Books by Maggie Shayne (34 page)

Oh, God! The knob was turning. The bathroom door was opening.

Ren was chasing shadows when he heard her scream. He’d sworn he’d seen something dark slipping around the garage. Then behind the house, then among some trees out back. If he’d been as alert as he should have been, he’d have realized that he was being led farther and farther away from her. But by the time he realized it, it was too late. And he knew, dammit, just by the cunning nature of the trick, that the enemy he’d face this night was none other than Blackheart, the dark knight he’d battled so often and defeated only part of the time.

He whirled at the heart-wrenching shrieks and realized that at least three hundred yards now stood between him and the house. From here he could see the bedroom window. He could see her silhouette beyond the curtain, hands crossed protectively over her protruding belly—the haven of his child—as she backed away from some unseen demon, screaming again, ripping the night as well as Ren’s heart with her cries.

Damn! He sprinted, sword in hand, pouring every ounce of his strength into each stride— and slammed into an invisible blockade, one he knew was constructed of pure black evil.

It was like being hit by a truck. The impact sent him backward, and he hit the ground hard. He shook himself. The blow had been significant, but he forced himself to his feet, grinding his teeth against the pain, blinking to clear his vision.

He’d encountered Blackheart’s invisible barriers before. And he knew he couldn’t break through this unseen wall on his own. He needed magic.
If
Sir George would still grant it. That would be the major question, wouldn’t it? Ren had been cursing his vows of service, cursing Sir George himself. Longing to leave his duties and remain here, hungering for Annie in his heart of hearts. Had he gone too far?

He had to try. He dropped to his knees, lowered his head, and began chanting the words, calling down the strength of the Light. The power didn’t originate with Sir George. Ren knew that. It only came by way of him. Its source was Goodness itself. And Ren was relieved and more than a little bit surprised when he felt it reaching him. Filling him with the power he needed to break through. Transforming him from the semblance of mortal man and raining down on him a new countenance—that of the White Knight he had become. And Annie screamed again.

He had no face! The figure wore a black robe, and the oversize, monk-style hood covered a black void.

Annie scrambled from the bed when the bathroom door was flung wide, and the creature stood there like the shadow of death. Her spine went so stiff with fear, she thought it would snap, and an uncontrollable shudder racked her. Her heart thundered as the dark, menacing thing moved toward her, and she lunged for the door. But this creature moved faster. It put itself into her path, and she nearly collided with it. She saw its cloaked arms rising as if to enfold her, and heard the movements of the fabric. She jerked to a halt just in time and backed away. Her breathing was ragged and harsh, her throat bone dry as she looked for a way out, a means of escape. But it advanced on her slowly, and there was nowhere to go. The backs of her legs bumped into the bed behind her. The monster crowded closer, and she felt an unnatural chill in the air, smelled the stench of pure evil. And she knew that was what this thing was made of.

Fear clenched her insides, and she felt sick with revulsion.

“Get away! God, who are you?
What
are you? Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

She clambered backward over the bed. A cold, clammy hand grasped her wrist, powerful fingers digging deep into her flesh as he twisted her arm. She screamed again, in pain this time. And again when its other hand rose and she saw the hypodermic it clasped. The thing lowered the needle toward her arm.

The baby! This creature was trying to kill her baby!

She strained to pull free of his grip as she stared in sick horror at that needle’s deadly tip hovering a hair’s breadth from her arm. With her free hand, Annie groped blindly. She touched the lamp, clutched at it desperately, and brought it down on her dark attacker’s faceless head. Its grip faltered and she scrambled off the far side of the bed, nearly falling, but caught herself, and just as it lunged for her again, she reached the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her, threw the lock, and prayed Ren would come in time. But what if he didn’t?

She whirled, knowing she had to protect her child at any cost. The window! It stood open, and she realized that must be how the fiendish creature had gotten inside. But it was small. Maybe too small?

She clambered up onto the counter beside the sink, knocking everything that stood there to the floor in her haste. She knew it was coming after her. She had to hurry.

It was difficult to focus. The ritual required concentration, and it wasn’t easy to block out her screams. But he did it. And as he was slowly filled with the Light that was the source of his strength, he felt the transformation take place.

It took seconds, precious seconds that seemed to Ren like hours, but he knew when it was complete. Rising to his feet, Ren lifted the gleaming white-gold broadsword, now pulsing with power in his hands, toward the force field, and with a single swipe, cut through it. And then he was racing toward the house.

Something powerful slammed into the bathroom door. Annie swung her legs over the edge of the window. It slammed again, and this time the door rattled in its hinges and then cracked down the center. Annie tried to work herself through the small opening. But her belly was too round to fit. There was no room!

The monster outside hit the door again, and the noise was nerve shattering, deafening, terrifying. God, what could she do? How could she fight this thing? Not jammed halfway through a window. She’d face it. Dammit, this was her child she was fighting for.

She pulled herself back inside, got to her feet, and faced the door, pressing her back into the far corner. Whatever it was, it was strong. She cried Ren’s name when the thing hit the door again. This time the door caved in, and the evil black being seemed to grin at her, though she had no idea how she knew that. Somehow it made its amusement known. It was deriving some perverse pleasure from her terror. It loved this, loved fear. It thrived on torturing the innocent. It was going to enjoy hurting her, taking her child from her, watching her grief destroy her. And it let her know all those things without uttering a single word.

She wrapped her arms around her belly. “Get away!”

“At last,” it hissed.

She pressed her back tight to the wall, would have gone right through it if such a thing were possible.

“I win,” it whispered.

“Not just yet, Blackheart.”

She nearly sank to the floor in relief when she heard Ren’s voice come from behind the dark-robed creature. But then her eyes widened once more when the monster turned away and stepped aside, giving her an unobstructed view of Ren standing in the bedroom.

He was nearly blinding in his brilliance. Golden clothing. Tight-fitting pants hugged his calves. It wasn’t a natural color, that gold. It was the color of purity, of goodness. And it gleamed. A white-gold breastplate rested protectively over his chest. And the sword he brandished was of the same glimmering metal. His eyes shone in a way she’d never seen. Almost feverishly they glowed, and it seemed to Annie there was even a faint light emanating from them—illuminated sapphires sparkling with rage and smelling battle.

“So, we meet again,” the evil thing rasped.

“So we do, Blackheart. But you have me at a disadvantage. You’ve seen my human form. I have yet to see yours.”

“At a disadvantage is where I want you, White Knight.”

Ren nodded. “So now I know why I was chosen for this mission. I’m the only one who’s ever defeated you.”

“Ah, but you forget. The honor is mutual, Ren. I, too, am the only one ever to defeat you. Quite soundly on occasion. But nothing like I’m going to do this time.”

“No, not this time,” Ren said softly. He looked past the thing, met Annie’s eyes, and held them with his own. “This time it’s my very heart you’re after.”

“And this time, I shall have it.” The black thing lifted a hand, and the air around him shimmered the way heat waves sometimes do over pavement. The shimmers darkened, and the waves took form. A black sword solidified in his hand, and as the shimmery darkness moved down his body, his robe altered, morphing like something out of a science fiction movie, until it became black armor. His breastplate, his helmet, complete with visor, were all black. His face, as before, was invisible.

He sidestepped back into the bedroom, and as the two began to circle one another, Annie trembled in fear. They brandished those swords as if they meant to use them. And for the first time she noticed that Ren’s weapon was honed to a razor’s edge. As was his opponent’s. What if Ren was hurt? Killed? The Richard she’d known and loved could no more hold his own in a sword fight than she could.

Oh, God. Frantically Annie searched for something she could use to help her husband. Where were the damned shears when she needed them?

She heard a crash, and her wide gaze found the two of them again just in time to see Ren’s sword flash toward the black one, leaving a glittering comet’s tail in its wake. Shimmering sparks showed the path that blade had just taken, like a child’s sparkler on the Fourth of July. She blinked.

The dark one ducked and rolled, avoiding the blow but nearly mowing Annie down in the process. He came to a stop just before crashing into her feet, and she hopped backward into the bathroom to avoid him.

A powerful hand gripped her arm from behind and tugged her out of harm’s way. Gnarled fingers, oversize knuckles were all she saw. “What in the name of Goodness are
you
doing here?”

The voice was old. Ancient. Pure and powerful. She lifted her head to see a man who matched it, with powder blue eyes and wild snowy hair. His neat beard ran along his jaw-line and covered his chin, coming to a sharp, white point. The whiskers on his upper lip curved downward, merging with the beard. When she could tear her eyes from this stunning ancient man, it was to examine the ordinary clothes he wore, so at odds with his appearance. A suit, with a dark coat much like the one Ren wore. No doubt it hid a sword belted at his hip.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I…” She shook her head, then whirled at the sound of steel on steel. The blows they landed were enough to kill normal men. The swords flashed again and again, collided over and over, sending showers of fiery sparks into the air at each and every impact. The solid oak chair beside her bed took a mighty blow meant for Ren, and split in two. If that blade had hit Ren instead…

He’d have been killed! She lunged forward, but the old man clasped her shoulders. “Leave my knight to his own powers, woman!”

She turned her head and looked him right in the eyes. “He’s
not
your knight. He’s
my
husband!”

The old man’s shock didn’t faze her. She didn’t care that he reacted as if she’d slapped him, catching his breath, eyes widening. She only turned to watch the battle again, waiting for a chance to help Ren.

The old man put an arm around her shoulders, but his cold touch chilled her to the bone.

“I am sorry for you,” he said, and she thought he meant it. “But he
is
my knight, and so he must remain. He swore a vow.”

“He swore a vow to me before he ever knew you.” Still she kept her gaze glued to Ren. He dodged a blow that would have taken off his head, and countered with a swipe of the fiery golden sword that should have broken his opponent’s shoulder. He wielded the sword with the skill of an expert. A warrior. It was almost beautiful, as if the entire battle had been choreographed. Every blow aimed at him was deflected or dodged with dancelike grace. And for the first time, Annie realized Ren truly was different from the man she remembered. He’d changed, more than she’d wanted to admit.

“That was in another lifetime,” the old man said. “One that ended. You should not even be here, witnessing this battle. It simply isn’t done.” He sounded as if he expected her to see his logic, shrug her shoulders, and concede. She couldn’t get past the combatants and out of this house even if she wanted to. Which was beside the point, because she didn’t want to. Not if it meant leaving Ren behind.

Instead of wasting her breath explaining all of that, she glared at the strong elderly being. “I won’t let you take him from me again,” she told him, dropping each word with an icy strength she hadn’t even known she’d possessed. “Don’t you doubt that.”

She’d already returned her attention to the battle when he gasped. “Do you
know
to whom you speak, lady?”

She sent him a brief glance. “I think I do. But it doesn’t matter. You could be the devil himself, or almighty God, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to me. I’d fight either of them to the death for him. I won’t lose him again.“

A clash, and then a louder one, sent a wave of fear over her, and her gaze flew back to the battle just as the Dark Knight’s blade struck home. Its black tip sank behind Ren’s breastplate, and he gasped.

The black knight drew the sword away with a vicious wrenching twist, and its tip was coated in blood. The moonlight streaming through the window made the scarlet liquid shine as Ren fell to his knees. Annie leaped forward, screaming his name.

She heard the most evil laughter she’d ever heard in her life, and a voice of pure blackness poured into her mind, hurting her head. Its volume was deafening and seemed to echo endlessly, to come from everywhere all at once, and from nowhere at all.

“Give the child to me, woman. And I’ll return your man to you.”

She felt the old man’s hands close on her shoulders.

“Come with me now,” the dark thing urged. He lifted a gauntlet-clad hand toward her. “Take my hand. Surrender to me and I’ll let him live.”

“Go to hell!” she screamed.

The laughter came again, so loud she pressed her hands to her ears and squeezed her eyes shut to block it out. On and on it rang until she fell to her knees.

“Leave her!” The old man’s voice was stronger, and the laughter vanished.