Caller of Light (25 page)

“Marek…” Sampson searched for the words to say and then spoke with a sincerity Marek rarely heard from him. “My brother, everything I’ve ever done has been to protect you and Stirrlan. Carina is a mixed blood and impure. She’s not worthy of you. I was simply going to prove her taint…to spare you the pain and disappointment.”

Marek shook his head.
Could Sampson really believe that his actions were for the good of Stirrlan…and him?
With a snap, the rage slipped its leash, escaping containment and boiling over his barriers. Marek grabbed Sampson’s hand and in a smooth movement, twisted Sampson’s wrist to force his palm up before pressing Sampson’s fingers back toward his arm.

“Sire?” Sampson grimaced as Marek applied more pressure, forcing Sampson to his knees.

Sampson gritted his teeth. “Please, Marek…let me go.”

Marek leaned forward, administering additional force. The vision of Sampson on top of Carina, hitting her and ripping her clothes, burned in his mind. Revenge simmered in his throat, tasting sweet and sensual. He glared at his friend who was a friend no more. If Damon hadn’t intervened, Sampson would’ve forcibly taken Carina,
his
Carina. Sampson betrayed him and the disloyalty burned deep.

Stefen approached with Reeza who roared when she saw her rider in pain. Marek might’ve been worried if he’d been anyone else, but as FireStrike’s bonded rider, Reeza wouldn’t attack him. So Marek surrendered to the rage and with a push, broke Sampson’s wrist before releasing him.

Sampson screamed and cradled his dangling wrist into his chest while draping his other arm protectively over it. He rocked back and forth, his body curled over his injured limb.

Sensing Marek’s emotions, FireStrike dove from the sky to land with a thud next to the men. He lowered his head and growled at Reeza, ensuring his position as Alpha.

The rage inside Marek laughed at Sampson’s pain, scorching Marek’s blood and demanding more. Carina was
his.
No man had the right to touch her. He drew his sword, leveling the tip against the hollow of Sampson’s throat. The rage rejoiced when Sampson raised his head, his eyes pleading for mercy.

Marek pushed the blade forward, just a mere movement, unnoticeable except for the small rivulet of blood that bubbled up and ran down Sampson’s neck. Marek’s eyes darkened at the sight of the life-giving fluid and his heart pounded as adrenaline surged through him. The sword in his hand felt like an old friend, an extension of himself.
End it
, he thought. Just a simple, forceful thrust and Carina would be avenged.

Thinking of Carina saved Sampson from the final lunge, and the rage howled in frustration. He hesitated, remembering Carina asking for mercy on Sampson’s behalf. She should be demanding revenge, not compassion. Something inside him crumbled, and the rage whimpered. His beautiful Carina would be his salvation and Sampson’s savior.

Marek sheathed his sword, the rage vanquished. “Sampson, I banish you from my lands. You’re never to return to Stirrlan. And you should know, Carina asked me to spare your life.” Marek shook his head in disbelief. “If not for her, your life would be forfeit. She might be mixed, but I’m the one who doesn’t deserve her. My only solace is that I have my entire life to prove myself worthy…starting with you. Now, get on Reeza and understand that if I ever see you again, my blade won’t be forgiving.”

Sampson rose on unsteady legs. Beads of sweat dotted his pale face. He staggered onto Reeza before looking at Marek, his lips white from pain. “Sire, I’m sorry it came to this, but you must understand my purpose in life has always been to protect you. She’s hiding something. I can feel it. And if you’re not careful, she’ll be your downfall.”

Marek watched with an unsympathetic heart as Sampson encouraged Reeza into the air. FireStrike raised his head and wailed as Reeza left his band. Marek stroked FireStrike’s neck. “I’m sorry, my friend,” he murmured before turning to the men behind him.

Stefen stood with his mouth open, stunned at what he’d just witnessed. But the appreciation in Damon’s eyes filled Marek with peace, like he’d passed a test. As if to confirm his thoughts, Damon spoke.

“To spare a man’s life when it is so undeserving of mercy is the mark of a true king—a king worthy of the crown and allegiance from his subjects.”

Marek shrugged, feeling a mixed sense of pride and remorse. Pride in that he could face Carina’s inquisitive eyes without regret, and in his ability to control the rage within him. Remorse at the pain Sampson had inflicted on Carina, the loss of a trusted friend, and for an unease needling him for letting Sampson go. Marek straightened. If his decision to free Sampson proved wrong, he’d face the consequences when the time came.

Fatigue blanketed his shoulders as the last bit of anger caught a ride on his ebbing adrenaline and drained from his body. Carina and her soft skin lying in her nightgown popped into his mind.

He walked over and clasped Damon’s shoulder. “My father always held you in high esteem and I’ve come to realize that in my foolish attempt to rise above my father, I haven’t given you the responsibility you deserve. From now on, you are captain and guardian over Carina.”

Damon’s eyes widened before narrowing with understanding. “I won’t fail you,” he said with a bow.

“You never have.” Marek released Damon, and with determined steps, headed for the castle and the beautiful woman waiting inside. His stride lengthened, ensuring a bit of distance from the two men before he allowed a small smile at the thought of Stefen—the poor boy still had yet to close his mouth.

33 – The MAKING of a MISTRESS

Carina settled into the patterns of Stirrlan life as the weather changed and the first snow brushed the ground. Her bruises faded and Sampson’s attack dwindled to a bad memory. She spent most of her time with Marek as winter’s breath blew across the land. During the days, they rode on Critonback. Sometimes she flew on Mira, but usually she rode with Marek enjoying the warmth and strength of his arms as his body surrounded her.

Although she adored his laugh, a rumble that began deep in his chest and traveled through his body to light up his eyes, she rapidly learned to appreciate his mouth. At first, his lips would remain soft and teasing until the desire between them escalated into a forceful and demanding fervor. She would lose herself within the passion, but ultimately panic and pull away—her body on fire.

Embarrassed and frustrated, she couldn’t explain her hesitancy. After Sampson’s attack, Marek had assured her that nothing would happen until she came to him willingly. Although grateful for his understanding, guilt dampened her spirit over the restraint he was exercising on her behalf.

When they were wrapped up together, as his hands roved over her body and his mouth drove her into a crazed state, she wanted to surrender to the sensations he stirred within her. But her well-fortified defenses would resist, driving her from his arms. She supposed fear of not knowing what to expect fostered her insecurity—some mistress she was turning out to be. But displaying a patience that endeared her more, he would draw her into his chest, hold her tight, and whisper things—private things—things she’d never heard before that would make her blush until they were both laughing.

The methodic swoosh of FireStrike’s wings had pulled her thoughts inward, but a gentle squeeze changed her focus to the man holding her. Marek now commanded her attention. They were going somewhere special, a secret place he’d told her. They flew with their backs to the setting sun.

“My sweet lemming,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and sending glorious spirals of pleasure ping-ponging throughout her body. “You’ve been quiet and that worries me.”

“Why?” she asked, trailing her hand down his banded forearm to entwine her fingers within his.

“Because that means you’re thinking, and a thinking woman is usually something to fear.”

She giggled at Marek’s husky laughter, and reached up with her other hand to stroke his cheek, enjoying the stubbly feel of his day old beard. “Then you should be
very
afraid.”

“What have you been thinking?” He encouraged on a whispered breath in her ear.

Although she couldn’t control her erratic pulse, she vowed to remain silent against his delicious assault on her body as he attempted to coax her into revealing her thoughts. “Tell me where we’re going first,” she teased.

Marek smiled against her neck. His hand traveled up to hers still cupping his cheek. Using his fingertips, he traced a faint track down her arm. She shivered. She really needed to work on her willpower.

He nibbled her ear then bit down. “Tell me,” he murmured between clamped teeth.

She sucked in a breath. Her hand clutched his arm. How could this man wield such power, tempting her with just his touch? Uncontrollable quivers cascaded inside her like mini earthquakes.

She shook her head and somehow found her voice, a breathy wisp of sound. “You first.”

His low, soft chuckle speared her fluttering heart. “You’re
so
tough,” he scoffed. “But no matter, we’re here.” With a slight twist of his hand holding the reins, FireStrike descended.

Three opal pools glistened in the final rays of the falling sun. Steam danced along the surface and swirled into wispy funnels as FireStrike’s wing beats changed the air flow. Rounded boulders surrounded the pools, isolating the water from the rest of the world. When FireStrike landed, Marek held out his hand for her as she slid out of the saddle then jumped down behind her.

Luna, a white orb in the sky, and her son peeking above the horizon, competed with the last stubborn shafts of light shooting upward from the sunset, illuminating the land in an eerie twilight.

“What is this place?” she asked in an awed whisper.

Marek grabbed her hand and led her to the largest pool. He pulled her into his chest and stared at the darkening sky. “The pools are called Azriel’s Tears. According to legend, Azriel was a fledgling god when he lost his heart to a mortal maiden. She was but a child when he first spotted her running in the fields, her blond hair flowing behind her like silk. It’s forbidden for a god to interact with mortals, so he watched and protected her from a distance.

She grew into a beautiful woman, full of life and laughter and much desired by the men of the village. But she refused them all. For unbeknownst to Azriel, the maiden had always sensed him even though he’d never made his presence known. She’d grown to love the voice that sang to her at night and soothed her fears on a summer breeze. Although she’d never met Azriel, she waited for him knowing someday he would come for her.

Azriel loved the maiden, but the only way he could be with her was to become mortal. It’s hard for a god to give up power and immortality.”

****

Carina rested her head on Marek’s shoulder while he stroked her hair. Lost in the story, his voice surrounded her, reverberating in his chest and murmuring in her ear.

“Time is different for the Gods. Years may pass for us, but it’s only a blink of an eye for a god. So, when Azriel finally chose to relinquish his power to become a man, he was too late.”

She pulled away and gazed into Marek’s somber face. “What do you mean?”

Marek’s thin smile crinkled the small lines around his eyes. “He waited too long. She lived a full life, but lived it alone waiting for a man she never knew to come to her. Bound to him by a love she didn’t understand, she refused to take another, never abandoning him even as she took her last breath.

Azriel lost his mind when he learned of her death. Without his young maiden to give him purpose, he scattered himself into the heavens hoping to find her in his next life. His tears now dot the world, leaving large pools that never cool even on the coldest nights.”

She stared at Marek with teary eyes. “That’s very sad.”

Marek cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s just a tale,” he murmured. “I brought you here, not to feel sad about a story, but to enjoy the warmth of the pools. The water can be quite invigorating.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but the crooked grin and glint in his eyes fostered the rising blush on her cheeks, causing him to roar with laughter. He crushed her into his chest, holding her tight. “You do make me happy.”

For some reason, the story of Azriel and the maiden replayed uneasily in her mind. Although Azriel loved his maiden, he waited too long to find his courage and they both died alone.

Her hands drifted around Marek’s waist and she buried her face in the hollow of his neck, enjoying his smell and the wall of muscle surrounding her. She could spend the rest of her life wrapped in his arms, safe from the world.

She planted her chin on his shoulder. To her surprise, he was staring at her. The grey flecks in his eyes sparkled, dancing with a quizzical vitality of their own.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered.

With a slight shrug, she answered. “That I don’t want us to be like Azriel and the maiden.”

Marek frowned and his eyes narrowed. She squirmed under his gaze. “That will not happen, Carina McKay,” he scolded gently.

“But how do you know?”

“Because I won’t allow it,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her. His lips brushed hers and passion blazed through her like kindling to fire. She smashed her body against his and reached up his broad back to hold him tight. His instant response fueled the flames licking across her skin.