The Sanction (20 page)

Their footsteps softly
retreated.

She heard the soft kiss of leather upon
the snow beneath their boots.

Instinctively, she tensed and closed
her eyes, thinking of her son, thinking of the mate she would never
again see, thinking of her own desolation if she were unfortunate
enough to live through this. But the Elder promised beheading,
hadn’t he?

Arms pulled taut against the binds, she
sank her teeth into her tongue and waited. The whistle of the first
last preceded the cutting sting that ripped through the material of
her dress. Her scream of agony echoed in the night, lifted with the
wind and was carried across the moors until in settled upon the
heights of the hills to the west. On its heels, another landed. She
screamed again, her eyes closed shut. One after the other, they
took turns. The length of the whip caught her shoulder and curved
like a lovers hand upon the right side of her breast. The tender
flesh pulsated as the skin was sliced evenly through.

Time fazed, and by the time she counted
twenty strokes, she no longer found the strength to stand. Blood
ran like a river down her very legs. Everything burned. Her eyes
closed of their own accord. She anticipated the twenty-first
stroke, left her body weak and unprepared for the force behind the
whip – it never came. Through swollen eyes she found the strength
to blink. Her back was a furnace.

Behind her there was a growl – not a
Were, she thought with disappointment. She had heard her brother
make the same noise when he was furious, but never so viciously,
never to brutal. There was a scuffle, curses, the sounds of flesh
meeting flesh, footsteps that ran and choked noises of panic and
fear. Then all was silent.

She swallowed with difficulty and felt
her knees weaken once more. The chains that bound her hand were
broken apart with hardly any effort. When she fell, it was like a
sack of grain. Powerful arms held her close. For a dazed moment she
dared to look into the face of her savior.

It was Silas, her uncle. She blinked.
There was something different about him. His hair was short, his
eyes wild and full of rage, his face sunken and drawn…No…not Silas.
His twin. The Lost one. Sutter.

She opened her mouth to speak, and he
considered her with agony and horror upon his face.

“
Well, your mate will have
the Elder’s head for this, wouldn’t he?” he mused softly. The deep
resonance of his tenderly spoken words filled her with shocking
warmth. He cradled her to his chest as if she was naught but a
child. Her holler of pain did not deter him. “There is no help for
it now Mandy.”

He had called her than many long years
ago when her head reached all the way to his waist. Just before he
disappeared. Another stream of tears filled her eyes, but she held
them at bay. She would not cry. She would not cry.

He took off at a run and then leapt
clear off the manse. If he fell and broke both their skulls she did
not care. The pain was overbearing. His movements did not sooth her
in the least. She did not know where he ran or how long he carried
her in his arms. She knew only that he was warm and his embrace
safe, and he smelled of the moist earth and fresh blood, metallic
and rich. And he may have been Lost and senile, but he helped
her.

In her mind, that made him more than a
relative.

It made him her savior.

Chapter Eighteen

Macer lifted his head and felt every
pore on his body raise to an alarming degree. Across the room, his
son tensed, also sensing the presence of danger that triggered not
only alarm bells in his head, but sent Hunters from the halls and
the courtyards pounding through the manse in a frenzy.

It was a summons – a call from the
Elder in times of distress…or war.

As a unit they made it to the door,
only to be blocked by Silas’ somber features. He cast a quick
glance around and backed them into the room before shutting the
door. Understanding and emotion swelled in Macer’s chest as he
struggled to speak the words. “Are they gone? Did he get her
out?”

Silas inclined his head but once. The
rush of relief that escaped his tight throat made him lightheaded.
Short of laughter, he turned to Vilirus and slapped him on the
back, a growl of victory in his throat.

“
Two Hunters were killed in
the fray. The trio of Council members that were present are shaken,
but otherwise unharmed.”

For a second it took the men to
register exactly what was said. Macer opened his mouth to speak. It
was Vilirus whose voice carried dead weight. “Why were there
Council members present?”

Slowly, pained, Silas presented his
fisted hand and unwrapped the fingers which were clutched upon a
piece of white ribbon. It was stained with fresh blood. Macer
recalled the frivolity that had been braided in the coils of her
hair two nights ago and the moisture from his tongue left him. He
staggered. Vilirus’ powerful shoulders braced him even as he took
it tenderly and clutched it to his chest. The beat of his heart
there twisted so that the agony almost seemed unbearable. Imploring
eyes met Silas’. “She was…” He swallowed the words, unable to voice
them aloud, unable to think that she was so treated, and was alone
while it happened, without her mother or those close to her weeping
to show support.

He felt himself being taken to one of
the chairs. A heavy glass was pushed into his palm. He considered
the water within and shook his head. Water would not patronize him
tonight.

“
I will kill him,” he
finally offered when time lapsed and the drone in the air that
should have demanded him to attend the Elder faded and became more
than a distracting hum. It burned to breathe, to move, to
think.

Silas turned away, his head lowered,
eyes focused outside. “I cannot allow you to do that.” His words
were level and softly spoken.

Macer’s large hand grabbed onto the
front of his son’s shirt and he pulled him forward, his gaze
intense. “Find her. Help them.”

Vilirus nodded and was out the door in
a flash. When he stood, it was to calmly tuck the length of ribbon
into his breast pocket. The fortifying breath he inhaled made him
light-headed.

“
You are right,” he conceded
tightly. He could not do what he wanted to this night. The Hunters
were alert, and he already sharpened Silas’ instincts by speaking
his emotions aloud. He would wait, he decided bitterly. He would
wait patiently until he could avenge the injustice of this
beating.

The image of his daughter, cut and
bloodied and screaming made him almost lose the strength in his
knees. Anger rose within him to mask the agony in his chest, but he
clamped his jaw and said nothing. His faced closed, emotions
shuttered just in time, for his mate sailed into the room, her face
pale, features pinched.

Oh by the gods, someone had told her!
She flung herself into his harms and held on tight, her breaths
ragged and raw. “Tell me the news I have just heard is not true
Macer,” she pleaded, her body sagging against his. “Tell me it is
not true…”

Silas’ footfalls were swift to leave
the room. The door was closed with a purpose. Macer found the
strength to embrace her. When he spoke, his voice carried a hard
edge.

“
Fear not my Amalea,” he
whispered, stroking her riot of curls. “I swear, the time will come
with the Elders’ reign will come to an end, and you shall know the
sweetness of vengeance for his manipulation and his deeds this
night.” Sobs racked her body. He held onto her even more. “Hush my
love.” Her wet cheeks he took into his hands and tiled her face to
meet his eyes. His mate, so beautiful, so passionate, was brought
to her knees with pain. His pain. Amarinda’s pain. All to save the
Coven’s pride. At the deadly glow that sparked in his eyes, she
calmed. Her fingers were white where she held onto his shirt for
dear life. “Do you trust me ma cheri?” She nodded. “Then believe me
when I say, the Elder will pay dearly for this.”

He sealed the promise with a chaste
kiss and tender words of assurances. Only when she was settled did
he make his way to the council chamber. Everyone was in an uproar.
The Elder sat as stiff as a statue, his eyes flaming.

“
Something must be done!”
one of the counselors demanded viciously.

“
He has grown
stronger.”

“
Stronger or not, he has
completely gone senile to come here. To kill two of his own
brothers!”

“
To snatch the female –
while she was being punished!”

“
Silence!” The Elder stood,
his face as cold as death. “The Hunters shall pursue them for as
long as it takes. I want Sutter’s head. And you will bring Amarinda
back here for due punishment. Henceforth they were both hunted, one
dead and one alive.” Macer refused to show emotion when his father
met his eyes. “You seemed distressed at my decision.”

He bowed curtly, his voice as
convincing as he could manage it. “I live only to serve your desire
my lord. I am a Hunter before I am anything else.”

His reply pleased the Elder, for his
deep breath was exhaled easily enough. When next he considered
those gathered before him, he summoned Silas forward. “You my son,
are charged with bringing Sutter to justice. You have seen how
blatantly he has disrespected and dishonored this Coven. If he is
left unchecked, I fear we will suffer for it.”

Silas bowed deeply. “Yes, my
lord.”

“
The Council members shall
leave immediately. All necessary arrangements are being made. The
countesses shall stay with them for safety. The Hunters shall
gather to Silas. Macer, we leave for Latvia posthaste.”

“
But my lord –“

“
It is decided. We will go
to the coast with the Council and take the ship to Latvia. Narelle
and Amalea must be protected at all costs.”

“
My lord,” he nodded again,
for there was truth in the words spoken. He took his leave and
paused in the hall. The Elder did not want him involved in the hunt
for his daughter. He was too close to the situation, too
emotionally attached. Now, he would be completely helpless, unable
to offer assistance to her should she need it. Still, the time
would come when all the pain he suffered now wouldn’t be for
naught. He would wait, would use the upcoming time with the Elder
to plan what must be done.

****

The wooden windows slammed open and
violently reverberated against the stone walls. Graeme and Rhys
were on their feet in a flash, eyes aflame, and swords in their
grasps. Outlined in the dark a vampire crouched, breaths violently
drawn. Graeme’s clasp on the hilt of the weapon slackened
instantly, for the sweet scent of his mate dispersed through the
cold wind and stunned him with relief. He rushed forward in a
flash, ready to receive her into his embrace. In the yellow light
of the fire she appeared pale. The breaths she took were labored.
There was a rattling on her chest.

“
Do not touch her.” Sutter’s
voice was laced with much more than a chilling command, but rage,
so much so that Graeme paused in his hasty advance. Only when he
approached the cot Rhys had vacated did he understand why. The
breath he drew was loud and intense. The marks of a whip…all over
her body…

Hands clenched to fists at his side as
the vampire laid her as gently as possible on her stomach. She was
neither aware nor awake, but a frown of pain remained etched upon
her brow.

“
When did this happen?”
Graeme growled, unable to bring himself to move. Sutter slipped a
dagger from his boot and did swift work cutting the dress off her
back, from her neck to the base of her spine. At the crisscrossed
lacerations that shone black and ruby, Graeme turned away, eyes
wild, chest heaving in agony.

“
Midnight,” he replied
finally, softly, coldly. “I heard her scream. There was no time to
wait.”

Rhys pulled on a pair of trousers
swiftly and leaned over her body, his features grim. “She has lost
much blood. If she does not feed, it will take her longer to
heal.”

“
Time you do not have,”
Sutter sliced in, his face tight and expressionless. “The Hunters
are following.”

Graeme fought the heaviness in his feet
and dressed, ever so often stealing glances at his female, wounded
and in so much pain…It was Rhys who gripped his shoulder
tightly.

“
Plans must change now. The
horde has not yet left the stronghold. Still, you cannot go there.
This will not end well for you.”

Graeme shook his head, eyes ablaze.
“Aye.” Once again, he turned to Sutter. The vampire took his time
about peeling out the garments that were caught in the wounds. The
tenderness he exhibited was a blatant contradiction to the harsh
lines of murder on his face.

“
I will lead the Hunters
away,” he offered heavily, matter-of-fact, then added, “for a
price.”

Graeme’s breath shuddered. “What do you
demand this time?”

When his task was done, he stood his
full height and met both pairs of flaring eyes. “The female Amalea
visited with you two nights after your mate and your general left
the stronghold.”