Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (22 page)

Fear and rage only got a man so far. Faith and magic, however, drove men past their natural limits into the soulless places he wanted them to go. His assassin believed in the power of seven, and so he would use it. He must stop The Three before they found Xavian. Otherwise he would hold an advantage Al Pacii could ill afford.

On his haunches beside the pit, Henrik stirred the fire with a thin stick. Sparks snapped, rising to greet a jet-black sky. He watched the embers float, lost in the whisper of tree limbs and night sounds. Afina’s voice drifted from the cavern, tone soothing as she tended Ram. Henrik glanced over his shoulder at the cave entrance. When would she be finished?

He had so many questions. Useless wonderings. The sum of which didn’t amount to much.

Deep down, he already knew the answer to the most important one. Bianca was dead. He’d felt the fragile bond he shared with his twin sister snap nearly two years ago. While he’d been in Poland, doing Halál’s bidding.

With a silent curse he jabbed at the coals. The logs shifted and flame roared, sucking air in and spewing smoke out as it fed on the wood. He wished he could do the same: explode and find some small measure of relief.

Damn the old man and his infernal ways.

Had he been at Grey Keep, he would have heard of the trouble, and Bianca would still be alive. But then, Halál knew of his attachments and used them to effect. His sisters were the bastard’s only leverage. A way to keep him in the fold after he reached maturity and Al Pacii could no longer contain him.
If not for Halál’s promise to leave Bianca and Afina untouched in return for his service, he would never have stayed.

“Henrik?”

He pivoted on the balls of his feet. Afina stood in the mouth of the cave, bucket in hand, the firelight casting shadows on her face. Christ, she looked so much like their mother. The only true difference was her coloring. Mother had been blond and fair, like Bianca. Afina shared his dark hair and hazel eyes, though hers were touched with green and his, with gold.

He stood, pushing memories of his mother’s betrayal to the back of his mind. Like ghosts rising from the ruins, they rushed back, grabbing at him with greedy hands. Goddamn, he’d only been eight years old, but that hadn’t stopped her. He’d been naught more than an abomination; a male born in a place where only females were accepted.

Afina took a step back as he approached.

Henrik tucked the fury deep and stopped a few feet away. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. Fear didn’t belong in families. Honesty, however, did. But truth wasn’t his forte. Deception fit him better. With a history like that, how could he dispel his mother’s lies and make Afina believe him—treat him like a brother instead of a stranger?

She thought him dead, he knew that; just like he knew she would be better off if he left her alone. Problem was, he couldn’t. Despite everything, she was his sister, and blood ties were too important to ignore.

He cleared his throat. “More water?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He held out his hand to take the pail. “How is he?”

“Better...cooler.” After relinquishing the bucket, she pressed her fingertips above her eye then shifted to rub her temple.

His grip tightened around the rope handle. “You need to sleep.”

“I know, but—”

“You will be no good to him if you exhaust yourself.”

“Arrogant, aren’t you?” She huffed. The small sound mixed with laughter, lightening his heart a little. “You and Xavian are cut from the same cloth.”

“Mayhap, but we are often right.”

“So you believe,” she said, tone full of exasperation. “I need to mix more medicine before I rest. One more dose, and mayhap...I’m hoping it will help him wake.”

He nodded and, with a wave, motioned Afina back inside the cave...to heal his former friend. What the hell was he doing? Ram was defenseless, and yet here he stood, ready to fetch and carry. He should be in there helping him die, not aiding his little sister while she tended him.

Henrik glared at the fire. Life or Death. Kill or be killed.

It wasn’t that simple anymore. Afina cared for Ram. Mayhap strongly enough to call it love. He could see it in her eyes, in her determination to see him healed. Did he have the right to take that from her? From either of them?

The code by which he lived said aye. But then, he no longer needed to appease Halál or walk a fine line with Al Pacii. The bastard had lost his leverage. For the first time in his life, Henrik was free to make his own choices. The realization tugged at the tight knot in the center of his chest as he took the path toward the stream.

Reaching the river’s edge, Henrik filled the bucket. Water spilled over the edge, washing the rest of his tension away as he retraced his steps. The future seemed brighter somehow. Al Pacii
was a thing of the past. Now all he had to do was keep his sister safe.

What was Ram up to? Did he still intend to hand Afina over to Vladimir? Or had he changed his plans—his feelings for Afina dictating a new path?

Half of him hoped not. No matter how much he wanted to see his sister happy, he couldn’t forgive Ram. His betrayal stung too much. Loyalty mattered. And years of training—of believing revenge was everything—were hard to ignore.

The urge to unsheathe his dagger and bury it hilt-deep in Ram’s chest pressed in, making his head ache. Henrik shook it off. He needed to be patient. Accidents happened all the time, and what Afina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Xavian dreamt of hazel eyes and a soft, lilting voice. It pulled him toward the light, away from the violence and bitter cold. The warmth came next, drifting over his shoulders and chest. Wispy strokes, barely there, yet combined with the scent of mint and woman.

Hmm, paradise.

Years of training told him to deny the pleasure and reach for a weapon. Instinct softened by the haze of slumber stilled his hand. The heat and gentle touch played on the fringes, present but not quite there. ’Twas like lying in the long field grass, arms and legs stretched wide as the sun’s fingers drew warm patterns on his skin. With a sigh, he settled into the rhythm. A moment more, just to drift and enjoy, then he would...

The stroking moved south over his rib cage and across his abdomen. Xavian murmured, lifting his hips to keep contact a little longer.

“Xavian?”

The voice rushed over him, husky warm and sable rich. His eyelashes flickered. Afina. He should have known. No one else sounded like that, naughty and innocent at the same time. He whispered her name and let his eyes drift closed again, clinging to his dream. If he woke, she would disappear. And he needed her to stay.

“Hello.” Something brushed across his temple then twirled gently in his hair. “Open your eyes for me again.”

He frowned. Did he have to? The dream was heaven, a cocoon so real he swore she was actually touching him. If he refused, would she stop? The possibility was too much to risk. Fighting through the fog blanketing his mind, he cracked his eyelids.

A soft smile played at the corners of Afina’s mouth. She caressed him again. He turned into the touch, a rumble of satisfaction in his throat. Jesu, he wished every night came and went like this...deep in the land of slumber with her hands in his hair and her warmth all around him.

“Come now, wake up for me.”

“Nay.”

“Please?” Water sloshed and dripped before something cool drifted over his brow.

He shifted his arms and legs. Mayhap if he moved, his mind would follow. Sharp pain settled into discomfort as he pushed onto his elbows and forced his eyes open again.

The sheen of tears in her own, Afina whispered, “Welcome back.”

Xavian blinked and squinted hard, trying to bring her face into better focus. Back? From where? He opened his mouth to ask. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Here.” She brought a cup to his mouth. “Drink.”

Cool water trickled over his tongue and down his throat. Afina moved the mug away. He grabbed her wrist, needing more. She brought it back, one hand supporting his neck as she helped him drink his fill.

“Not a dream,” he said, thankful for her support even as his pride chafed at the weakness. Why did he feel so sick? What...
Rahat
, the viper. Keeping hold of her wrist, he rotated his free arm and looked for the puncture wounds. Linen strips, wrapped end over end, obstructed his view. She’d tended him, placed him above her own safety and...Jesu.

“You stayed.”

“Of course.” Nibbling on her bottom lip, she looked away.

Xavian stared at her, unable to believe her audacity. She’d disobeyed and...stayed when no one else would have. Of a sudden, his rib cage felt too small for his lungs. He wanted to be furious. Wanted to turn her over his knee and paddle some sense into her. But that tight knot in the center of his chest got in the way.

He coughed to cover his reaction. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I promised not to leave you, and I won’t.” Brow furrowed, she tossed the cloth into the bucket. The linen square made a plopping sound then sank, just like his heart. She shouldn’t want to be with him. And he shouldn’t like it so much that she did.

She fished the cloth from the water, wrung it out, and brought it to his face. Xavian watched her from behind his lashes, relishing each cool glide as Afina washed his face and circled around to the nape of his neck.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Understandable.” He sensed more than saw her smile. “Viper venom is nothing to trifle with.”

He grunted then held his breath as she drifted over the top of his shoulder. He should tell her to stop—that he could look after himself—but didn’t want to. Her touch felt so good. No one had ever tended him before. ’Twas the truth; none had cared enough to wish him well. But Afina? Xavian swallowed. She cared. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her hands, each gentle sweep like an undertow, trying to suck him out to sea.

A droplet trickled down his chest. Xavian wanted her to chase it with her tongue. Follow that bastard until...

Memories of them locked together in the stable blindsided him. Exhaling hard, he refocused on her face. She was so lovely: the shape of her hazel-green eyes and all that dark, flowing—

“What happened to your hair?”

Her gaze swung up to meet his. “N-nothing.”

Before she could protest he buried his fingers in her topknot. With a twist, her raven locks tumbled around her shoulders. “Better. I like it loose.”

“You like...Xavian, you are suffering delusions. You’ve been very ill and...”

She kept talking.

Xavian didn’t hear a word. Weak as he was from the venom, her dark tresses distracted him, and drawing in a quick breath, he explored. The lengths curled around his fingers and played in the valleys between. Incredible. So soft and thick and...He should let her go. He knew that, knew as sure as he knew he wasn’t going to. Right or wrong, he needed a wee touch and a little taste. Surely a few moments wouldn’t matter.

Tightening his hold, he rolled, reversing their positions. With an “oomph,” she landed beneath him on the pallet. The blanket tangled around his hips, he took advantage of her surprise and settled, hands in her hair, one thigh buried between her own.

“By the...What are you doing?”

He nuzzled the underside of her chin. “A wee sip,
draga
, ’tis all I need.”

“B-but—”

“Mercy, Afina.”

Xavian heard her breath catch and held his own. ’Twasn’t rational, this need to forge a connection, to seek her acceptance and trust. He could make excuses, pretend the urge to reaffirm life after his brush with death made him turn to her—made him want to take his fill for no other reason than to feel. The truth was far more damning.

He craved her, with more than just his body. No matter how hard he fought the pull, it all came down to one thing. Possession. Nothing would do but that he make her submit. He held back, refusing to overwhelm her as he had in the stable. Accept him or nay, ’twas her choice. She deserved better than a soulless romp, but...Christ, he had naught else to offer. He didn’t match up, not to Afina with her high bloodlines and lofty purpose.

So he handed her the power to decide: pull him close or push him away.

His face pressed to her throat, Xavian waited, every one of his senses focused on her. On a shaky exhale she relaxed beneath him. Gratitude spiraled into lust, sucking him down until nothing mattered but her. Naught but the scent of her skin, the shape of each curve, and the heat of her hands as they drifted over his shoulders. She clutched at him, asking for more of his weight. With a groan, he wrapped her closer, reveling in each soft sigh
and gentle touch. Wild sensation skittered down his spine and around to his groin. Xavian lifted his head and cupped her face to capture her gaze. Not shy now, she stared back, her eyes more green than hazel, welcome in their shimmering depths.

He shook his head. How could she want him? How could she possibly—

Afina tipped her chin up and offered him her mouth. His heart stumbled, flipping over in his chest as he lowered his head. She met him halfway, lips brushing his, fingers playing in his hair. He wanted to go slow, but need took hold, made him impatient and sent his tongue deep. With a gasp, she opened wide, matching him stroke for heated stroke.