Allegiance Sworn (18 page)

Chapter 22

W
ITH
Imhara’s question, the memory of her feeding from him the first time they’d met had Arek fisting her shirt again. The crawling sensation between his shoulder blades intensified and more goose bumps prickled his skin.

“
Light
save me . . .” The curse ripped from him. He grimaced at the hoarse tone. “There’s no other way, is there?”

Her pinched expression answered his question. He bit off another curse.

It wasn’t that long ago he’d sworn to die before letting any demon make him their blood-slave, yet her ancestors’ journals backed up the information he’d found in the library at Sacred Lake and negated everything he’d been raised to believe.

Honor demanded he set his fear and dislike aside.

He ground his teeth together. “All right.” Both their peoples depended on them seeing this through. “Feed from me.”

Part of him couldn’t believe he’d agreed.

His lips thinned. It
would
be worth it.

He expected to hear the voice of his grandfather berate him for losing his mind, and for the first time, there was silence.

“Thank you.” A shaky exhalation accompanied her soft reply.

Arek rolled his shoulders. Her feeding from him still troubled him, but if he were honest, keeping him ignorant of certain facts disturbed him just as much. Trusting her wouldn’t be easy but he’d try. Whether she lived up to her promise of keeping him informed remained to be seen.

If only Kymora could see him now. She’d definitely label this as
Her
divine will. But he had asked the goddess for help and the strength to change.
She
had to be helping him take this next step in his journey. There was no way he could have done it by himself.

Arek slid the dagger into his belt. “Let’s get it over with before I change my mind.”

Hooking an arm around her shoulders he helped her into a sitting position, leaning her side onto him so that his arm remained free. The one she would feed from. He pulled up his sleeve. The marks of her first feeding were just pale pink scars.

More would adorn his skin shortly.

Imhara’s hand shook as she grasped his wrist. “
Lady
, bless Arek and his gift of blood. I receive it with thanks and a grateful heart. May the cycle of life—restoration, rejuvenation, and renewal—continue.”

Her prayer held all the similarities of a ritual invocation of gratitude used by the
Lady’s
Servants in the weekly services in the temple, and reminded him again of their common past. Soft voiced, her words were filled with sincere gratitude and as humble as any devotee.

But when Imhara lowered her mouth toward his arm, lips parted, he couldn’t stop himself from tensing.

She hesitated, her breath hot and moist as it caressed his flesh. “Would you feel more comfortable if I used the dagger rather than my teeth to slice open your skin?”

“Just do it, before I change my mind.”

She bit down, her teeth piercing his flesh, the pain sharp and swift. Her groan vibrated against his skin. He hissed—the stark memories of other, less pleasant feedings he’d witnessed in the past while on patrol flashed through his mind—and resisted the urge to pull away. Instead he stared at the flames of the fire, unable to go so far as to watch her.

Feeling and hearing it was bad enough. The heat of her mouth against the skin of his arm, the steady suck and hot laving of her tongue against his flesh, her quiet, drawn-out groan of pleasure as she swallowed, the hard pump of his heart as it raced in reaction. Every sensation sent waves of heat and cold rippling through him, a warring combination of pleasure and revulsion. Something he couldn’t even attempt to explain.

A minute passed.

Another.

Then Imhara drew away, far sooner than he’d expected. Her breaths came in short, shallow pants as she wiped her lips with the sleeve of her shirt. Color flushed her cheeks.

“You’re done?” he asked.

“I’ve taken as much as I need to last the night.”

“Was it enough?”

“I’ll heal eventually.”

“I’ve seen
Na’Reish
warriors heal almost instantly. They fed for much longer though.” Even as he commented, he wondered why he was encouraging her to feed from him for a third time, but then he’d given his oath to help her, hadn’t he?

Her eyes met his, her gaze direct. “I can scent your discomfort, Arek. I won’t prolong the feeding with a full session. I want you to see that I can control my need, that you don’t have to fear me slipping into a blood-rage.”

Again, her behavior startled him.

Her fingers tightened around his wrist. “You’ve saved my life twice now. Thank you.” The strength in her grip had already improved. “By tomorrow morning I’ll be strong enough to climb. We can find out then what happened to the caravan.”

Arek shifted, cupping her shoulders to ease her back onto the pallet of needle-leaves so she could rest. He pulled his sleeve back down over his arm, ignoring the blood seeping from the fresh puncture marks. The wounds would clot soon enough.

The image of Imhara, her head bent over his arm, replayed through his thoughts. He could almost feel her tongue stroking his skin, licking away the rivulets, her lips brushing over the wounds in the softest of caresses.

Heat curled in his gut.

Anticipation. Not revulsion.

Mouth tightening, Arek tugged at the sleeve. His shook his head and strangled the reaction into submission.

“I have no objection to sharing this cloak.” Imhara’s soft comment drew him from his thoughts. “It’s the only one we have.”

He grunted. Practicality was certainly the reason for the offer. As the supply of wood dwindled, it would get only colder, and there were still many hours to go before dawn broke.

Yet his decision to accept wouldn’t be driven by logic alone. Just the idea of curling up with her, of being that close to her again, was enough to send his blood surging through his veins and reignite the heavy heat in his gut.

Even knowing she’d just fed from him, he couldn’t stop wanting her. “I’ll tend the fire.”

Imhara watched him. The speculative look, the hint of a smile on her lips, told him she knew exactly why he’d refused her invitation.

Lady of Light
, controlling his scent around her was something he just couldn’t seem to accomplish. Shaking his head, he retreated to the other side of the fire and stretched out his hands toward the flames. The heat was as solid and real as the one burning in his gut. Another reaction he couldn’t seem to suppress, regardless of his intent.

“You know, Light Blade, there’s usually a reason for the events we’re led to experience in our lives. Sometimes the
Lady
reveals them to us, more often than not
She
makes us work it out ourselves.” Imhara gave him a wry smile and snuggled deeper into the cloak. “If it’s any comfort, like you, I’m still trying to figure out the purpose of this attraction and why we share the same path.”

With that, she closed her eyes.

Arek stared at her. Had she just admitted to being attracted to him? He’d assumed the problem all one-sided—his—and any reaction from her, part of the role she played as
Na
Kaal.

Did she welcome the attraction or consider it a distraction? Her last comment didn’t indicate either way. And asking her to clarify didn’t seem prudent.

Whatever the result, her admission proved . . . disquieting.

Arek let his gaze drop to the flames of the fire. Those thoughts, and others, kept him awake well into the night.

* * *

THE
morning sunlight did little to dispel the cold, the beams so weak they barely filtered through wispy fog to melt the layer of fresh snow crunching underfoot. Balling his hands into fists and blowing on them, Arek tried to ignore the chill seeping through three layers of clothing and numbing the exposed skin of his cheeks.

Walking behind him, Imhara wore the only cloak. Her face remained pale, and although her wounds had healed over, her gait as they headed uphill was careful and slow, as if the muscles in her thigh were still tender. While she’d said nothing before setting out, he suspected she was still recovering.

The air smelled clean and sweet, yet he almost preferred the thick, smoky odor of the shelter. At least there they’d been warm, but with the coming of dawn, Imhara’s need to return to the caravan had grown, as had his.

How had her kin fared? Had Rassan and her
Na’Hord
managed to rout the would-be assassins? Brow furrowing, he skirted a loose pebbled scree and glanced back to make sure Imhara negotiated it without trouble. Ahead, through the misty gloom, uneven shadows took shape—the small forest just below the caravan. They were nearly there.

A few feet in, and as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, uneven markings in the needle-strewn debris brought him to a halt. He crouched by the trunk of a stunted tree to study the ground. Brow furrowing, he touched the deep marks, measuring them against his hand.

“Tracks,” he murmured. Imhara came alongside him. He gestured to one impression. It was wide and large. “They’re fresh.”

“Friend or foe?” She scanned their surroundings.

“I’d assume the latter and suggest we don’t linger.”

“Agre—” Her reply cut off and her head lifted sharply.

The softest whisper of sound carried through the fog. They both looked to the left where the forest thickened.

“Someone’s out there.” She inhaled a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “I can smell them and it’s no one I know.”

He tried to peer through the thick mist. “I can’t see farther than ten feet in front of me.”

The soft crunch of leaves and sticks underfoot carried in the stillness, but there was no way of telling just how far away they were as the fog distorted the sounds. Yet whoever it was, was coming closer.

With a shrug, Arek slid the pack off his shoulder and pulled her sword from the scabbard attached to the straps. “They’re not even concealing their approach.”

The odds of there being more than one rose significantly. He pressed the sword into her hands, then reached for the dagger in his belt.

“Retreat. Use all the cover you can. Move.”

Imhara raised an eyebrow at his orders, but she at least had the sense not to question him. A shadow emerged from between two trees, no more than fifteen feet away.

A familiar rush of adrenaline surged through Arek.

“Too late,” she murmured.

He abandoned the pack and stepped between the strange
Na’Reishi
and her, dropping into a defensive crouch. A pinch in the small of his back reminded him he had a role to play and he eased his stance into something less provocative.

The
Na’Reish
male was well over six feet tall, with wide muscled shoulders, and biceps as thick as Imhara’s thighs. Tawny hair framed a broad face, one hardened by years of experience, if the lines creasing his face were any indication. The uneven spots running down the sides of his jaw and neck were almost black, darkened by countless seasons spent outside in the sun.

The stylized armor, molded leather breeches, and knee-high boots heralded him as a warrior of rank, definitely
Na’Reishi
. While he hadn’t yet drawn the sword sheathed at his side, his gloved hand rested on the pommel, in clear readiness.

Thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows descended into a deep V. “You dare threaten me with a weapon, slave?”

Arek uttered a soft curse under his breath but held his position. Had he made a mistake in facing off with the demon?

“He defends me.” Imhara’s tone was as cold as the air around them. “Identify yourself.”

There was just the right amount of haughty arrogance reflected in her demand. Again, her swift switch in personas impressed him. The warrior’s deep violet eyes remained locked on him for several seconds, then flickered over his shoulder.

“
Na
Kaal.” Black lips stretched in a cool smile. “It’s good to see you safe and well. I’d been told you were wounded.” The smile faded when she neither confirmed nor denied his statement. “Order your slave to put the weapon down.”

“Why should I?” she challenged. “I don’t know you,
Na’Reishi
. Now answer me.”

He inclined his head. “My name is Ehran Veht, second son
Na
Veht and Commander of his
Na’Hord
.”

His rank almost equaled that of Imhara’s. What was the second son of a
Na
doing in Kaal territory?

“A bold move identifying yourself, considering your assassins failed in their attempt on my life.”

“Those warriors were not mine.” The
Na’Reishi
took a step closer, large hands lifting, fingers spreading wide. “You misunderstand my intentions.”

“And I’m in no mood to bandy words. Get to the point.”

Her curt impatience had Veht flexing his gloved hands.

“I’m here to help you.” His attempt to placate was spoiled by the edge in his tone. “Your Second and others search with me.”

“Really?”

Arek almost grinned at Imhara’s dry response. Veht’s black lips thinned and his jaw tightened.