Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (46 page)

Dax whimpered.

Afina swallowed one of her own and unsheathed the blade strapped to her thigh. Steel clinked against stone as she threw it away. “It’s all right, darling. Everything is going to be all right.”

“Liar.” The bastard’s whisper drifted, echoing like a shout off the rock face. “I’m going to slit your throat and take your mother.”

“S-sorry, Mama.” Twin tears rolled, leaving streaks on his dirty face. “S-sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault, Dax.” Afina took a step closer, wanting to blast Vladimir so badly her palms throbbed. But what if she missed? The swine would do as he said and Dax would die. “I am here, Vladimir. I kept up my end. Now keep yours. Let him go.”

The bastard grinned over the top of her lad’s head. “Come and get him.”

“Bastard,” she said, tone soft, more snarl than curse. Gravel crunched beneath her boot heels as she shifted left to find a better
angle. She needed to see what lay beyond him. He’d chosen his position for a reason. Were his men hunkered down in the trees, behind the boulders, waiting for his signal? Afina swallowed. She hoped Hamund wasn’t far behind her.

“Tsk, Priestess. Such language.” His eyes traveled over her trews. Speculation mingled with lust, washing his cheeks with color. “You’ve grown...in all the right places.”

“You have no idea.” Afina itched to show how very much she had changed. Show him she was no longer a frightened rabbit, ready to flee at the first scent of danger. She was mated now and the magic flowed, moving through her veins with vicious intent. Rubbing her fingertips with her thumb, she held onto the urge as well as the power. It was too soon. The possibility of hitting Dax instead of her target was too real. “Forever the coward, aren’t you, Vladimir...using a lad as a shield?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “’Tis intelligence,
chère
...not cowardice.”

Chère.
He called her his sweetheart. Afina wanted to vomit. She swallowed the burn, mind racing to form a new plan. Where were Hamund and his men? No doubt regrouping, trying to find a way onto the plateau. It wouldn’t be easy. A sheer rock face on one side, a cliff on the other, the trail she’d used seemed the only way in. Her saving grace? She knew they would never leave her.

“Not too smart. I managed to evade you for over two years,” she said, wanting to keep him talking. Whatever his plan, it wouldn’t unfold here. It was too isolated a place, without any true means of defense. The longer they lingered the better her advantage and the more time Hamund had to reach them. “Me...a woman without skill or experience.”

He sneered. “Bianca helped you. Little whore.”

Anger bubbled up. Afina pushed it back down. The idea was to taunt him, keep him distracted. Not rise to the bait herself. “My sister was—”

A battle cry ripped through the canyon. A clang of swords followed, rising up from the trail behind her. Tension cranked her muscles one notch tighter. The swine’s men-at-arms had been there all along, hiding in the rocks, waiting for her guards. Goddess, she was an idiot. She’d done what Vladimir expected. Now Xavian’s men would suffer for her mistake.

“Ah, your men...and not a moment too soon. You walked them right into my trap. Not too smart, Priestess.” Vladimir smiled, throwing her words back in her face. “Did you think they would save you?”

The sound of battle grew closer. Men shouted and blades clashed, brittling her insides. “I don’t need them to save me.”

The words jolted her, leaving her disoriented for a moment. She said them again, this time with more conviction. They circled, coming together, giving birth to something new...something shiny and good and
right
. Afina embraced the truth of it, let it grow until years of self-doubt sank beneath a rising wave of confidence. The power inside her shifted, seething for release. With a growl, she let the magic enfold and take her, mold her into aggression.

“Nay?” Vladimir scoffed, laughing at her.

“No.” Chin tipped down, Afina glared at him from beneath her brows. “I can save myself.”

“Right, and I am the King of—”

She raised her hand, giving body to the magic in her blood. A blue current snapped between her fingertips, forming a perfect sphere. The orb settled in the palm of her hand, white lightning striking inside the orb.

Vladimir’s eyes went wide. “You are—”

“Mated to Xavian.” She smiled, a mere curve of the lips, but it conveyed the message.
Take that, you filthy swine.
“You will never control me.”

“You are mine!” Fury set the lines of his face as he bared his teeth.

“No.” One word, a simple denial that set the final piece in place. She belonged to Xavian by choice. Her destiny was her own to control. “I am not.”

The bastard pressed his blade harder to Dax’s throat. Blood ran, trickling from under his chin, soaking the collar of his cloak. Afina clenched her teeth to mute her cry of outrage. Another round of lightning cracked inside the sphere. She tightened her grip on it. She couldn’t throw it...not yet. Not until he shifted into the open.

Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, she flipped the orb into the air and caught it on the down arc. “Careful, Vladimir. The lad is the only leverage you’ve got...kill him and I blast you.”

“Come then...retrieve your wee bastard.” Dark eyes narrowed, Vladimir lifted the knife, planted his foot on Dax’s back, and kicked. Her lad stumbled forward, a red rivulet rolling down his throat.

The moment Dax was clear, Afina hurled the lightning ball at Vladimir’s head. The air crackled. Fire hissed as blue flame streaked across the clearing. The swine ducked and leapt right. Rock exploded, raining a downpour of shards. Afina launched another. Vladimir rolled. Dirt flew skyward and wood cracked. Brown debris clouding the air, the acrid scent of scorched sycamore drifting, she vaulted toward Dax. She knew it was a mistake the moment her feet moved.

Vladimir was down, not dead.

But the need to reach her son overpowered self-preservation.
Retrieve. Retreat.
That was her mission.

A foot away from Dax, Vladimir shouted, “Now!”

A flurry of movement erupted above her. Something brown and weighted slammed into her back. The air left her lungs as she hit the ground chest first. Wheezing, she planted her palms in the dirt and pressed up, flipped over, fighting confinement. Rough rope scraped her cheek. She tore at the netting. Heat seared her skin and pain met the smell of burning flesh. Afina jerked away from the web and stared at her hands. Blisters were already forming. Blood crystals...everywhere, sewn into each junction.

She tried to scream, to let Hamund know she was in trouble. No sound emerged. She reached for Dax. Crumpled on an exposed piece of granite, he lay just feet away. Her hand inched out. The gemstones contracted, becoming a prison around her. Mother Mary, she needed to get to him. If she didn’t, he would bleed to death.

Uncaring of the agony, Afina yanked on the rope again. More burns. More bubbling blisters as magical bars stronger than steel closed around her. She felt the sucking draw—the same awful pull as when Tareek had held the medallion to her throat—and she knew she was lost. The blood crystals had gone to work, siphoning her strength one gulp at a time. Helplessness arrived, dragging desperation with it as the magic left her, moving in the wrong direction.

Afina slumped, cheek pressed to wet stone, her gaze on Dax. As her heartbeat slowed to an inaudible thump, she fought the darkness as it came to her...fought to stay with her lad.
Live.
The whisper echoed inside her mind. She pushed the command toward Dax, across the scant few feet separating them.
Live.
She willed it, thrust her determination into his heart and soul, giving him all she had.

The tips of Vladimir’s boots came into her line of vision. “Foolish Afina...but predictable, at least.”

Smeared with pain, her vision blurred. Her fingers curled, filling her hands with stone dust. She murmured Dax’s name, more sob than whisper. Goddess forgive her, she’d failed him, just as she had failed them all.

Grey clouds of smoke billowed toward a clear blue sky. Sap bubbled on tree trunks and flames roared, devouring shrub and evergreen alike. The inferno raced along the lip of the dell, rimming the large, flat expanse, colliding with the adjacent rock face. Fire licked at Xavian’s boot heels, hemming Al Pacii in along with his men.

Xavian wiped the sweat from his eyes. Good Christ. What the hell had Cruz been thinking? Not that he minded roasting the enemy, but there was a time and place...preferably one without a forest full of kindling to feed the blaze.

He glared at the dragon behind him. Oblivious, happy in the hellfire, Cruz growled and, raising his clawed forepaw, stomped on one of the assassins. He bared his fangs, grinning as bone crunched, and pivoted to face another. The scaled bastards were having a ball destroying the enemy. Tareek had even eaten one, for Christ’s sake.

He shook his head and unsheathed his swords. Afina was going to kill him. The damage to her precious woodlands would take years to reverse. He and Cruz needed a sit-down, face-to-face—or rather fang—conversation. Nature and Afina’s purpose must be respected by all who served him...regardless of their penchant for using their mouths as flamethrowers.

The price of having dragons for comrades. Jesu. Fire-eating idiots.

Twin blades reflected the flames as Xavian joined the fray. Pivoting, he ducked beneath an enemy sword and his steel met flesh. He drew his slice through, cutting muscle from bone. The man screamed, crumbling to one knee before Xavian reversed course. One powerful stroke and the bastard’s head left his shoulders. Brown hair streaked scarlet flipped end over end to land with a thump on scorched grass.

Xavian stepped around the headless corpse, engaged another Al Pacii, took him down. Fire nipping him from behind, he checked his position. Cristobal fought ten feet away, blades whirling as he engaged two assassins at once. Seasoned and well-built, they were after his friend’s head. Xavian sheathed one of his swords and replaced it with a dagger. A third closed in behind Cristobal.

The bastards didn’t know how to fight fair. But then, neither did he.

He waited a moment, wanting the optimal angle, then yelled, “Down!”

Cristobal dropped, rolling left. An enemy blade missed his friend by an inch, and Xavian loosed the dagger. His steel sank deep, catching the third man’s throat dead center, just beneath his chin. Thrown back by the impact, the bastard dropped his sword. He clutched at the hilt pressed against his flesh and stumbled back a step. The fire took over, completing the kill.

Back to back now, he and Cristobal made quick work of the assassins around them. He needed to reach the rise, the one beyond Garren. Valmont was fighting there. Per usual, the bastard was holding his own. He wanted a piece of him before Al Pacii lost and Valmont tucked his tail between his legs and fled.
Xavian had no doubt he would run...leave the remaining assassins to die while he made a clean escape.

’Twas the bastard’s way. Halál’s way.

Xavian’s swords cut through the air faster. Cristobal kept pace. Working as one, they slashed their way to the blue dragon. Garren flicked an assassin away with a tip of his claw. The man went flying, hit the ground and rolled...winded but still alive. The dragon swung his massive head in their direction. Teeth bared, violet eyes lethal, he inhaled. With a curse, Xavian jumped right, out of the incendiary path. Upon recognizing them, Garren swallowed the fireball and grinned.

Cristobal scowled back. “Would you just kill them, for shit’s sake?”

Garren shifted to shield them, using his body to deflect a flurry of arrows. The steel points bounced off his scales as he raised a brow. “’Twould be over too quickly if I did that. Need some small challenge, you know?”

“Well then, eat them.”

“I’ll leave that to Tareek.” The dragon grimaced as though tasting something foul and muttered, “Never developed a liking for human flesh.”

“Good to know.” Xavian leaned around the dragon’s shoulder, scanning the terrain. The battled stilled raged, but little by little his men evened the odds. Al Pacii had come prepared with a full contingent of seasoned assassins. Much as he wished it, Valmont wasn’t stupid. He watched the bastard fight a moment...watched Andrei’s swords flash, matching Valmont’s stroke for stroke. “Garren, cover me. I need to get to that rise.”

The dragon tossed another man with his snout, sending him ten feet in the air. He glanced at him from his periphery. “You want a piece of the dark one?”

“Aye.” Xavian planted his boot on the dragon’s foreleg. “I’m going up and over you.”

“I’ll clear a path,” Garren said then eyed his friend. “Cristobal, what the hell are you doing?”

“Staying here to kill the ones you toss.” Cristobal sheathed one of his swords in favor of a throwing knife.

“Hristos, you’ll ruin my fun.”

“Get over it, dragon.”

Garren snorted, the sound one of disappointment. “On my count, Xavian.”

On three, Xavian pushed off, vaulting over the dragon’s spiked spine. He sighted the ground an instant before his feet hit. Rolling, he grabbed the hilts of his swords, unsheathing them in one pull, and attacked. Set in a semicircle around their leader, the assassins closed ranks, keeping him out and Andrei in. He took on two at time, pushed them back, made Valmont adapt as the circle around him became smaller. Henrik came from the other side, collapsing the loop from the right. Almost there. One more slice, another thrust and—