Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (35 page)

Wood shifted, cracked, then hit the deck.

Afina flinched as the horrendous sound shattered the quiet around them.

With a curse, Xavian rolled, reaching under the lambskin above her head. He came away with a dagger. She scrambled as he pivoted into a crouch, placing himself in front of her. White knuckling the blanket, Afina pressed the wool to her chest and held her breath. Her heart paused mid-beat as she peeked around him.

The boat pitched gently and the awning snapped overhead, the smell of bruised fruit drifting as a shadow separated from the edge of the main mast.

Unfazed by his nakedness, Xavian stood to face the intruder.

“I’m looking for a priest,” Henrik said, tone tight, sunlight flashing across the hard planes of his face. “Seen one around here?”

Xavian’s gaze narrowed on the rope behind Henrik’s head. Threaded through the edge of the awning, the cord went taut as the faded red canvas sailed high, rolling like a wave overhead. He eyed the end knotted to the main mast, calculating how long it would take him to cut the rope, wrap it around Henrik’s neck, and toss the entire mess—friend and all—overboard.

To the count of thirty...tops.

Quick. Clean. Satisfying. Exactly the way he liked a problem solved.

Henrik eyed the line then gave him a level look. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Leave.”

He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

Rahat
, the bastard was asking for it. But then, so was he.

Xavian ran his hand over the back of his neck. What the hell was he doing? They were on a ship full of men. It didn’t matter that most aboard were scared of him. He never should have touched Afina in such a public place. Unclothing her had been necessary to help her recover. Keeping her that way had not been part of the plan. No matter how much he craved her soft skin against his, he should have shoved her into her trews the moment she woke up and done what he’d wanted to do from the start. Talk.

But the feel of her against him...the sight of her: back arched, thighs spread, and fingers playing...

God. Xavian swallowed.

Seeing her splayed out like that had emptied his head. In truth, there wasn’t much between his ears even now. Hell, all his blood was still below his waist, throbbing with an insistence that made him want to kill something.

“Goddamn it, Ram,” his friend growled, toeing an apple away from his foot. The fruit rolled, bumping against one of the broken crates between them. “We spoke of this.”

“And I agreed.”

“Agreed, my arse. ’Twas a well-executed sidestep, naught more. You have no intention—”

“Things have changed.”

“Have they?” Henrik raised a dark brow. “Then you won’t mind waiting for the priest.”

Christ.

His friend was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let it go, and Xavian couldn’t help but like him all the more for it. Afina deserved better. The best, in fact, and he was naught close to what she needed. He wasn’t gentle or kind. His black heart was buried beneath muscle and bone, stained by death, cheapened by deceit, ruined by what he had done and been and still was. His eyes on the tip of his blade, he tightened his grip on the hilt. The steel was heavy, a silent reminder of the filth beneath his skin. Hell, every time he touched Afina some of that stink rubbed off on her; infected and brought her lower...down to his level.

He was a selfish bastard.

To know what he was and still not be able to back away—to do the right thing by her—was a curse he couldn’t deny. The pain of that weakness stung like a son of a bitch.

“Get gone, H.” His voice sounded raw, wounded without the possibility of recovery. He cleared his throat, tossed the blade onto a sheepskin, and reached for his trews. “Afina needs privacy to dress.”

“Not a chance.” Henrik crossed his arms over his chest, widening his stance as the boat rolled to starboard then came back to its keel. “The moment I turn my back, you’ll be on her again.”

Xavian gritted his teeth, knowing it was true. Given half a chance, he’d have her beneath him again in a heartbeat. And she wouldn’t stop him. He knew it with certainty...in the same way she’d known that begging would send him over the edge.

He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. God, he could still taste her on his tongue and down the back of his throat. She was sweetness and light. And he wanted more. ’Twas more than just two bodies coming together. Aye, the sex was good—best he’d ever had—but the need for connection came along with it. And as much as he wanted to deny it, being with her physically wasn’t enough. It was all or naught. He wanted every single piece of her.

And that just pissed him off.

A soft rustle came from behind him and he tensed, shoulders bunching up hard as he thrust his legs into his leathers.

“Xavian?”

Jesu, her voice. Edged with passion, the husky whisper touched him like a prayer. The concern in it sucked him dry, made him crave her tongue and the heat of her mouth. Yanking his trews over his arse, Xavian braced himself before glancing at Afina over his shoulder.

Oh, Christ.

She looked...delicious. Good enough to eat.

Again.

Cheeks flushed with passion, dark hair a decadent tumble around her face, she met his stare head-on. He came unhinged inside and half turned toward her: wanting, needing, yearning. Henrik grumbled. Xavian ignored him, drinking her in, absorbing her scent, reliving the feel of her beneath his hands. Unable to help himself, his gaze dipped to her mouth. He bit back a groan. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses and...God, he’d just been there, had but moments ago tasted that sweetness in all its glory. His shaft jerked upright, straining against unlaced leather.

Grabbing hold of the ties, he closed the opening with a vicious pull. By way of punishment, it didn’t do much. The bastard behind the lacing leapt forward, happy for the attention. And Afina wasn’t helping matters. She was eating him with her eyes, her hazel-green gaze almost glowing as it drifted across his chest then south of his waistband. Her imaginary touch made his balls fist up so tight he started to pant. He breathed through it, taking shots of air as he tied off his lacing. His fingers shook. Xavian frowned at them, inhaled again, and willed his heart to slow. Little by little, the self-discipline he’d spent a lifetime perfecting kicked in, saving Henrik from a swim in the Jiu.

His focus still fixed on Afina, he exhaled slowly. “Get dressed,
draga
.”

“Not with him watching.”

“Turn around.” Violence rolled like thunder, blanketing him with the need to pummel his friend. The bastard stood little more than six feet away, and Afina was all but naked. It didn’t matter that Henrik was her brother. The territorial need to protect what belonged to him was stronger than reason. “Now.”

Henrik’s eyes narrowed. “Ram—”

“Now.” Rolling his shoulders, he cranked his fists in tight, wanting to hit Henrik so badly it took all he had to stay still. “Or you take a swim.”

“Goddamn it.” With a scowl, Henrik pivoted, giving them his back.

Xavian exhaled slowly as Afina stepped behind him. He widened his stance, made himself bigger to shield her. It felt good to protect her, to provide what she needed when she needed it. One eye on Henrik, he glanced over his shoulder, the urge to look at her too much to resist.

She dropped the blanket.

His breath caught, stalling in his throat like he’d been punched in the chest. She was so damned beautiful—all round curves and lean limbs and soft skin. Xavian snapped his head around. Looking at her was a bad idea. It only intensified the ache and elevated his frustration past what was safe.

Linen rustled and leather snapped as he listened to her dress. Needing a distraction, he grabbed his tunic, jammed it over his head, and did up the side lacing. His boots came next, and as he stomped the second one on he sheathed his daggers, sliding each one home before reaching for his twin scabbards. With care, he adjusted the harness over his chest, crisscrossing the leather straps, aware of the slip and slide behind him as Afina laced up her boots.

As he secured the last buckle, she came up behind him. Still using him as a shield, she set her small hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes. Shivers chased a tremor down his spine as her warmth seeped into him.

“What’s going on?” The question, quietly spoken, held an edge of uncertainty that made his stomach ache.

He tried to ignore the urge, but the need to reassure her hung on and he murmured, “’Tis all right, love.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, her focus shifted to Henrik. “Why is he so angry?”

Xavian inhaled, filling his lungs to capacity. Thank Christ...a distraction in its purest form; the kind he needed to keep his hands off Afina. And it came with an added bonus—retribution. Though Xavian couldn’t help but admire Henrik’s methods. Knocking over the crate had been a stroke of genius. Still, he wasn’t feeling magnanimous. The need to do his friend a little damage was too much to resist.

“You going to tell her, H? Or am I?”

“Not now.”

“Here. Now.”

Henrik scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. “Shit.”

Good at waiting, Xavian stayed quiet. His gaze steady on his friend, he reached for Afina’s hand. Little shocks grabbed at his forearms as he made contact and pulled her out from behind his back. As soon as she stood alongside him, he let go. She held on, slipping her pinky between his index and middle fingers. Her palm met his. His heart kicked at his chest as she leaned into him—body against his, her cheek against his upper arm.

Henrik turned to face them, something desperate in his eyes.

Xavian almost felt bad. Almost. But his friend deserved what he got. If he hadn’t wanted to be messed with, he should have left well enough alone. He tipped his chin in Henrik’s direction, prompting him.

“Afina, I, ah...” Henrik frowned and glanced away. He stared out to the cliff face rising out of the river, concentrating hard on the rough wall. “I tried to tell you...at the cave, but...”

“Tell me what?” Afina gripped Xavian’s hand harder.

Xavian squeezed back, not liking her fear. Hell, mayhap he shouldn’t have pushed it. Mayhap forcing Henrik to spill his secret wasn’t the best idea. Mayhap Afina wouldn’t welcome the news she had a brother. She’d been through so much in such a short time. Had nearly died and—

“Please tell me...what is so wrong?”

“Naught is wrong,” Xavian said, giving her hand another pump. “H, mayhap—”

“We are kin, Afina,” Henrik blurted, his chest rising and falling in fast bursts. “I...I am your brother.”

Afina jerked then went stiff against him. Her mouth opened once, twice, a third time as she stared at Henrik. The tears, though, were terrible, and unable to stop himself, Xavian hooked his arm around her back, offering comfort with his body. She didn’t take it. He tightened his hold, willing her to relax, to breathe and lean on him.

“Draga—”

She shook free of his hold, planted her palms on his chest, and pushed. Xavian sucked in a quick breath and unlocked his arms. It almost killed him to let her go, but he refused to draw her back. He couldn’t protect her from the truth.

“Show me,” she said, voice unsteady.

Henrik went rigid, the muscles in his arms and neck standing out in relief. “Listen, ’tis—”

“I won’t believe you unless you show me. I want to see it.”

“Christ.” Henrik hesitated a heartbeat, dark brows drawn, face expressionless before his hands went to the lacing on his tunic. Yanking the knot free, he loosened the ties, pull by slow pull. His jaw clenched, he lifted the leather over his head in one strong movement.

Afina’s hand flew over her mouth.

Xavian went stock still, his eyes on his friend’s chest. The moon-star was still there—the same size, shape, and color as Afina’s mark. The difference? Afina’s sat on the front curve of her shoulder. Henrik’s was stamped directly over his heart.

Why his friend had tried so hard to hide it, Xavian didn’t know, but—

“Hell,” Xavian murmured, understanding hitting him sideways.

It had never been about Henrik, but something more important.

His gaze left the birthmark to meet Henrik’s. The truth lay in his friend’s eyes: the reason he’d stay with Al Pacii, all the times he’d done Halál’s bidding without complaint, why he’d never fought being strapped to the blue stone or the old man’s knife.

Henrik had been protecting his family.

The noble sacrifice made Xavian feel even dirtier. Henrik was lily white—a killer with righteous cause. Xavian couldn’t say the same. He’d killed and maimed not to protect a loved one, but to shield himself. And that kind of selfishness came at a cost.

What he’d done in the name of Al Pacii couldn’t be undone. The blood on his hands couldn’t be washed off. The stain inside him would never come clean. Aye, he flirted with absolution and saved as many boys as he could, but that would never be enough. ’Twas his penance—a cross he bore to ensure each lad had a childhood—but an equal amount was about revenge. About depriving Al Pacii of the fresh blood it needed to replenish its numbers and continue. About his hatred for Halál.

He wasn’t an altar boy with a pure motive. Didn’t go to church or pray or expect God to look upon him with favor. ’Twas too late for forgiveness.

The realization tore him in two, and as he listened to Afina sob, watched her launch herself at her brother and Henrik embrace her in return, he realized he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take her before a priest and contaminate her with his filth. He was less than half the man Afina needed him to be, and as his hungry gaze devoured her he knew what he had to do.

He had to let her go.

No matter how much it hurt, he needed to find another capable of easing her when the magic became too much and...find the strength to let her go.

If he didn’t, he would kill her spirit as surely as Halál had killed his.