so,” she said, rubbing her upper arms. “Dragons like to hunt in the mountains. ’Tis where they are most comfortable, in the high places.”

Henrik raised a dark brow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.” Chewing on her lower lip, Afina looked for the evidence to support her certainty. But the memory was slippery, avoiding capture until it sank to the inky depths of her mind. She shook her head and frowned. “I don’t know how I know...I just do.”

Xavian tugged his cloak from behind the saddle and searched her face, hunting for any trace of doubt. Afina refused to show any. She knew the dragons somehow—
knew
their habits like a mother knew her children—and couldn’t abandon the conviction now. If she did, she would fail not only herself, but Xavian as well.

With a flip, he draped his mantle around her shoulders. Soft fur brushed the nape of her neck and his scent drifted from the folds, enveloping her in warm comfort. She sighed, tension fading as he pulled the wool tight and pinned it in place.

Fiddling with the brooch, his eyes narrowed a fraction, and Afina saw the instant a new plan formed in his mind. “Do the beasts like water?”

It was scary, really. The man was brilliant. “No. They are weak swimmers.”

“The river,” Henrik said, catching on fast.

“The Jiu is our best option,” Xavian said, reaching for Mayhem’s reins. The warhorse stepped out, bumping Henrik out of the way with his nose. “’Tis wide and deep...the gorge is smooth sided.”

Henrik patted Mayhem’s flank, making him sidestep. “No place to perch.”

“Exactly.” Tossing the reins over his steed’s neck, Xavian checked the saddlebags before reaching for Afina’s horse. With a murmur, he ran his hands from shoulder to haunch, soothing the gelding before tightening the belly strap. “At night no one will see a swift-moving boat.”

“How long to Drachaven that way?” Henrik asked, checking his own packs.

“A night to reach the cliffs, another on the river.”

Wide-eyed, Afina looked from him to Henrik then back again. “But the horses—”

“Will come with us,” he said, his gaze steady on Afina. He could almost see her mind working. Worry was alive in her eyes, inventing problems that had yet to arrive. “The ferrier’s boat is large enough to hold them.”

Leather creaked as Henrik swung into his saddle. “Any cover on board?”

“Awnings midship, port to starboard.” With a frown, he watched Afina chew on her thumbnail. The nervous twitch was out of character, a shift in tension Xavian felt as well as saw. She moved on to the next finger, intent on massacring another nail. He grabbed her hand and, with a tug, brought her a step closer. The strange connection they shared flared as he tipped his chin, demanding an answer without asking.

“I don’t like boats,” she said, resorting to gnawing on her bottom lip.

“And the water?”

“Even less than boats.”

The news brought him up short. Good Christ, the woman could toss a full-grown dragon over a megalith yet feared water? ’Twas baffling and...more than a bit endearing. Even with all her power, she needed him—was depending on him—and that made him feel so damned good he could hardly stand himself.

Lacing their fingers together, he murmured, “’Twill be all right, love. Trust me.”

She nodded, and after giving her hand a squeeze, he got her moving. ’Twas dangerous to linger in one place for too long.

As he set her in the saddle, he rechecked her stirrups, concerned for her comfort. The day had been long. The night would be longer. He didn’t want her falling from the saddle when exhaustion took hold. Already dark circles had crept beneath her eyes, giving her a bruised look. She needed a soft bed and a week of hearty meals, but that would have to wait a few more days.

Drachaven was close, but so were the beasts.

’Twould take all his considerable skill to see them through. Under normal circumstances, the prospect of besting a worthy
opponent would have invigorated him. Not tonight. And as his gaze brushed over Afina one last time, he knew the reason why. He had her now and far too much to lose.

Crouched in shadow at the edge of the forest, Xavian stared across the open expanse toward the cliff edge. Moonlight spilled, greeting the night chill as a brisk breeze played in the short field grass. The gusts swept across the plain, rolling against each blade until the lea rippled like verdant water.

One hundred and fifty yards to the head of the path and no place to hide.

’Twas less than ideal. A true death trap, if the dragons found them before he was ready. But what other choice did he have?

The narrow trail was the only way down the cliffs and onto the beach. A short league and a half away, the cavern lay hidden by the jagged rock face. Deep water washed in through the cave’s mouth, and only those brave enough to swim ever saw the inside. The ferrier’s dock sat under the cover of the first cavern, and if the dragons refused to swim he would be one step closer to safety and Drachaven.

His senses wide open, Xavian listened but heard naught more than he expected: the leaves rustled above his head and the river murmured, rushing against the high cliffs as it snaked through stone on its way to mountain passes. The horses were calm. Henrik was ready. Afina was not.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. Still mounted, her hands clutched the reins as she waged an internal battle—run and hide or stay and fight. He was torn too. It wasn’t the danger, but the fact he didn’t want Afina anywhere near it.

Pushing to his feet, he crossed to her. As he slid his hand over her leather-clad thigh and gave her a gentle squeeze, he murmured, “
Draga
, look at me.”

Lean muscle flickered under his palm as she dragged her attention away from the field stretched out in front of them. Her gaze met his, and the worry he saw there nearly ripped his heart out. “I d-don’t think it’s safe here.”

“It isn’t,” he said, for once wishing he could lie. He wanted to reassure her but knew dishonesty wouldn’t serve either of them. “Do you sense them?”

“Yes, but...” She glanced at the sky. A copse of blackwood trees obscured the moon, hiding them with thick limbs and flat leaves. Her knuckles went white against the reins. “I cannot...I don’t know how close they are. Everything is hazy. It’s as though there’s a thin film between me and them.”

“No doubt their doing,” Henrik said, gravity in his gaze as he dismounted. His feet touched the ground without making a sound, and turning to his pack, he tugged open a saddlebag. “A decoy, Ram?”

“Do it.” Xavian palmed Afina’s waist. His grip light, he lifted her from the saddle. “Your clothes...your scent. The leader will try to take you out first.”

Henrik snorted. “He didn’t like me much.”

“But he didn’t kill you,” Afina said, slipping her arms around Xavian’s waist. Taken off guard, Xavian let her nestle in, cheek to his chest, head beneath his chin. Somehow his arms knew what to do and closed around her, adjusting their fit until she was snug against him. “Why? Violet Eyes could have killed us all with little effort.”

“Not true.” Giving into impulse, he stroked his hand over her hair. The raven tresses were soft with a hint of dampness, no doubt from her bath. “You kicked his arse.”

Her mouth curved against his throat then smoothed out as she leaned away. Back to chewing on her lip, she caressed the tops of his shoulders, following the seam in the leather to his upper arms. “He was after you for some reason. He wanted you.”

Xavian shook his head, tried to focus. Jesu, the woman had busy hands. The muscle roping his abdomen flexed as her fingertips played, leaving a heated trail on his skin. She stroked over his biceps. His palms itched, wanting to cup her bottom and lift her against him. Her fingers dipped, caressing the inside crease of his elbows. Xavian locked his knees, ordered the traitor in his trews to settle down, and palmed her waist. It was a sorry second to what he really wanted to touch, but close enough to keep him happy.

“Mayhap...” She peeked up at him through her lashes. “We should try and talk to him again. I could—”

“Nay.” The force of his denial made her jump. He grabbed her hands—before she drove him mad with her touch—and held both of hers in one of his. “I’ll not risk you like that. Not again.”

“Agreed.” Finished stuffing his extra trews with dead leaves, Henrik set to work on a tunic. Tucking the linen into the trews, he tied his mantle around the shoulders and stood. “What do you think?”