Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (25 page)

“Damnation.” Vladimir slashed at an old oak, sending his knifepoint deep into the bark as he passed.

Afina’s maidenhead had better be intact. He owned her virginity along with everything else about her. She was his mate.
His.

The truth had come to Afina’s mother in a dream, foretelling his destiny as ruler of Transylvania. As such, Ylenia had explained the mating ritual. The coupling of a high priestess and her mate was a powerful thing. It ignited the magic in her blood and forged a connection that would bind them together for all time. Therein lay a high priestess’s greatest weakness. For once the bonding took hold, she needed her mate close—his touch and attention—to drain the excess magic in her veins. Or she would slowly go insane.

Vladimir thought about bedding her every day: how he would do it, what she would feel like, and where he would take her. In truth, the where of it was the least important detail.
He would tup her in the dirt with his men watching so long as he bound her to him. He needed that connection. If he controlled Afina, he held the keys to the kingdom—the power to dominate one of the most powerful creatures in Christendom.

A shiver of anticipation swept through him as he entered the camp. Black birds with red-tipped wings flitted from branch to branch, watching him with tilted heads and beady eyes. He ignored the inspection and swept the clearing with a glance, looking for Stein. Not that he wanted to see the bastard. Christ, he couldn’t wait until the morrow when they reached the mountain pass. The grand master would turn north toward Grey Keep and Halál, while he continued west into the teeth of the Carpathians.

The terrain would grow rough and his men would grumble. Vladimir didn’t care. Drachaven Castle lay within striking distance. Two weeks at best, three at worst and he would claim Afina and, through her, the Transylvanian crown. The ceremony was already planned. The priest and people primed. Now all he required was the priestess’s legs wrapped around his waist and her blessing.

When he possessed those, he would have everything he deserved.

Hazy tendrils of sleep loosened their grip one finger at a time. Afina drifted up and out of the fog, ascending through layer upon lazy layer. Something told her to get up and get moving, but she swept the impulse aside. She wanted to stay a while, to float amid warm blankets and no worries. It was self-indulgent, but for once she didn’t care. Sometimes it was good to think of oneself instead of another. Not that it happened often. She served the people, and their needs were more important than her own.

Besides, Bianca would come soon. She always arrived after the bells tolled, giving Afina the extra time to sleep. She smiled, burrowed into the blankets, and waited for the telltale creak. Her sister was sneaky and always opened the door—

The thought jarred her, and awareness struck like a slap in the face.

The dream had been so vivid...so welcome. Afina blinked, refusing to cry. She’d shed too many tears already, a whole river full. Now it was time to wake up and greet the morning along with the truth.

But goddess help her, she didn’t want to face it. Not the magic or the fact she could barely control it. All she wanted to do was hide. Well, that and give it all back. Nothing about her new abilities suited her. Her sister would have been the better choice. Why hadn’t the goddess chosen Bianca instead? Afina
shifted under the wool blanket. She’d asked that question countless times, searching for answers, desperate to understand. As always, the reasons eluded her. But fact was fact. The mark of the goddess marred her skin, and no matter how much she scrubbed it wouldn’t come off.

Soft sounds, clinking metal, rustling leaves, and light footfalls caught her attention. The smell of wood smoke reached her next. Afina planted her hand on the rough weave of the pallet and pushed herself upright. Her muscles squawked, protesting the shift. With a groan, she rolled her shoulders, trying to alleviate the stiffness.

“Finally.”

The deep rumble flowed over her, rich with a hint of sweetness...like the honey she’d favored so much at home. She sighed, let it carry and soothe her for a moment, then opened her eyes. Xavian. Crouched by the fire, wooden spoon in hand, he stirred the contents of a small stew pot, looking decadent and far too tempting.

“Good morrow.”

“Eventide, actually.” His gaze on hers, he tapped the spoon against the iron edge. “You’ve slept the day away.”

“Oh.” Afina bit her bottom lip. She’d been more selfish than she realized. “I guess I was tired.”

He set the spoon aside, leaving it to balance on the pot’s rim. “Feeling better?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Good as new.”

Afina ran her gaze over him, searching for any remnant of weakness. His illness had been severe, but as she studied him she realized none of it showed. The effects of the viper venom were gone. In their place was an intensity that made her squirm.

She glanced away. Not in the brambles anymore, large beech trees and big oaks towered above smaller shrubs, blocking out the setting sun. The orange glow of the day’s final moments peeked through the leaves, throwing odd-shaped patterns on the forest floor. They’d traveled while she slept. How much ground had they covered? Had he held her close while riding, cradled her in his lap like he had in the thicket?

Wickedly insistent, sensation ghosted in a heated swirl across her belly. Afina shifted, tucked her legs in close, and chanced a peek at Xavian. He watched her still, a question in his eyes. She took a calming breath.

Whatever he wanted to know, she wouldn’t have the answer. She never did.

“The stew is almost ready.”

His voice lured, centering all of her awareness on him. In truth, it didn’t want to be anywhere else. His appeal was lethal, more dangerous than an enemy’s blade. At least with Vladimir she could run and hide. Xavian would never permit her the luxury. He was too good a hunter and, was she honest? She enjoyed being his prey.

“Hungry?”

Her hands tightened on the blanket. Goodness, yes, she was hungry...for him. A picture of them entwined—of her desperate and clingy—entered her mind. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “A little.”

Xavian’s gaze sharpened. “What is wrong?”

Well, so much for skirting the issue. “I...”

“What?”

She rubbed her knuckles against her mouth and felt his touch; the warm sweep of his hands as he’d soothed her in the brambles. She didn’t understand how, but he’d taken the pain
and turned it into peace. He deserved her thanks for that—for his kindness and patience. The problem? In thanking him, she would remind him of her foolishness, of the weakness that had sent her into his arms.

Just thinking about her behavior made her cringe. He must think her unbalanced. She was a high priestess, for heaven’s sake. She ought to be able to handle dragons, flying hatchets, all the chaos pulling her apart inside.

He stood and stepped around the jagged stones circling the fire pit. Afina dropped the blanket and scrambled to her feet. Xavian didn’t need the advantage. Like any self-respecting bit of prey, she refused to sit while he loomed over her. The ability to evade was key. At least until she was ready to be caught.

And she would need to be...soon. No matter her discomfort, he wouldn’t tolerate her silence much longer. She saw it in the planes of his face, in the way he moved: quiet, deliberate, dangerous in his approach.

He halted an arm’s length away. “Why the unease?”

Afina wanted to tell him. She did. But uncertainty got in the way. Something strange was happening between them. He calmed her in ways she didn’t understand. It was becoming an addiction: the draw and pull, the desire to touch and be touched driving her from right straight into wrong. It was selfish. If she gave in to the compulsion, where would that leave her? And those at Drachaven?

In turmoil. Fighting for their lives while Xavian tried to protect his home. She was misery wrapped up in a small package. An illusion at its most lethal. Xavian deserved better and so did the people inside his keep.

She heard him move before she felt his touch. Butterfly soft, he smoothed the crease between her brows then drifted, tracing
the curve of her eyebrow, the hollow of her cheek until he reached her jaw. He stroked the sensitive skin beneath, raising her chin as he turned her face toward him.

Well, there was nothing for it. She must tell him something, and a half-truth was better than nothing at all. “Thank you...for the other night...in the brambles.”

“Look at me when you thank me.”

Drat. She’d been hoping to avoid that. Looking at him made it more personal. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? Was a simple “you’re welcome” too much to expect? Out of the realm of possibility? Probably. Just like escape right now. Xavian wouldn’t let her go until she gave him what he wanted.

No doubt ’twould be easier that way. Mayhap faster too. And faster was good...very, very good.

Bracing herself, she raised her gaze and fell headlong into his. She tried to resist the tumble and back away until the entire clearing stood between them, but that pull was seductive. Like the ocean tide it crept in, eroding her will one wave at a time until the inevitability of her downfall became just that...inevitable.

Without any urging from him, she leaned into his touch. As he turned his hand to cup her cheek, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“’Twas naught,” he said, tone so quiet she barely heard him.

“Not true,” she said, borrowing his expression even as she wondered what possessed her. Clearly her mouth was miles ahead of her brain. He’d given her an opportunity to escape. Why hadn’t she taken it?

He shifted, bringing his body flush with hers. Like a light in a dark place, his heat reached out, drew her in until she took the last step. He murmured as she settled against him: cheek cushioned on his chest, arms around him, her will to resist obliterated.

One hand pressed to the small of her back, he stroked her hair with the other. “I do not like to see you distressed.”

“Oh, well, I am better now.” And there went her mouth again. By the goddess, would her brain ever catch up? She was tired of sounding like an idiot.

“Good.” He gave her a little squeeze.

Someone cleared his throat.

Afina nearly jumped out of her skin. Controlled and smooth, Xavian pivoted, placing her behind his back. She grabbed his tunic and peered around his shoulder. Oh, it was only Henrik. Damp hair gleaming in the fading light, he stood at the edge of the clearing, even with a copse of small trees.

“The river’s free,” he said, gaze leveled on Xavian. A linen towel slung over his bare shoulder, he crossed the clearing and dropped a leather satchel next to the fire. “Cold as hell, but free.”

A river. Praise the lord. That meant she could have a bath. A bath! Afina smiled, resisting the urge to do a jig. After everything she’d suffered—the slavers, the viper, those blasted dragons—the grime on her skin must be an inch thick by now.

As excited as a child at Michaelmas, Afina sidestepped. Xavian’s arm shot out, blocking her path, keeping her behind him. She froze, catching his tension. Focused on Henrik, the chill in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. A storm was brewing and aggression rolled like thunder, clouding the space between the two men.

Afina glanced from Xavian to Henrik then back again. What the devil was going on? These two were friends. Not that it looked that way at the moment. Both were as taut as bowstrings. “Is everything all right?”

“Aye,” they both said at once.

Afina started, the force of that single word almost knocking her flat.

“Take the satchel behind me, Afina.” Without looking at her, Xavian widened his stance, making himself bigger as she glanced over her shoulder. The leather pouch sat beside his saddlebags, not far from the horses. “Inside you will find all you need for your bath. The clothes are Qabil’s, but they will do until we reach Drachaven.”

The goddess love him...clean clothes. Afina almost sat down and wept. Tattered and stained, her gown was a mess. Sherene would no doubt wail if she could see it. “It seems I can do nothing but thank you today.”

Xavian’s mouth curved. The delicious shift made his eyes sparkle, and triumph swirled in the depths of her heart. He’d smiled...for her.

“Go,
draga
.”

With a nod, she backtracked to grab the satchel. Slinging it over her shoulder, she picked up her own as well. She needed her healing salve to take the sting from her muscles and soothe a few scrapes. As she reached the edge of the clearing, instinct whispered a warning. She turned back. Two sets of eyes bored into her, both men watching as though they couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

Expressions set, bodies tense, they were acting like recalcitrant children. Giving them a hard look, she pointed first at Xavian then Henrik. “Behave. Both of you.”

Henrik blinked.

Xavian frowned.

Afina retreated, taking the path toward the river. They were grown men, for pity’s sake. Surely they could get along...at least for the time it took to have her bath.