Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (3 page)

“Many thanks, Afina.”

Her name rolled off his tongue as though he were tasting it, a predator savoring his next meal. A shiver chased dread down her spine, causing a visceral chain reaction. She’d done as he asked and tended his wound, but the idea he wasn’t finished with her grabbed hold, clanged inside her head until instinct coiled, preparing her to flee. Muscles tense, she shifted, moving away from him and toward Sabine a fraction at a time.

“Ram?” Cristobal’s voice cut through the haze of fright, momentarily interrupting her tension. Something about his tone caused her to pause and take stock of the question embedded in the summons. The chill of Xavian’s eyes moved from her to his friend. Time slowed, altering perception as Afina watched Cristobal reach out and grasp Sabine’s small chin. With a gentle touch, he turned her daughter’s face toward Xavian and said, “The eyes.”

A muscle jumped along Xavian’s jaw as his hand curled into a fist on the planked tabletop. “Hell.”

“Aye,” Cristobal murmured, clearly understanding the meaning behind the expletive.

Her gaze swiveling between the two, Afina struggled to breathe. What did they want with Sabine? The question sank
deep and panic rolled in. She exploded around the edge of the table. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

She needed to reach her child...now, this instant. “Sabine, come—”

Xavian struck, reaching out so fast she didn’t see him move. The heat of his hand shackled her wrist. A moment later, he hauled her up and back, away from Sabine. Her throat clogged and instinct surged, unleashing the ferocious need to protect her child. Xavian was talking, but she didn’t hear him, too focused on getting to Sabine as he continued to draw her toward the door. Using the momentum of his pull, she rounded on him, teeth bared, feet and fists flying. He cursed and yanked, spinning her until she landed, back to his front, shoulder blades pressed to his muscled chest.

Sabine whimpered.

Afina screamed and bucked his hold, heart breaking, tears pooling in her eyes. One hand wrapping both of her wrists, he cupped her throat, fingers searching.

“No,” she said, her voice weakening as he applied pressure to a sensitive spot on the side of her neck. “Let go...let me go!”

“Easy, Afina.”

“Please! P-please don’t hurt her...d-don’t hurt my baby.”

Tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, the black void of unconsciousness beckoned. Afina fought the pull, fear for Sabine anchoring her in the light. Xavian murmured, mouth close to her ear, his low tone reassuring, but she knew better. He was the angel of death, right hand to the devil.

Xavian swung Afina into his arms, all the while berating himself. He’d frightened her, made her believe he would hurt her child. Not the best move, all things considered.

Had he stuck to the plan she might have agreed. Now she would fight him every step of the way. And he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t deserve anything less. In his defense, though, the girl-child’s eyes had surprised him, making him move before he’d been ready.

Mismatched. One green, the other blue...Bodgan’s eyes.

Xavian had stared into a pair of identical eyes just days ago, watching their life force drain away. Did it matter that Bodgan had attacked first? That his intent had been to slit Xavian’s throat and carry his head like a trophy back to the old man? Nay. From the moment he recognized Sabine’s coloring, an awful ache sliced him wide open.

He closed his eyes and relived the desperation in his comrade’s voice. Watched his blood flow and listened to him beg,
You owe me, Ram...find her near Severin...blond...healer...provide. Remember...the code.
He’d rasped the last words, gasping on the certainty of death.

The code. Could he ever forget?

’Twas sacred among their kind, a gift given to the dying. One favor, a request made of the victor without the possibility of denial.
He never imagined, however, his present mission and the vow made to Bodgan would collide. That the woman he hunted for Vladimir would prove to be the healer and the blond child, his former comrade’s daughter.

Jesu, a simple promise and now he stood neck deep, condemned with choice. The options slashed, opening old wounds until he bled, unable to stem the flow of regret. ’Twas new, the constant questioning, an affliction he’d not suffered before a year ago. He didn’t like it, mourned the simplicity of his life before he split from the group, Al Pacii. Tired of the folly and Halál’s indiscriminate killing, he’d left alone. He’d wanted a new start, a future far from his past and the innumerable sins for which God would never forgive him. Instead, the past followed along with the four, the men that now stood at his back.

He hadn’t asked for leadership. Didn’t want it. But somehow, responsibility found a home on his shoulders. Now his men looked to him. Had handed the power of their futures into his care, and Xavian refused to fail them. He must find a way through, give them all new purpose if they were to survive Halál’s wrath.

His fingers curled, flexing around soft flesh and lax muscle. He looked down at the woman he cradled like a babe in his arms. More responsibility. Two wee bundles he could ill afford. What the hell was he going to do with them?

His immediate impulse was to keep Sabine—satisfy his promise to Bodgan—but hand Afina to Vladimir, take the coin and forget about her. ’Twas a reckless reaction, one fueled by emotion. He recognized it for what it was...anger. Hell, he didn’t even know Afina, and he was angry with her for so many things: for welcoming Bodgan, for bearing his child, for giving his former
friend the gift Xavian yearned for...acceptance. The notion stirred him, tossing up debris from the murky bottom of his soul.

No matter how hard he fought, the truth always came back to haunt him. Now was no different. The craving uncoiled like a wounded animal, howling for a woman to call his own—a special lass to love and be loved by in return. Xavian scowled. Love. ’Twas naught but a fool’s dream, a false hope he couldn’t encourage. He needed that kind of aggravation like a dagger between his shoulder blades.

Even so, the imagined loss stung as he crossed the clearing.

Andrei slid from the shadows and raised a brow.

Xavian unclenched his teeth long enough to snarl, “Cloak.”

The Frenchman’s chin dipped an instant before he unhooked his mantle and tossed it in Xavian’s direction. The heavy wool arced, moving on the wind, a black stain on the muted grey of the coming night. Shifting Afina, he caught the cape with one hand and swept beneath the curved canopy of the large beech tree. Sabine whimpered behind him, the only sound to indicate Cristobal ghosted in his wake.

Sensing the audience at his back, Xavian inhaled to steady the volatility rolling around inside his chest and glanced over his shoulder. His men stood in a semicircle, a question in their eyes. Arms curled around Afina, he protected her from their probing gazes and said, “Clean it up. Take what is useful. Leave no trace.”

His men nodded and moved toward the cottage, their feet silent, movements efficient as they obeyed his command. Cradling the girl-child, Cristobal headed in the opposite direction, toward Qabil and their horses. He heard his friend murmur, the cadence of his voice soothing as he stroked Sabine’s hair, reassuring her with both tone and touch. Xavian shook his head, amazed a
hardened assassin, a man with blood on his hands—as much as his own—could be so good with a child.

It defied logic, and Xavian struggled to wrap his mind around the blatant contradiction as he spread the cloak on the ground. Afina would stir soon if he didn’t hurry. He wanted her senseless for a while...at least through the night. He wasn’t ready to face her yet, or the fury she would no doubt deliver. The reaction smacked of cowardice, but he didn’t care. He needed time: to adjust, to formulate a plan, to make a final decision.

Fallen leaves rustled as he came down on one knee and set Afina in the middle of the dark wool. The breeze stirred, pushing the branches above, and moonlight spilled, bathing her in light. He drew a deep breath and swept the hair from her face while he palmed the small vial he always carried. The thick strands clung, and unable to help himself, he wove the locks between his fingers, enjoying the softness even as he admonished himself for the pleasure.

Tight pressure moved behind his breastbone. With a scowl, he shook free of her tresses and brushed the corner of her mouth. She shifted, turning her head to follow his touch. He flicked the stopper from the glass and caressed the full curve of her lower lip. As she sighed, his heart clenched, but that didn’t stop him from tipping the vial and dripping two droplets into her mouth.

Her eyelashes flickered. He cupped her cheek and murmured, using the soothing rhythm of his voice to keep her quiet until the drugging tonic took effect. She settled like a kitten, content with his tone and the heat of his body surrounding her. With an eye to her comfort, he shifted her a little then wrapped her in the warm mantle. He didn’t question his need to be gentle, simply accepted and let it go as he scooped her up and headed for the horses. He needed to move fast. Of a sudden, a half-day’s ride between him
and the enemy didn’t seem nearly far enough. Not with Afina and Sabine now in the fold.

Unhappy birds argued somewhere overhead. The high-pitched chatter made Afina’s head hurt, and she shifted sideways. Away from sharp-edged pain, toward heat and a spicy scent she couldn’t place. Goddess, that was nice...rich with warmed leather and wood smoke. With a hum, Afina snuggled in, pressed her cheek to something solid, and swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. The tang turned rancid, telling her stomach the smallest twitch would be treated like an enemy invasion.

Enemy.

The word echoed inside her head. Something was off. The “what,” though, was proving to be a problem. Her brain wasn’t working right. Everything was foggy. A fuzzy collection of barely there thoughts jumbled together with images that didn’t make sense.

Afina shivered, tried to catch the memory. The birds above yammered and the vague impression thinned, leaving her mind blank but for one thought.

She didn’t feel dead.

Something told her she ought to, except...heaven should feel more, well, heavenly, without the terrible sting buzzing between her temples. The other problem? Everyone was supposed to get along in heaven, and a flock of engaged fowl seemed a bit disorderly, disrespectful of the goddess’s master plan.

Well, whatever the strategy, it wasn’t working. The argument had become a screaming match, driving the ache into the back
of her skull. Mother Mary, why couldn’t they find another tree? Why couldn’t...Wait a moment. Trees?

Afina cracked her eyes open. Filtered through something, sunlight drilled her and agony clawed, leaving spots in the center of her vision. She tried again and saw a collection of blurry green blobs. Leaves. Which meant trees. Not something she had anywhere near her cottage. The beeches stood all the way across the clearing and—

The ground shifted beneath her. A sauntering roll, more gentle than jostling.

Still her stomach rebelled, clenching in protest as Afina looked to her left. Her vision wavered, moving from dark to light and back again. Concentrating hard, she squinted at a fuzzy outline. The black mane came into focus first, followed by pointed ears and the shape of a head. A horse? She blinked to clear the fog and tried again.

Uh-huh...definitely. A horse.

Afina frowned at it. Much as she’d always wanted to, she didn’t own a horse. So why was she on one? A dream come true or—

Oh, gods, her head hurt.

Letting her eyes slide closed, she settled against her warm cradle. Later. She’d figure it out later, when Sabine woke up to break her fast. For now, she would—

The stallion sidestepped. Her stomach went with it, pitching as the jarring movement sent her brain sloshing inside her skull. Afina gagged, fighting the burn while nausea fisted a hand around her windpipe.

A deep voice cursed. The warhorse settled, but it was too late. Bile churned, and she coughed, lost to the horrible spasm clogging the back of her throat.

“Breathe.” Warm hands rubbed circles on her back.

Afina shook her head. Breathing sounded like a good idea, but she couldn’t find any air. The pressure banding her chest squeezed, compressing her lungs until cramps took over, taking her along for the ride. Dry heaves hit and she doubled over, palms flat against her breastbone, eyes watering as she fought the convulsions.

“Jesu.” With gentle insistence, someone tugged at her, pulling her upright. The position helped, allowing her to take a shallow breath. “Good. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

The tone drew her, held her up high, away from the pain. She drifted toward it, following the deep timbre without question, and took another breath, this one fuller than the last.

“That’s it,
draga
.”

Afina blinked away tears.
Draga?
Oh, that was nice. No one had ever called her “darling” before. And that voice. Incredibly deep, with a soothing cadence that reminded her of warm honey and sugary sweets. Her favorite, but...wait a moment. Something was wrong with that image. She shook her head, ignoring the pain as she tried to clear her mind.