Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (24 page)

“You cannot have him.” Afina fisted her hands as something dark—something dangerous—seethed inside her. Red mist washed in behind her eyes, pulling aggression along with it. What right did they have to demand Xavian? He belonged with her, not them. “He is mine.”

“Afina—”

“Protect Xavian,” she snarled at Henrik, chin tipped down, magic throbbing in her fingertips.

“Where?” The roar echoed, bouncing off stone until pebbles tumbled down the rock face.

“Here.” Edged by violence, Xavian’s voice rolled in around her.

Afina pivoted toward the cave entrance. She wanted to weep when she saw him. He stood warrior strong, sword in hand, belying the illness that had ravaged him. But she knew better. The venom had taken its toll. He was too weak to fight.

“Xavian, don’t.”

He bared his teeth in answer. “Leave her...I am here. Come and get me.”

Tareek reached for him, claws spread wide. Xavian rotated the sword hilt in his hand and brought the tip up. His death flashed in her mind’s eye. Half-crazed by the image, Afina screamed, threw her hands up and out, pushing into thin air an instant before the dragon struck. A gust of wind swept the ground, hit Tareek like a battering ram, and tossed him over the standing stones. Dust and debris flew, clouding the air as he struck the ground on the other side.

The dragon above inhaled, a long, slow draw.

The centers of her palms throbbing, Afina growled, “Henrik, go! Take Xavian and go.”

With a curse, Henrik scrambled to obey.

“Rahat.”
Xavian lunged toward her. With a flying leap, Henrik tackled him, sending them both tumbling backward though the mouth of the cave. “Afina, nay!”

Launched from its perch, the fireball descended, the blaze a thin-tailed inferno. The scent of brimstone licked the inside of her nose. Relying on instinct, she imagined a dome and raised her hands. The flame collided with an invisible barrier then curled, contouring the vault she held in her mind. Black residue stuck to the curved surface, scorched ash floating just above it.

Violet Eyes swung his huge paw, claws tucked under like a fist, spiked tail flying overhead. Settled into her stance, she shifted to meet him, protecting the cave entrance. Henrik needed more time to reach safety. The entrance to the underground tunnel was at the back of the cavern, a long way for him to go if Xavian struggled. She must hold out a while longer or they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Scaled knuckles closed the distance. Feet planted and eyes wide, she waited for the blow, for the crippling pain and the agonizing death that would follow. A hollow clang sounded, rippling out in all directions. The dragon howled and recoiled, pulling his claw in tight as though he’d hit something hard.

Afina exhaled in a rush. The shield was holding. But for how long? Already exhaustion tugged at her, fraying the edge of her peripheral vision.

“
Well done, daughter
,” the voice said. “
Now...run.
”

Had she been able think, Afina would have cursed the stupid voice. Asked it all kinds of questions like...where the devil have you been? Instead she took its advice, turned tail, and sprinted for the cave. The beasts would no doubt regroup. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them when they did.

Afina’s eyes were still glowing. ’Twas not as intense as when she’d blasted the dragon, but...Jesu. Xavian ran a hand through his hair.

Dragons.

Had he not seen them with his own eyes, he never would have believed it. They were the stuff of legends and the only clear memory he had of his father. He remembered the elaborate tales told after the supper hour. Cross-legged, he and Nadia had always settled in front of the hearth, eager for the storytelling to begin. He had a vague picture of his mother sewing, of his father whittling arrow shafts while he talked of great winged beasts and their friendship with mankind.

His father had gotten it all wrong. There wasn’t a friendly thing about them.

Proof enough sat huddled inside her cloak a few feet away. Silent since their narrow escape into the underground passageway, Afina could hardly put one foot in front of the other. He knew, because he’d dragged her most of the way. Now they sat amongst the brambles, in the small clearing at its heart. Several leagues from the mouth of the tunnel, it was the best place to rest and regroup. The prickly shrubs would shield them on all sides and from above, hiding them from view if the beasts flew overhead.

Aye, they were safe for the moment, but Afina...

She looked so small, curled in on herself like that. Knees tucked in tight with her arms wrapped around both, she rocked back and forth. The movement was slight, barely a rock at all and all the more heartbreaking for it. Xavian wished he could see her face. Mayhap then he would know what to do.

She needed ease. Anyone with eyes could see that, but...would he make it better or worse if he offered comfort?

In that moment, he wanted to be anyone but himself. A whole man—one with a normal upbringing—would know how to help her. But he wasn’t normal. He was brutal and didn’t know the first thing about soothing another.

Her clenched hands started to shake. She pressed her legs even closer, and he leaned forward, instinct urging him to hold her.

Still, he hesitated.

She could hurt him if she wanted—use the power she possessed to toss him over the brambles and out into the open. So much strength in such a wee package. The thought was strangely arousing, and of a sudden, the front of his leathers felt too tight. Xavian shifted, hoping to halt his unholy reaction. It didn’t work. All he could think of was Afina; of the glow in her eyes and the determination on her face as she’d sent that dragon tumbling. She’d done it to protect him; something no one else had ever done.

Another round of sensation stirred below his waist.
Rahat.
He was lower than low. Afina was suffering and here he sat, a full-fledged erection in his trews. Adjusting the traitor, he took a calming breath.

The chill of midnight seeped into his lungs and made him cough. The sound was hollow, a remnant of the viper venom,
along with shivers. Tucked into his fur-lined cloak, Xavian cursed his weakness and looked to the sky. Moonlight spilled, casting shadows amid tumbling branches with thorny teeth. The silvery glow reached deep into the thicket, illuminating the rabbit warren and its many trails. His gaze drifted back to Afina.

La dracu.
He couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Afina.”

“Christ, ’tis about time.”

Xavian glanced toward the opposite side of the clearing. “Speaking to me now, are you?”

Henrik shrugged. “She needs help.”

His eyes narrowed on his comrade. He tried to hide it, but concern shone in Henrik’s eyes. Xavian’s territorial instinct tightened. The sentiment didn’t become his former friend. A brilliant strategist, Henrik never did anything without reason, and his interest in Afina was cause for worry. Now, however, was not the time to push for an answer. Now was for the lass coming apart at the seams.

Inching toward her, Xavian stopped an arm’s length away.
“Draga?”

She flinched.

Careful to keep his touch gentle, he brushed the dark tresses away from the side of her face. The tendrils clung to his fingertips as through trying to keep him in place, and Afina swayed. Xavian shuffled closer. As though drawn, she leaned in his direction.

“That’s it, love,” he said, tone so soft he almost crooned. “Let me help...let me—”

She raised her head. Her eyes glimmered softly, the green glow hiding the hazel. “There is something wrong with me.”

“Not true.” Xavian brushed the pad of his thumb across her temple. “You are as you should be.”

Tears trembled on her lower lashes. “Where is Sabine?”

“Safe at Drachaven by now.”

“I need to hold her.”

“I know, but until you can...hold on to me instead.”

He cupped the nape of her neck and waited. The embrace had to be her decision. He couldn’t give her comfort unless she wanted it. Moments ticked into more before she bridged the gulf between them. She settled like home in his arms, coming to him with such trust Xavian didn’t know what to do first: thank God or hug her close.

He settled for both at the same time.

It felt like a miracle. He was soothing her, bringing her the ease she needed. Pride nudged him as he sat back and pulled her into his lap. Like a kitten, she nestled deep, head tucked beneath his chin, her body supported by his. He stroked his hand along her spine, encouraging her to relax. Small animals rustled through the thicket and an owl called, the night sounds as natural as having her in his arms.

In time, her tension ebbed, flowing out of her and into him. He took it all, aware of the strange current ghosting between them. It pricked his skin, raising the fine hair on the nape of his neck and forearms.

With a frown, he shifted to brush the heavy hair away from her nape. His gaze on her face, he massaged the top of her shoulder. A wee sound, more purr than moan, escaped her. He kept at it, working the tense muscle with sweeping circles. The more relaxed she became the more the current intensified, rushing out of her like water from a broken dam. As she went boneless, he channeled the flow, siphoning the sizzle until none remained.

Inhaling through his nose, he blew the breath out through his mouth. Warm for the first time since he’d been bitten, strength
swept back into his limbs, dispelling the weakness as though it had never existed. Xavian rolled his shoulders. Christ, he felt as though he’d been placed on a rack and stretched to the limit.

What the hell had just happened?

He glanced down at Afina. Her head bobbed against his chest.

“Afina?” He cupped her cheek and tipped her chin up.

Her eyelashes flickered. “Hmm.”

“Let her sleep,” Henrik said, tone soft with warning.

Xavian’s attention snapped right.
Rahat.
He’d forgotten about Henrik. ’Twas understandable but not acceptable. No matter his absorption with Afina, he couldn’t afford to lose sight of an enemy.

A whetstone in one hand, his blade in the other, Henrik slid steel against stone. The rasp of each swipe disturbed nearby wildlife. Twigs snapped and the brambles rustled as rabbits sped away from danger.

“What’s your angle?” Body tense, Xavian shifted the precious bundle in his lap, preparing to move fast if Henrik attacked. Evenly matched, he refused to give his former friend the upper hand. If he died, Afina would be left on her own. “Did Halál send you?”

In answer, Henrik slid his dagger into a sheath high on his chest, pushed to his feet, and tossed him a leather pouch. Xavian caught it in midair. His gaze never leaving his comrade, he turned it over in his hand, recognizing it by feel alone. Hell, a trail pack. Filled with dried figs, nuts, and berries, the small sack was what Al Pacii assassins ate while in the saddle and on the hunt.

“Eat and grow strong. I do not kill weaklings.” Pivoting toward a break in the brambles, Henrik glanced over his shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

Afina in one hand, the trail pack in the other, Xavian watched his comrade retreat. Shadows shifted from shades of grey to black until his tunic became one with the night. Senses twitching, he listened, tracking Henrik’s movement through the thorny shrubs. Clouds covered the moon and a tree limb creaked. Xavian’s lips curved. His friend had opted for high ground, no doubt in the large beech at the edge of the thicket. ’Twas a good spot to keep watch and an even better one to launch an ambush.

Though Xavian doubted he would.

Henrik thought him weak from his clash with the viper. No challenge lay in killing an ill opponent, and slitting a man’s throat while he slept wasn’t Henrik’s style. He liked the fight too much, needed the challenge and the danger and the satisfaction of a clean victory. No one would ever accuse Henrik of being a coward.

Nay, the bastard wouldn’t attack tonight. Tomorrow, however, was a new day.

Being away from Castle Raul was bothersome. Vile, actually. Vladimir hated everything about it: the uncomfortable saddles and stiff muscles, the chilly nights and grey days, the absence of soft beds, hot meals, and sweet wine. As it was, he had to settle for ale. Foul brew. But most of all, he hated pissing in the forest. There was something uncouth about it.

His lip curled, Vladimir refastened his trews then ducked. Damnation, the insects were bigger than minted coins out here. Batting the bug away, he started toward camp, dodging swaying tree limbs and overgrown ferns. Some might find the lush
greenery beautiful. He found it annoying. ’Twas yet another stark reminder of a good strategy gone awry.

The fact it had all gone so horribly wrong confounded him. A good planner, he’d spent hours looking for holes in his scheme until he dreamed of nothing but the steps needed to be taken. Yet victory stood miles away. Up in the mountains with a bunch of thieving assassins.

How could Afina prefer that whoreson to him? She was too pure for the likes of Ramir and his ilk.

With a growl, Vladimir unsheathed his dagger and swiped at a fern stock. The leafy top flipped, tumbling end over end, then hit the ground, much as a head would after decapitation. Ramir would suffer a similar fate. The bastard had stolen what belonged to him, and if he had sullied her...dared to touch her—