Winter's Kiss (28 page)

Winter wasn’t a fool though, not like this man. This man believed that he would win. He was underestimating him and it would be his downfall. Winter knew better than to presume he would win because of his superior abilities. He had seen men butchered on the battlefield because of such presumptions. He had seen lords fall by the hands of a weakling. He had learnt through bitter experience never to underestimate his enemy or believe that he would be the victor.

Willem would let his guard down, his pride stripping it from him, his confidence his weakness.

Winter would bide his time during the fight and wait for this opening.

Then he would rip Willem apart for what he had done.

He sprinted into the darkness when another two arrows hit the tree trunk, this time from the side. The moon came out from behind a cloud and the world brightened again, enough that the werewolves would be able to see him.

Coming back around, he gripped his sword tight with one hand and reached behind him with his other. The five throwing knives in the left side of his back holster felt good and cold beneath his fingers. He grinned, relishing the way the tempered steel made his blood burn and made visions of violence and bloodshed flicker across his eyes. He wanted to see them die. Slowly.

He cleared a tree and flicked the first knife at the closest werewolf. It streaked across the man’s upper arm, cutting through his long thick coat. Another knife sliced his cheek and then the third hit him straight in the throat. Blood, black in the low light, cascaded down his neck and the man’s garbled scream filled the night air.

Winter sighed with the night, intoxicated by the scent of death.

Before the others could attack, he disappeared into the darkness again, still running, coming around from the other side.

A man with a crossbow tracked him. He kept his eyes fixed on him. The trees made him appear and disappear as Winter rushed past them. With a flick of the wrist, he launched a knife at the man through a gap in the trees. At the next gap, he threw another. The man clutched his chest and the two blades buried in it, side by side, barely millimetres apart.

“And then there were three,” Winter said with a smirk and stopped behind a tree.

The three remaining men grouped together, Willem still in the centre. Coward, using his men to protect himself.

“Do you fear us so much, little vampire, that you have to kill us from the shadows? Are you too frightened to face us?”

Goading like that wasn’t going to work. Winter closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders to loosen up. It had been a while since he’d had to fight but it was good to see that his skills still scared his enemy. He had trained hard in his thousand years, had fought battles that had lasted years and had slain countless enemies. He had honed his skills. He had been a born commander, in his human life and in his vampire one.

He knew the battlefield and death like no other.

“Fear is not something I feel,” he said and moved so the werewolves couldn’t track his voice. “I am merely evening the odds. It is you that I wish to kill. Your men
are
nothing but a
warm
up.”

A deep growl rumbled through the air.

“Give me that crossbow,” Willem said and, seconds later, a bolt flew at Winter.

Winter ducked and frowned. Willem was old enough to see him in the darkness of the trees. He fixed his senses on Willem, dodging every arrow that zipped towards him.

The two werewolves around him were weak, weaker than Mikael. Willem was the only strong signature, but his strength didn’t compare to Winter’s. Although, he was stronger than Mikael and any that Winter had sensed at the bastion.

It didn’t matter.

He had met and killed stronger enemies.

“She belongs to me,” Willem snarled and shot another bolt.

It narrowly missed Winter as he rolled forwards along the ground. He came to a stand behind another tree. A second bolt flew at him. One of the others had picked up the second crossbow.

Switching his sword to his left hand, Winter removed one of the throwing knives from the right side of the holster against his back. He reached out with his senses, pinpointing the location of the other two werewolves. His desire for blood and destruction said to kill them with his bare hands, but he quietened it, telling himself that he would reserve that honour for Willem. Willem he would butcher in hand-to-hand combat.

These other two were inconsequential—a warm up, just as he had told Willem.

“She does not belong to you.” Winter frowned and focussed.

One of the werewolves stepped forwards. In the blink of an eye, Winter slipped out from behind the tree, threw the knife at the man’s head and slid back again.

The man fell to the floor in a rustle of leaf litter and snapping of twigs.

“Akton!” The other weak werewolf moved towards the fallen man.

With a malicious grin, Winter sprinted down into the basin and came up behind the man. He shoved his sword through the man’s back, impaling his chest and lifting him off the floor as he howled in pain and writhed. The click of a crossbow made
Winter turn
and shield himself with the werewolf’s body. There was a series of sickening thuds and the werewolf stopped struggling.

Winter lowered his sword, the man sliding off it to land in a heap on top of the other, and kicked the crossbow away from Willem.

Willem backed away and drew his sword.

Winter brought his sword around in front of him, calm and steady. Willem’s appearance was as brutal as his nature. His black and grey tousled hair made it clear that he was the one Nika had spoken of—the werewolf who had bitten her. The memory of her fighting for her life against this man sent fire to Winter’s blood and he snarled, revealing his sharp teeth.

Willem growled too, his own canines extending. There was a sneer to his lips. A long thick scar sliced its way up his cheek towards his pointed ears and twisted his lips into a strange shape.

Winter looked at Willem’s pointed ears.

He was old if he was showing traits of his true nature, but not old enough.

Amber eyes narrowed on him.

Winter held his sword steady. “You will pay for what you did to Nika.”

Willem laughed at him.

“A man cannot pay for doing something that was promised to him, foolish little vampire,” he said, tone mocking
and
derisive. “She belongs to me. Promised from her youth. I had not expected her to grow into such a fine and beautiful woman.”

Winter growled low in his throat, angered by the way that Willem spoke about Nika as though she truly did belong to him. A possession. Not a woman with a heart and feelings, but something he owned and could do as he pleased with.

“I will not let you touch her,” Winter said and moved into a fighting stance, watching for an opening. “She belongs to no one.”

Willem laughed again. “You would have me believe that. If she does belong to no one, why is it you fight so hard for her? Do you think I didn’t notice the way you watched her… wanted her… hungered to have her?”

Winter frowned and swallowed. Willem had been watching him.

“Since the night they promised her to me, I have followed her. I watched her grow just as you did, and I watched you when it became clear that she liked you. When you watched her leave that night… when you stepped into the path and away from the gate… I saw that damned thought cross your mind. A filthy vampire in love with my woman?” Willem spat on the ground. “I could not let her be taken from me by such a man!”

Before Winter could react, Willem had launched himself at him. Winter tried to dodge the sword but the blade scraped down his shoulder, cutting through his cloak. It struck his armour and stopped but sliced through the top of his shoulder. Winter roared and brought his sword around, knocking Willem’s away from him. Growling at himself for being distracted, he focussed and attacked Willem. The sounds of their swords clashing rang through the still night air, driving him on. He thrust his sword forwards and nicked Willem’s right upper arm. The smell of blood filled his senses and the thought of revenge brought forth his lust for violence.

“She might have had a little longer,” Willem said and struck at him again, “had you not thought to turn her.”

Winter raised his sword above his head and blocked the attack. He pushed forwards to shove Willem away and parried, bringing his own sword around in a swift silver arc. The feel of it lodging deep into Willem’s leg made him grin with satisfaction. His hunger demanded more. He needed to sate this thirst within him, this need.

He roared at Willem when the werewolf backed away, placing some distance between them.

“You condemned her.”

Winter growled at those words. He hadn’t condemned her. There was no way that Willem could have known that he desired to turn Nika. Willem could only have seen that he wanted her and that had been enough to spur him into action. Winter could understand. If he had known that Willem had wanted her for himself, he would have reacted too, but he wouldn’t have forced Nika.

“You condemned her,” Winter said and attacked again, his strikes fierce and fast as he searched for the opening that he needed. Willem blocked each attack perfectly and then pushed forwards until Winter was on the defensive.

The blade scraped across his side but the armour kept the cut shallow. He kicked Willem in the thigh, hitting the wound there.
Willem
snarled and backed away again, breathing hard.

Winter could sense that he was flagging. It was only a
matter
of time now.

“You condemned her,” he repeated and shifted his weight to his left foot. “You destroyed her. If you had any shred of feeling for her, you would have known that forcing her into our world was not the way.”

Willem laughed. “And what would you have done? Wooed her?”

Winter snarled. “I would have asked her. I would never have forced her.”

Willem’s amber eyes narrowed on him. “Would you have said yes, little one?”

A frown creased Winter’s brow and he realised that there were three heartbeats in the woods around him. Willem. The horse.

His jaw tensed.

And Nika.

She was behind the tree close to the horse. He could sense her now that he was looking for her. Demeter’s heartbeat and scent must have been masking hers.

“Yes,” Nika whispered, her face pale as she came to
stand
out in the open beside the horse.

She was frightened.

“I would have said yes,” she said with more conviction.

“Nika,” Winter whispered and then cried out as white-hot
pain
erupted in his side.

“Winter!” Nika screamed.

Winter grabbed the sword sticking into his side and snarled at Willem. Willem grinned triumphantly and twisted the blade. Winter dropped to his knees and pushed the sword out of him. He rolled away and onto his knees. Stabbing his sword into the ground, he pushed himself back up onto his feet and held his side. Blood trickled through his fingers.

He cursed.

Willem had used Nika to distract him. The Devil he would pay for that. He gritted his teeth against the pain and narrowed his eyes on Willem.

The werewolf smirked at him.

Winter’s eyes widened. Willem was between him and Nika. Willem turned his head to one side and glanced at Nika.

“You would watch your love die?” he said with an air of amusement and intrigue.

Winter’s focus shifted to Nika. He could sense her fear and could see her trembling as she held on to Demeter. It wasn’t to restrain the horse. It was to keep herself standing. She was petrified.

He straightened to his full height, wiped his bloodied hand on his trousers, and grasped his sword again, holding it out in
front
of him.

“I will not let you have her!” He roared as he launched himself at Willem, attacking blindly and with such brutal strength that the werewolf was immediately on the back foot, clumsily dodging his blade.

He pressed forwards, raining slash after strike down on Willem and growling the whole time. He wouldn’t let this man touch her, this beast who had dared to turn her against her will when she had wanted to be someone else’s.

Nika had wanted to be his.

He had failed to save her once.

He would not fail again.

Willem dashed to one side and Winter brought his sword around at the same time as the werewolf went to pass him. The blade slashed across Willem’s side and he yelped. Encouraged by the sound of his foe in pain, Winter struck again, thrusting the point of the sword into Willem’s retreating back. He twisted the blade, repaying him for the wound that he had given him. Blood, warm and enticing, spilled down Willem’s back, covering the thick long coat he wore.

Before the werewolf could gather his senses, Winter attacked again, forcing Willem away from Nika. He ducked to avoid the punch that Willem threw at him and blocked the second, but the third hit him hard across the side of his head, sending it spinning. By the time his vision came back, Willem was running towards Nika.