The Sanction (16 page)

He shook his head in a sorrowful manner
that did not become his frown. “No. They will not.”

The pain seized her again, and she
groaned and muttered her apologies in agony. For a long time she
heard the cries of the people until there was none left, for the
Hunters were thorough, and Rhys had taken her far into the hills
where the cold was intense and the mountains dangerous. With each
step he took, she sank deeper into the fur. When much time had
passed and the night turned to day, Amarinda realized that she had
slept, and he had not stopped to rest. He did not speak, did not
look at her and did not acknowledge that he even held her heavy
weight for staggeringly long hours. When the noon hour drew near
they rested. That was when the fever set in.

****

Rhys raked numb fingers through his
hair and cursed again. Frustrated, he paced for a few feet before
her prostrate form on the ground back and forth until the grass had
become trodden to the point of death. Each time she cried out, it
became more intense. The babe was coming soon, and they were out in
the open, in the cold, with Hunters close by and soon, the scent of
blood on the wind. Why had he ever agreed to this? He should have
been the one to stay with the Scouts. Rhys had never been in a
situation where he did not know what the next step was. As he stood
before her, half disgusted that he should be there to witness the
birth of a child born of Were blood from a vampire female, it was
fear that made the skin on his body pull tight and his heart pound
just a little faster in his chest. Curse his loyalty to Graeme! She
hollered again, and this time there was a gush of blood and water.
Stunned, he froze.

“
Rhys…” Her voice was a
mixture of panic and concern. Still, he could not move. Beneath her
the grass was wet with the reality of it all. “Rhys!”

His eyes snapped up to hers and cleared
instantly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sunken from pain and
stress. Still, she was coherent – more so than he.

“
Everything is wet and cold.
When the babe is born, you must keep it warm.”

A heavy frown pleated his brow, but the
urgency of the situation forced him to nod. Pain glazed her eyes
once more. He turned around abruptly, unable to see the distress
that crossed her features, unable to shut out the sound of her
cries. Minutes pressed on, and it seemed like forever before a
sharp little squeal pierced through the chill of the evening. His
pores rose, and his hands fisted in relief. He did not make to turn
around, unsure of what was expected of him. It was several seconds
of the babes crying before he cocked his head to listen for her
breathing.

“
Are you still living
vampire?” he managed to croak finally.

Her chuckle was weak but reassuring.
“Yes…but I must ask you to be a nurse-maid and do what I
cannot.”

Stiffening his spine, he faced her. The
child was held to a breast, suckling greedily. Thick black hair
crowned its head, and it shivered from the cold with a mixture of
sudden outbursts of protest and screams in-between gulps. Rhys
considered the scene before him and felt shaken to his core. The
vampire had just birthed the first of a new race – a new species.
She looked up then and graced him with a beautiful smile, one that
spoke the words of gratitude she did not say. Rhys stepped forward
awkwardly and studied the pair as something strange.

“
A boy,” she offered,
dislodging the child from her breast to present him in all his
naked glory. “And he is more cold than hungry.”

Instantly, Rhys removed his fur and
shirt and wrapped the babe snugly. He sheltered him in the crook of
his arm against the heat of his hair and chest – and swallowed with
difficulty. The heartbeat that thundered there was swift and
strong, and as he looked up, he considered the dusk and the
mountains they still had to face. The Grampian Pass was less than
two miles away. They needed to continue moving. Just as he was
about to speak, the wind lifted, and putrid flesh stained the air.
Hackles raised, he deposited the child in her arms before she could
voice a protest and motioned for her to be still. Carefully, he
scanned the moor, testing the air in small sniffs, ears alert.
There was nothing but the damp air.

“
We have to go – now.” She
gasped and struggled to stand, only to stagger and fall. Rhys was
at her side in a flash. “This is not the time for weakness vampire.
You have to get up.”

“
I cannot!” she snapped,
clutching the child and her midriff. “I just had a baby you fool! I
am weak and I have not fed in almost two days!”

Rhys snarled and drew the knife that
was strapped to his calf. “Open your mouth!”

Shocked, she complied, and watched as
he opened the flesh of his palm and squeezed generously into her
mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and sighed in
contentment. Rhys considered her well before guiding her to the
rocky path. Their steps were swift and unfailing, him alternating
between taking the lead and falling back to ensure that their
tracks were covered. Darkness was fully upon them by the time they
arrived at the Pass. This high up, a light snow still brushed the
ground.

“
The bridge,” he motioned
softly. She took one look at the wooden structure and shook her
head instantly. Rhys sank his fingers into her arm and pushed her
forward impatiently. He had no doubt that they had been followed,
and he knew that the Hunters waited. He would make a stand here,
but she needed to get to safety. “When you are safely across, I
will join you.” Eyes wide, she ventured, clutching the babe to her
breast and holding onto the half rotted rope awkwardly as she
tested the narrow pieces of wood she stepped upon. The wind slapped
hair into her eyes and rocked the structure precariously so that
she slipped more than once. Rhys waited patiently, his back toward
the bridge, eyes scanning the sparse trees ahead. The fog came in
thick, rising from the valley in heavy curtains that did not make
recognition easy. He had not lost the scent of the Hunters, and
self-preservation demanded that he attempt to cross as well, but if
they were attacked on the unstable bridge, there was no telling if
or when it would break apart.

Snow and stone crunched beneath his
feet as he stepped back, but it wasn’t until he had come to the
edge of the cliff did he hear her panicked voice.

“
Please…”

Amarinda hugged the infant tightly to
her chest in a feeble attempt to protect him from what was to come.
Before her a Hunter stood, poised and waiting. Weapon in hand, its
blade grazed the ground as he brought it up ever so slowly. She
whimpered and shook her head, unable to force the words from her
tight throat. The wind took strands of ash blond hair into his face
and eyes – eyes that were as cold as the steel in his hand. This
was not a Hunter from her Coven she knew. This Hunter bore no
relation to her. There was no mercy to be had tonight.

“
You cannot have my son,”
she declared in a shaking whisper. Behind her she heard a beastly
cry of agony and knew that he was not the only one. The clank of
steel and groans echoed in the valley. Trembling, she braved a step
back, her eyes peeled upon the Hunter before her. He had yet to
move, considering her with an expressionless countenance that
gathered to a mild frown only when her back connected with
something large and very hard. Sparing a glance up, she noted Rhys
– and cried out in shock.

He was bathed in blood. His chest
boasted many wounds, most of which were neat, deep incisions, the
trademark of the Hunters. His face was swollen and drenched in
blood. Even as he stood there, heaving in breaths, she heard the
gurgle of blood echo in his lungs and knew that he would die. Hot
tears stung her eyes – of remorse and rage. Amber eyes met hers as
he fell to his knees. There was no strength left within his body.
Unspeaking, he toppled over, facedown at her feet.

“
He is not yet
dead.”

So stunned she had not noticed the
several others that had joined them from behind his prone form. A
pool of blood seeped from beneath his body and spread swiftly in
the snow.

“
Throw him over,” the Hunter
before her intoned. Just as quickly, an unidentified foot connected
with his limp midriff. He disappeared into the fog below. Amarinda
whimpered helplessly moments before the child was torn from her
embrace. “And this.”

“
Nooo!” she screamed,
lunging forward. The child wailed at the sudden movement and the
cold wind that lashed his fragile body. “Oh please! Please do not
kill my baby!”

The infants cry echoed throughout the
mountain side. The Hunter considered her well. “Bring
her.”

She retaliated, swinging her fist and
catching one in the jaw. He snarled and returned the gesture. She
spat blood and coughed pitifully. Just at that moment, the child
was flung into the darkness, it’s screams slowly fading until she
heard nothing .

Weak with grief, she could not bring
herself to move. Hot tears burned her throat, so much so that when
she finally gave into the need to weep, the Hunters dragged her to
her feet. She was lead blindly through snow and across rocks, and
when the pain in her chest proved too intense to bear, everything
thankfully went black.

Chapter Fourteen

Graeme smelled blood on the wind long
before he arrived at the village. Everything was destroyed. A thick
cloud of smoke and ash concealed the first brush of dawn that
staggered awake beyond the trees. The breaths he heaved burned his
nostrils and forced the pain in his chest to expand. He was too
late.

At his back the handful of men he
selected sat upon their mounts in stoic silence for the moment –
until one of them dismounted and stumbled upon a pile of wood ash
not ten feet away. Graeme did not look at him as his bellow of
anguish echoed in the overcast sky. His tears were his alone, just
as the agony that sliced through Graeme was not to be shared. He
nudged his mount forward and took his time about walking through
the debris. The men did not venture.

At the center of the village where the
old stone well still stood, a pile of bodies was left to burn.
Graeme noted dismembered forms of men, women and children. Smoke
still rose from the heap where embers had yet to extinguish. Weak,
he struggled to keep his back erect as he continued on. On the
outskirts of the village he noted several haphazard tracks in the
blood-stained earth. Ever so slowly he returned to the men, only to
find the few of them who indeed had families there searching for
the bodies of loved ones.

For two days he had waited upon an
attack that never came. That was when he suspected she had been
captured. The Hunters would not risk more of their numbers if they
already retrieved what they marched for in the first place. Numb,
he considered the men before him and felt the weight of their
despair burdened upon his shoulders. They did not know why the
Hunters had done this, did not understand the need for war when
thus far, they had been living in relative peace with the Covens.
Still, they faced him, ready for battle. And he would risk their
very lives for his vampire mate.

It was the worst betrayal.

“
Those of you who have lost
a child, or a woman, find your dead and bury them. And if you do
not wish to continue this ride, find your families at the coast and
protect them there.”

They hesitated, each pair of eyes
asking the question no man would voice. Graeme presented them with
his back and nudged his mount forward, barely relieved when it was
discovered that only ten had turned back. With fifty strong, he
pressed on, thankful that more than a hundred and fifty had been
left behind to defend the castle. Close to noon they arrived at the
Grampian Pass. The sharp rock at the edge of the cliff face was
stained with blood, Hunter and Were. Graeme felt his heart thunder
just a little faster as a glimmer of hope flickered in his chest.
He dismounted swiftly and stepped forward. The tightly woven rope
that had held the bridge taut was cut clean through. He glanced
into the valley and considered the many sharp rocks beneath.
Slowly, he shrugged the fur from his shoulders and handed over the
reins of his mount.

His men said nothing as they watched
him make the precarious descent. The chilled wind slapped hair into
his face and eyes, and with each leap lower he paused to gently
sniff the air-currents. Twenty feet from the ground, he paused to
listen. There was nothing save his own ragged breaths of anxiety.
The final leap brought him to his knees, and when he stood it was
to survey the rocks. He moved slowly, half afraid of what he might
find when his search was over, his eyes and ears sharp. Weakly, in
the silence, there was a muffled groan. Claws extended, he moved
forward, scenting the wind until he came upon the body of Rhys. The
man lay upon his side, back bare to the cold chill of the
wind.

“
Rhys!” he exclaimed, so
relieved that his voice trembled. He rushed toward him and reached
forward to clutch his shoulder. “Rhys, by the gods I thought you
were dead!”

Moss green eyes flecked in gold
considered him, unfocused and dazed for a second before recognition
cleared the fog from his face. “Graeme?”

“
Aye, tis me.”

“
I think I broke all of my
bones,” he greeted with a hoarse cough.