Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (44 page)

“Whatever it is, please tell me. He is my child, Hamund...my son, no matter who birthed him. I need to know what is happening...if he is all right. It is my right as a mother and the Lady of Drachaven.” Hamund’s face went tight as she pulled rank. Afina hated to do it, but reminding him of her station was necessary to
make him see reason. She held out her hand for the second time. “May I see it...please.”

His knuckles went white around the parchment. “I will have a promise from you first.”

Afina squirmed, knowing she would never give her word. She knew what he wanted—her safety above all else. Even over a little boy’s life. “What?”

“You will stay inside Drachaven...tend the other children, mix your healing potions, pace the halls...whatever. But you will not involve yourself in this.” He brought his hand forward, missive clutched in his fist, leaving no doubt what “this” meant. “You will allow me to do my duty without worrying you’ll do something foolish.”

“Hamund—”

“Otherwise I will lock you away...in the dungeon, if necessary.” He gave her a savage look, one meant to frighten her enough to listen. “Xavian will kill me, Afina. One bruise on you and he’ll kill me. If you have any liking for me at all, you will do as I say.”

“You fight dirty.”

“Only when I have to.”

Afina sucked a breath in through her nose, blew it out her mouth. Hamund held a special place in her heart. He was her friend, and she hated cornering him. She didn’t want him hurt anymore than she did Dax. If she believed for one moment Xavian would touch him, she would have listened. But she didn’t. Her mate would no sooner kill the captain than he would put a bruise on her. Meeting his gaze head-on, she tucked the promise he wanted inside her cheek and held out her hand.

“Christ.”

Palm up, her hand bounced in midair, asking without demanding. With a growl, Hamund placed the ball of parchment in her hand. Her fingers trembled as she pulled at the vellum, unrolling the corners before smoothing her thumbs down the center of the small sheet.

Her knees nearly gave out. “Goddess help us.”

She read the note again, all the fear she’d carried for two years culminating in a giant ball in the center of her chest.

Assassin,

I have your brat. The Dower cliffs before noonday. Send Afina. Alone. Or I deliver Dax to Drachaven’s gates, one piece at a time. I’ll be kind and start with his fingers
.

Vladimir, Voivode of Transylvania

The captain grabbed her elbow to keep her on her feet as she swayed, listing backward. “My lady?”

Hamund’s voice came from far away, through a tunnel with fuzzy edges. Afina closed her eyes, a picture of Dax in her mind’s eye. Dear goddess, his hands...his small, little-boy hands. The swine would take pleasure in putting a razor-sharp blade to Dax’s fingers and...

Afina gagged, fighting to keep her breakfast down. Her nails bit into her palms and she took a shaky breath to settle her stomach. “I am going with you.”

“No chance in hell. Goddamn it, Afina—”

“He’ll do it, Hamund. If I don’t go...if he doesn’t see me, he will slice Dax to ribbons.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “You know the bastard?”

“I ran from him two years ago.” The memories stirred, stripping the scab from the festering wound deep inside her. Guilt
and sorrow flowed like the finest poison, leaching into her mind. If only she had stayed and faced him then, Dax and the people of Drachaven would be safe now. “I am so sorry. I brought him to your gates.”

“Your gates now too.” Hamund gave her a meaningful look, one that said—don’t be foolish, find your courage. “Do not forget who you belong to, my lady.”

Xavian. I belong to Xavian.

The thought gave Afina strength, allowing her to see past her fear. She smiled a little, grateful for Hamund and the reminder. “We need a plan.”

“No shit.” Eyes steady on her, Quill scraped a whetstone along one of his dagger blades.

The motion should have scared her, but somehow Afina drew comfort from the sound of steel on stone. It gave her hope, reminded her of Drachaven’s strength and each man’s skill. If Xavian’s warriors couldn’t pry her lad from Vladimir’s grip, no one could.

The quiet threatened to swallow him whole. Xavian reveled in the soundlessness, the absolute certainty he would find a fight here, amid narrow dirt paths and jagged stone teeth. ’Twas his kind of terrain, the sharp edges and violent cliff angles companions to the predator inside him. Caged most of the time, the killer stirred, looked out through prison bars waiting for the moment Xavian swung the door wide and allowed his counterpart out into the light of day.

The hunt. His beast loved it...yearned for it the way a child did sweet cakes and honey.

Xavian understood the restlessness, the need. Had lived with it most of his life. Today, though, it felt different...tempered by another craving of equal value. He wanted to go home...missed Afina so much he ached inside. Christ, he’d only been gone a day—one day!—yet the compulsion to see her face, hear her voice, wrap himself up in her threatened his control. Xavian clenched his teeth. When had he become so weak? He frowned. Nay, ’twasn’t weakness, but love.

He loved her.

Even now, after a full day of knowing the truth, it still held the power to send him back a step. Xavian swallowed. He’d never imagined someone might love him. Dreamed of it, aye, but hope was a nasty beast. It made great promises that rarely, if ever, came true. But Afina was real...what she felt for him was real.

She wanted him. Needed him. Loved him for who he was, despite the ugliness and all his flaws.

He took a deep breath, combating the sudden tightness in his chest. Hell. No wonder he didn’t want to stay away from her. Why would he? He’d been spared, saved from a lonely life and empty future. Only an idiot wouldn’t cherish a gift such as that.

But he couldn’t return to Drachaven. Not today. His heart could play tug-of-war with his mind all it wanted. He refused to forsake his mission. The lads he sought to rescue deserved his full attention and Afina, no matter how lovely a distraction, was one he couldn’t afford. Later, only when the assassins he hunted lay dead, would he allow his thoughts to wander home, toward his mate and her needs.

Balanced on the balls of his feet, perched in a crevice between two rock faces, Xavian scanned the trail below. Pebbles, worn by time and effort, kept their secrets, hiding tracks, both human
and animal alike. Such a good place for an ambush. Al Pacii knew it, and so did he.

His lips curved. Soon. Very soon, he would have some small measure of revenge. Not much of one by any stretch, but enough to hammer his intentions home yet again. He would take all comers...wouldn’t stop until Halál was destroyed and the boys the bastards preyed upon were safe. Grim determination settled him as he backed out of his hidey-hole and made for the edge of the ridge. His men were in position, but a new plan needed to be made. The silence told him more than the hoofprints Cristobal had tracked through the forest and into the foothills.

The bastards wanted to be found...were leaving just enough for him to follow. Their intention? To draw him out into the open, into a well-laid trap.

Xavian shook his head, finding humor in the game, and skirted a boulder. Footfalls silent, he dodged the limb of a lone tree on the narrow lane. Roots spread like tentacles, the evergreen clung to a crevice in the rock, twisting at odd angles to reach the awakening sun. A small hawk sat in its arms, half asleep, enjoying the soft breeze ruffling its feathers.

Placing his hand flat on the hump of stone beside the tree, Xavian leapt, soaring until his feet landed on the flat plane below. Poised above the North Trail, Cristobal glanced at him from his periphery, acknowledged him with a nod before returning his attention to the pathway below.

Xavian rotated into a crouch beside his friend. “Anything?”

“Not yet. But the bastards are around.” Cristobal stroked the hilt of one of his daggers still safely sheathed. “’Tis too quiet.”

“A good sign.”

Cristobal rolled one shoulder then the other, alleviating the stiffness that always came with staying still so long. “If Valmont
leads them, they’ll come looking for us soon. The bastard was never patient enough to play hide-and-seek.”

“Pray it’s Valmont.” Xavian’s gaze swept the tumble of rocks on the other side of the North Trail and forced his muscles to relax. One by one, they unlocked, keeping him calm on the outside while he seethed inside. Valmont, that sick bastard. Just the sound of his name made him want to stab something. “’Twould be a gift.”

“Michaelmas comes early.” Cristobal’s dark eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Have you been a good lad this year?”

Xavian’s mind skipped from now to then—landing one short day ago when he’d held Afina in his arms. He heard her moan his name, gasp with pleasure, telling him without words how
good
she found him. His body picked up the thread, and he went hard behind his laces. “I have been
very
good.”

His friend chuckled, the sound quiet and low. “I’m going to tell her you said—”

The womp-womp of heavy wings sounded overhead.

Cristobal looked to the sky. So did Xavian, searching for the beast that had become his friend. A large shadow slithered over rock, spreading over the cliff face like a stain. A rush of air followed, stirring the hair at his nape before dark scales flashed blue in the sunlight. Light as an angel dove, the dragon’s clawed feet touched down on the ridge above them.

“What have you found?”

“Twenty-eight Al Pacii. Heavily armed. Hunkered down beyond the foothills.” Garren settled, shifting his weight from one claw to the other before folding his wings. “No boys.”

Henrik appeared on the ridge. Laying his hand against Garren’s scaled shoulder, he said, “An ambush...twenty-plus
assassins strong. Hell, Ram, you must be doing something right. Halál’s pissed off enough to put a big price on your head.”

Xavian performed a mock bow. “I live to please.”

Garren snorted. Twin tendrils curled from his nostrils, sending a cloud of smoke and the smell of sulfur tumbling over the rock face.

With a grin, Henrik left his perch, jumping to join them on the narrow ledge. Vestiges of dragon smoke swirled around his boots as he sank to his haunches beside them. “Just as well. Wipe out many with one blow. Better than chasing one or two around the countryside.”

“Glad you approve, H,” Cristobal murmured, his mouth tipped up at the corners. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the landscape spread out in front of them. “Don’t know about you two, but I don’t feel much like hiding anymore.”

“Seek and destroy.” Henrik settled his elbows on his knees, solidifying the crouch. “A much more enjoyable game.”

Xavian raised a brow. “Want to even the odds a little, H?”

“Got a method in mind?”

“How many can you get with your bow before we go in...three?”

Henrik fingered the tip of an arrowhead. “Four minimum...before they take cover.”

“Good.” Xavian glanced over his shoulder at Garren. “The others?”

“Tareek keeps watch in human form from the trees.” The dragon dipped his head, bringing his gaze level with theirs. “Cruz watches from on high, hidden in a mountain crevice.”

“Can you reach them?”

“Aye,” Garren said, the growl in his voice unmistakable. “I will inform them of the plan through mind-bond. When you engage, they will shift and come.”

Xavian nodded then met his men’s gazes, each in turn. “They expect us from the north. We will come from the south. H, find high ground...on my signal, unleash hell.”

With a murmur of agreement, they pushed to their feet, moving as one. Xavian saw the shift in each, felt it himself as he unlocked the cage that imprisoned the beast inside him. Free rein. He allowed the monster free rein, moving with quiet precision down the mountainside. The sooner he finished with his former comrades, the better. He needed to go home to Afina.

Back in borrowed trews, a hauberk strapped to her chest and a knife to her thigh, Afina shuffled to the edge of the boulder, hoping for a different view. No such luck. Her imagination hadn’t exaggerated. She chewed on the inside of her lip, stared at the trailhead and the narrow pathway beyond. Twisted and bent, tree limbs hung like ghouls, sawtooth leaves dripping from thick canopies. Rain-soaked trunks tunneled into the forest, deepening the gloom, creating a passageway that shoved her courage in the wrong direction.

She pivoted on the balls of her feet, anchoring her boots in soft earth. The scent of wild mint and morning mist rose around her, not letting her forget—neither the circumstance that kept her huddled in the midst of the forest nor the reasons she must go on. She wished she could block them out, if only for a moment. Mayhap then her hands would stop shaking.

Afina swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to go in there. Her hand slid to the small of her back, to the second blade Hamund insisted she carry. The first was a decoy, easily removed. The second was Xavian’s, concealed by the flap of her leather hauberk and one the swine wouldn’t expect. Vladimir would take the one strapped to her thigh, never suspecting she had the courage or smarts to come packing another. Arrogant bastard.