Warrior of the Ages (Warriors of the Ages) (41 page)

After our Joining
floated through his mind, followed by
coward
, and he shivered slightly.

Beth was watching him curiously, but she called out calmly. “I’m good Daddy. You’re not getting up for cookies, are you?”

Ted’s footsteps retreated and he grumbled good-naturedly, “Well, not now with my skinny daughter using that tone.”

Beth laughed and then, as her Dad creaked back to his room and thumped onto his bed, she whispered to Kahtar. “I’ll come home in the morning. If I go now, he’ll be upset.”

Stubbornly Kahtar crossed his arms, and she gave him a look of exasperation and hissed, “It’s only a few hours!”

It hurt physically to be away from Beth now, but there was also the fact that she was Cultuelle Khristos and out in the world, right in the middle of Seekers to consider. No other woman in the clan was allowed this dangerous freedom but his wife. The irony of that wasn’t lost on him. Scanning the perimeter in his mind he searched for something, anything, to use as an excuse to make her come home with him then. There was nothing. There weren’t even guns in the neighborhood, and even the teenage boys he could sense were tucked comfortably into their beds.

Beth seemed to follow his train of thought because she told him. “Oh spare me, I’m safe. Besides, there’s been an Old Guard flickering around here the whole day.”

He frowned. He hadn’t sent an Old Guard. They rarely followed someone they hadn’t pledged themselves to, not without a request, but Beth interrupted his thoughts. Scooting close she put her mouth against his ear and whispered, excitedly, “They’re angels! I realized that when they took me. Why didn’t you tell me what they were?”

“Angels? The Old Guard?”

“Yes.” Beth studied him, her eyes were lit with enthusiasm and even in the middle of the night her summer blonde hair fell neatly over her shoulders, smooth and shiny. “Didn’t you know that, Kahtar? They’re beings of light!”

Rubbing a hand over his cropped hair he was distracted. “Well, they’re beings of light….”

“Angels!” Beth insisted, “right in the middle of the world, I always believed in them but I never expected them to be so—scary—but then I thought about it. Why wouldn’t they be? If they’d be anything, they’d be scary!”

Angels?
For eons he’d known Old Guard and accepted that they were different, they enforced the laws of being, but they followed their own cryptic laws. The consensus among Covenant Keepers was that they had their own way. Rising carefully, to another deluge of stuffed animals Kahtar batted away a fuzzy angelfish and an octopus while Beth smothered laughter. He could sense Carole White running back towards the house, he had to leave or she’d sense him and he was fairly certain if she saw him near her husband at night she’d attack first and ask questions later. The last thing he needed was a battle with Beth’s Mom. Wading through a pile of stuffed animals Kahtar slid out the bedroom door while Beth blew him a kiss. It knocked into his heart physically, real and satisfying and he hoped the sensation would last for the next few hours.

RETURNING TO THE veil Beth was more environmentally conscious. She entered fast, as she’d seen everyone else do, and let her convertible coast. It was hard to be patient, and she cheated with the gas pedal a couple of times, but eventually coasted to the front porch and shut off the engine. There he was, sitting on the front porch in one of the over-sized Adirondack chairs, rugged, strong and definitely her idea of handsome. Wolves came sailing, pounding over the rolling meadow, his paws sending a vibration detectable through the soles of her thin yellow peep toe pumps. Smoothing her flowered sundress she sat back on her heels and waited for the enthusiastic dog. Kahtar leaned forward and barked an order at the dog, causing him to veer away.

About to protest, she caught a whiff of skunk and groaned, “Sprayed? I just washed him.”

“It’s hopeless. I’ve had the plebes bathe him every week since I got him and he always smells. He is the nastiest dog I’ve ever had. Believe you me that is saying something. Most dogs learn to at least avoid skunks”

“Slow learner?”

“No learner.” Kahtar grinned, and patted the chair next to him. Rising, Beth galloped up the stairs and hurried to take her place. Before she was even seated he took her hand and kissed it. “Missed you.”

“Me too.” A thunderous crash vibrated through the wall behind her and she turned in surprise. Through the window she saw plebes, in their undyed tunics and ridiculous leggings, tugging weapons off the front room walls and hauling them across the large room. Beth popped up to hug Kahtar enthusiastically almost unable to believe he’d really move the god-awful collection.

“Thank you! Oh, thank you, Kahtar!”

“Anything for you, Sweet Beth.” His tone was gruff, and there was something underlying in it. While hugging him, enjoying the warm resin smell of the house and the clean smell of his soft sleeveless blouse, she placed it. Fear. He was afraid of not having those weapons inside the house. Settling back into her chair she studied him, the square jaw showed a faint hint of tension, the steely eyes revealed nothing. He was not an easy man to read. Cheating she put a hand on his arm and was momentarily distracted by the sheer size of those biceps—she’d always had a thing for muscular men and Kahtar took the cake. Her heart moved against his as she tried to read him, the furrow she’d dug into his heart drew her but she ignored it, trying to sense everything. Yes, there was faint fear there. He was strangely attached to those weapons.

Surprised she looked into those eyes. “Do you worry about Cultuelle Khristos being attacked?”

Amusement quirked the corners of his lips. “Not particularly. Why do you say that?”

“Well, you keep that huge arsenal right here in the house, like you expect an invading horde—and you had Old Guard practically surrounding my parent’s house all morning. They only showed as light but I know my mother noticed something. They even followed me in my car. You know I thought Honor once said that they don’t do cars….”

Kahtar dropped her hand, an inscrutable mask dropping over his face, instantly alert he demanded, “Are you certain, Beth? That they followed you in your car?”

“Of course, they were flickering like mad. I mean sometimes I do get ocular migraines, but this was unmistakable. They weren’t in the car, but they were all around it.”

A split second before Kahtar roared out the words, “Old Guard,” they appeared. Shimmering into being by the dozens they stood solidly around the porch and despite the heat of the day Beth’s hands and feet went instantly cold with fear. They were always formidable, but this time they were terrifying and fierce. Her eyes went to Kahtar’s and she saw fear there too, and knew something was strange and wrong.

“Stop them!” He demanded, and though several new lights flickered to surround her, one of the Old Guard towered over her and reached for her shoulder. His hand felt icy hot as it grabbed roughly, her eyes went to his black leather skirt, noting for the first time a plaid sash that draped over his naked chest. One word flitted into her mind even as Kahtar uselessly reached towards her. “Scottish.”

KAHTAR’S HAND MET air, Beth was gone in a flash of light and he roared. Turning he caught only a flash of more shimmering light as every Old Guard bearing the insignia of Clan Berwick vanished. Only Cultuelle Khristos’ Old Guard remained and Kahtar shouted at them. “She is my wife! You have no right to separate us.”

It was grasping, while the Old Guard surely sensed their connection, by the laws that bound them—and in the eyes of Old Guard—they were not technically joined—not completely. Kahtar did not need to ask what had happened, he knew. Should have known last night when Beth told him that Old Guard had been at her parent’s house. They hadn’t been Cultuelle Khristos’ Old Guard. They’d been Old Guard of Clan Berwick, watching Beth, judging her honor for the role she had played in the deaths of so many of their rogue warriors.

“Beth is not responsible for the deaths of Berwick’s rogue warriors!”

One of the Old Guard inclined his head slightly, his black eyes unfathomable, though his body language hinted faintly at concession.

“Take me to her.” Kahtar demanded, but he knew already that they would not. They would have taken him already if they were going to. Changing his tactics he looked among the men, eyeing one who had years ago pledged to him. “Where is she?”

In a shimmer of light the man shifted closer. “Orthrus.”

Kahtar staggered at the dreaded name, almost dropping to his knees with grief. His voice was a cracked whisper when it passed his lips.

“Why?” But he knew, and for a brief moment he hated every second of his existence. Sick of knowing what was coming based on what had happened, sick of his experience that accumulated day by day, year by year, century after century, never allowing him the luxury of a false hope.

His Old Guard’s reply was rote, merciless as they always were.

“She is a product of blending. Clan Berwick has demanded her death. Old Guard will determine her sentence.”

The porch shook briefly beneath his weight as his knees buckled, pain and gravity bent him forward, his forehead scraping raw against the wood he’d cut with his own hands.

Take me now, to my next repeat, please, please, ilu in all your forms, do not allow me to remember this. Please.
His heart burned briefly, like the fire that had burned him to death exactly twelve times. Then it exploded, wet, bleeding pain like a sword cutting through it. Four times. No, five times. This would make five times his heart had been torn from his chest.