Hunted Warrior (13 page)

Taking the knowledge into her soul, she refused to be caught up in other people's definitions. She was simply Avyi. And she was on a mission.

She hadn't thought the mission would include climbing into a helicopter, yet there she was. She cursed her gift. Cursed and cursed and cursed, until Mal handed her a pair of headphones. An attached microphone allowed her to hear and speak during the noisy flight. Takeoff was dizzying. She gripped her armrest while keeping her expression as neutral as possible. She'd flown with the Asters, but their jets were practically windowless.

She shuddered, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. That imprisonment was behind her now. She was flying. She was looking through a domed window, over the coast of Crete, where blue that matched Mal's eyes crashed in foamy white waves against rocky shoals and small fishing villages. It was daytime, with the fishing boats already at sea, their captains searching for the slippery creatures that would mean the difference between their families' survival or starvation.

There in the helicopter, she knew she would've been much more comfortable haggling with a boatswain to secure their passage aboard a simple vessel. She'd arrived by such plain means. It evoked images of long-ago days, when traveling by water was the only way to move from continent to continent. Had her age been closer to the end of a Dragon King's life span, she would've known those thoughts as centuries-old memories, not products of her imagination.

Then again, had she been born two hundred years earlier, she would've been able to bear children. There would be no cartels to serve, and no sick Grievances co-opted by human greed for Dragon King magic and violence. What sort of woman would she have become?

A family. A stable life. Eventually grandchildren.

And a husband.

She gripped the armrest tighter. Vertigo convinced her swirling mind that the helicopter was destined to fall into a sickly port's murky, gasoline-streaked waters. Her respiration ticked toward bursting her lungs.

A comforting hand settled over hers.

As he had in the small hostel, Mal loosened her death grip with patient fingers. He flipped a switch to exclude the pilot from their conversation. “What was that?” he asked, his voice humming directly against her eardrum.

“The hazard of bearing company with soothsayer.”

“A prediction?”

“Something like that.”

In truth, the word
husband
had evoked a mind-warping blend of images so overpowering that she couldn't sort fear from desire from resentment . . . from the unavoidable truth.

Did she want to avoid becoming Mal's lover, or take steps to ensure it took place?

Or would she finally accept, after so long, that conscious action made no difference? It was a prediction for a reason. There was no changing what would be. If even she had difficulty accepting that, how was she going to convince Mal to trust her?

She couldn't.

She and the Honorable Giva would part as soon as Avyi found her way to Cadmin and ensured her safety. The girl was important. That burned bright in Avyi's thoughts and guided her steps toward fulfilling twined destinies.

But the journey to meet the grown woman named Cadmin entailed more than a trip to Florence. She shivered and clasped his hand, but she refused to meet his questioning gaze or answer the questions he asked into her headphones.

Eventually the helicopter flew over the uncluttered waters of the Mediterranean. Without landmarks, Avyi's view was simply blue. That eased her dizziness. Although she wanted to be out on the sea, buffeted by the sun and the salt, she let that piercing blue do its best to strip the strange vision from her mind.

No. Impossible. Her future version of Malnefoley, wrapped naked around her in an unknown bedroom, was the same man who sprawled casually beside her in his seat. Watching the sea was like looking into his eyes.

“So tell me how this works,” he said. “You see me clearly in Florence. Does that mean we're guaranteed to get there?”

“By one means or another.”

“Meaning?”

“We will arrive in Florence. In the meantime we could be attacked or struck by a small aircraft or serenaded by clowns. There's no telling what awaits us in between.”

“Serenaded by clowns?” He stretched his legs as best he could in the tight confines. “That almost sounded like an imagination.”

“Do you doubt I have one?”

“I wouldn't have a clue. Not with you.”

Oddly, she was offended. “Does my possession of an imagination detract from or confirm the possibility my gift is real?”

“Detracts from. You were more convincing when you were practically robotic.”

“Robotic?”

Another shaft of hurt shoved between her lungs. Was she so . . .
different
than everyone else? Did she truly come across as a programmed machine rather than a flesh-and-blood woman? Had she been the Pet so long that no one assumed she had a personality of her own?

I was his pet. Who would expect anything but servile obedience to Dr. Aster?

Especially the Giva, whose job it was to investigate anything related to the cartels, particularly where they intersected with the issue of Dragon King procreation.

“I'm not a robot,” she whispered.

She hadn't thought the microphone strong enough to pick up her quiet affirmation, but it had. Mal returned her whisper. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Another shiver worked up her spine. Unwanted, unexpected tears pricked behind her eyes.
Fatigue. That's all.

“How are you going to manage in Athens carrying that sword?”

“Better they see a man with a sword than catch notice of your skin.”

Avyi looked down. Her arms were bare, but otherwise she was as practically dressed as ever. “What about my skin?”

He traced his forefinger up the inside of her wrist. “Pale. Luminous. Had I not seen otherwise last night, I'd have thought you could glow in the dark.”

“I was being modest.”

“Hiding your true potential?”

“If you like.”

Leaning nearer, Mal tucked a spike of her exasperating hair behind her ear. “I don't want you hiding your true potential, Avyi.”

“And you get what you want.”

“I will when it's your turn to amaze me.”

“In Florence. You'll see.”

“No need to wait,” he said, easing back. His gaze never left her face, until she was tempted to retrieve her brass knuckles and smack that perfect jaw. “I'm already impressed.”

CHAPTER

T
o Mal's surprise, he meant his words. She was resilient and strange, but also wily, creative, and almost unwillingly funny. That didn't change their situation. He'd decided to go to Florence based on a number of sensible decisions, the most important of which was to see if Avyi's mission intersected with the plot against his life—or to see her discredited and put his mind at ease. He was not going because of his growing curiosity about more than her kisses and shy smiles. She was unique.

What if . . . ? Just
what if
 . . . ?

Logic failed him when it came to Avyi, including why he'd bothered helping to name her. That name connected them. Bound them. Would she always be Avyi, because of him? The idea was almost primal. He had been granted the privilege of naming the woman who'd never had one of her own. It was a possessive act he couldn't help returning to, savoring as a small triumph.

Why am I drawn to you?
Because on a very deep level, Mal knew their connection mattered. It was the strange feeling that another life vibrated just beneath the surface—all of it infinitely bigger than them.

He turned to her, where she had resumed her huddled position in the passenger seat. Had he not seen it for himself, Mal would've had a hard time picturing her standing to her full height, or lounging almost at ease in that hostel's wooden chair.

“What did you predict that was so overwhelming?” he asked. “When we took off?”

“That you and I would be lovers. But it wasn't new knowledge.”

Had Mal been taking a sip of water, he'd have choked. “You hide so much, but not that?”

She hugged her knees closer. “I wanted to learn whether you'd be excited or revolted.”

Not knowing how to respond, Mal only watched her. She was determined to avoid his curious gaze; she never looked up from the rubberized black flooring.

He could find her more than intriguing. He could find her
irresistible
.

“I'm . . . curious,” he said simply.

She plopped her feet down. The boots hit the floor with a one-two thump strong enough for Mal to feel despite the helicopter's vibrations. “I could say the same about you. Curious.”

The moment of odd intimacy was marked by its usual end: Avyi turned away. Had they not been confined, she would've turned on her heel and walked away from him. That he had to chase anything was novel. He'd been given everything since he was a child. Born to the privilege of royalty. Pushed to the point of such destruction that he'd become notorious.

Chosen as Giva.

He wanted her to stop hiding from him. But unlike everyone else around him who bent to his will, this wouldn't come naturally. It was up to him.

Mal had so many questions to ask, although fewer and fewer pertained to Dragon King conception and the strategies of the cartels.

Why were you with Dr. Aster? What was the nature of your relationship? Why stay in his custody, flee, stay in
my
custody, and flee again?

He had the nagging feeling that she was comfortable opening up about blunt topics such as becoming lovers, but thornier questions about her past would remain forever barred.

He wouldn't give up on knowing her. Dragon damn, he wanted to know her completely. It was purely personal. It was purely selfish. He'd thought himself above all that.

He wasn't.

“Any idea what those two Indranan wanted? Did you picture them lunging after me with another Dragon-forged sword?” The tap-tap of a telepath probing his mind was never a pleasant experience. He still felt that tickle, as if he needed to scrub the inner folds of his brain. His mental poker face, as Avyi had suggested, only went so far. “Any ideas?”

“I don't like helicopters. That's one. Your hair is gorgeous in the sunlight. That's another.”

“Your tricks are wearing off, Avyi,” he said, although feeling a certain pleasant surprise at her intimate comment was unavoidable. “I meant about the Indranan.”

“My tricks are just fine, because you still flinched.” She smiled, a private smile seemingly meant for herself alone. “They were members of the Leadership from the Southern Indranan faction. Their destination is Turkey, not Florence. The Sun goddess, Kavya of Indranan, has gone home to her place in the Himalayas, and they're returning to her in search of peace.”

“Rumors, not predictions.”

“Then call it hope. She'll heal their divide. She and Tallis, the Heretic. They are a volatile pair, but not when they're together. Two horses pulling the same cart.”

“More rumors.” His late aunt's Pendray brother-in-law had been on the run nearly as long as Mal had been Giva. To believe that the shady killer known as the Heretic had joined with a peaceful Indranan priestess was beyond his ability to give credence.

No way. Not Tallis.

Avyi adjusted the microphone and spoke directly into it. “Fact. They're going to meet us soon, but I don't know why.”

“
Us
again? We're bound for so many adventures?”

She was smiling again, but this time for him. Few of her features changed configuration. She simply looked at him with a different brightness to her eyes. Keener, more gold than green. More fiery. More inviting. She was a woman who could smile without moving her lips. “Am I such difficult company to keep? Or are the adventures the issue?”