Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (6 page)

“Look, Mama! Birdie.”

Yanked from her thoughts by Sabine’s excited chirp, Afina jumped. “Yes, love, I see it.”

“Pretty.” Pointing to a low-lying branch, her daughter bounced in the sling, swaying against Afina’s side before popping her thumb back in her mouth.

“It is, but hush,” she said, registering the ripple of masculine power around them. The disturbance, a slight ruffling of muscle, reminded her of how a wolf might react when startled—lip curled, fur standing on end until it found the source of disruption, declared it a non-threat, and smoothed its fine pelt back into order. “We must be quiet, cherub.”

Xavian glanced over his shoulder, sharp eyes settling on her. Afina bit her bottom lip, quelling a shiver. His gaze swept over her, pushing brittleness into her bones until she felt fragile, as though she might break into tiny pieces. Stiff in the saddle, she feigned confidence, unwilling to show weakness to a man who possessed none.

Without taking his attention from her, he spoke to Cristobal. The dark man nodded and urged his mount forward as Xavian drew his warhorse to the edge of the path. The huge beast tossed his head but stayed true, obeying his master’s command to wait. The moment she came alongside them, he nudged his steed into a walk.

He bumped her leg and her horse sidestepped, making room for him beside them on the trail. Muscled thigh a hair’s breadth from hers, his scent engulfed her, a subtle invasion of male spice and forest musk that soothed even as it unbalanced. Hmm, he smelled so good. She wanted to lean in and immerse herself in the pleasant complexities of his fragrance.

She swayed in the saddle and, without thought, let her senses lead. Drifting toward instead of away from him, she watched his eyes flame as he raised his hand. His heat reached her before his fingertips, moving across her skin in a warm ripple of sensation. She sighed as he traced the ridge of her cheekbone then moved lower to brush the corner of her mouth. He paused, his gaze roaming her features before he cupped her cheek and made another pass, stroking her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

Afina sank into the caress, parting her lips when he applied more pressure. His taste, salty-sweet, invaded her mouth and pleasure hummed, flooding her with delight. The unfamiliar sensation rocked her and awareness struck like a thunderbolt. She flinched. What on earth was she doing? Why was she welcoming his touch...encouraging his kiss? His kiss. She almost moaned, the idea of his mouth on hers sending her sideways into delight.

Oh, no. She was in trouble. The serious kind that made girls act like fools and men like lechers. She needed to get a hold of herself and away from him before she did something stupid. Like offered him her trust—along with her body—on a silver platter.

Heat pricking across her cheekbones, she turned her face from his hand. He made a sound of regret and leather creaked as he shifted in the saddle, putting distance between them.

Scrambling for a distraction, she blurted, “I’m sorry, she doesn’t mean—”

“Hi!” Mismatched eyes trained on Xavian, Sabine smiled at him around her thumb.

The twin swords strapped on his back bobbed as he dragged his gaze from her to Sabine. A crease between his bronzy-gold brows, she saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes an instant before he said, “Hello, Sabine.”

“Look, Mama.” Her voice a flutter of excitement, Sabine pointed to the man beside them. “X.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, stomping on the butterflies wreaking havoc in her belly.

Needing a distraction, she took inventory of the warrior while his attention remained on her child. Stealth wasn’t exactly her forte, but she picked out small details, cataloguing the weapons he carried...well, at least the ones she could see.

Aside from the twin blades he wore on his back, two knives were strapped to each thigh, a pair made their home on his chest, one low, the other high, while yet another rested at the base of his spine. She spotted a few more buried in leather sheaths in his saddle. Good goddess, the man was a walking arsenal. How in Hades was she going to escape from that?

“How old is she?”

His deep voice stroked her, a warm caress that drew her gaze back to his. “Almost two. Her birthday falls in a month or so.”

He tilted his head, expression thoughtful. “Do all children suck their thumbs?”

Afina blinked, thrown by the simple question. Such a strange thing for a battle-honed warrior to wonder. What was he playing at? “I’m not sure. She’s the first one I’ve ever had.”

He nodded.

She stiffened as his focus left Sabine to settle on her. The horde of butterflies flapped their wings a little harder and sensation
spiraled below her belly button. Afina glanced away and, not knowing what else to do, reissued her apology. “I’ll do my best to keep her quiet from now on.”

“’Tis all right.” He nudged her with his knee.

She shied away from the gentle bump, but got the message. He wanted her to look at him, and goddess help her, she needed to avoid that at all costs. He unsettled her, stirred her soul-deep with his quiet ways and inherent strength. Qualities she’d always thought she might like in a man.

She remembered the times she and Bianca had lain awake at night, whispering like pea-gooses. Cocooned, safe from the outside world, they’d shared secrets and dreamed of the men they would someday marry. She never imagined a few years later Bianca would be dead along with her dreams. The pain of that made it hard to breathe. Afina forced herself to anyway, but...

Goddess help her, she missed her sister. Every evening at sunset. Each morning at daybreak. Bianca was never far from her thoughts.

Her vision went blurry. Afina held the sorrow at bay, tucking the tears along with the precious memories away. She wanted to keep the good times for herself, not share them with the man who had taken her freedom—the autonomy Bianca had tried so hard to teach her. Anger burned the back of her throat. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to decide her future?

Setting her teeth on the question, she took strength from her sister’s memory and, raising her head, met his gaze head-on. Approval sparked in his eyes an instant before he reached out and flicked the underside of her chin.

She jerked away from the playful tap and frowned at him.

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “The lass can talk. We are in no danger here.”

In other words? They were alone in a place where no one would hear them scream. Afina swallowed, righteous indignation dimmed by a healthy dose of wariness. Self-preservation took precedence over pride. She could be angry with him another time, after she knew for certain he wouldn’t lose his temper and hurt her.

“Oh, good. That’s...ah, good.”

“You’re spooked.” Head tilted, he considered her. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her tone testy. “Being kidnapped has a way of unsettling a girl.”

He snorted. “’Twas more a liberation than a kidnapping.”

“In your opinion, not mine.” She pursed her lips, irritated by his attitude. “You cannot go about dragging people from their homes...no matter your opinion of their situation.”

“Why not?”

Why not?
Surprise overriding mental agility, she grasped the first reason that came to mind. “It’s impolite.”

He tossed her a look of disbelief. “Politesse. A waste of time. Why would you imagine I possess social graces...that I’ve been taught any?”

“It is a universal truth, not something that needs learning.” Her hand tightened on the reins. She resisted the urge to wrap the dark straps around his neck and strangle him. “Everyone—even those without manners—knows supplanting another’s will is wrong.”

“Even when the greater good is served?” Something sparked in his eyes: a gleam, one that told her he liked sparring with her. Warmed by the discovery, she almost smiled at him. She killed the urge, needing distance between them, not friendship. “Let us say, when a person is starving to death?”

“We weren’t starving.”

“Close to it,
draga
.”

She bristled and, tired of the argument, changed the subject. “Where are you taking us?”

“Have you a faulty memory, lass?” She glared at him. His lip twitched. When she didn’t respond to his teasing, he shrugged. “I told you...home.”

“Forgive me for not knowing where that is.”

“The Carpathians.” Lifting his large hand, he pointed to a break in the large trees flanking the path. Tree limbs swayed in the gentle breeze, rustling the leaves as she spotted the unholy beasts standing in the distance. Deep-seated pride laced his voice when he said, “My keep, Drachaven, is located there. Not far from the Jiu River.”

“In the mountains?”

“Aye.”

She stifled a shiver. “I’ve no wish to go there.”

“You’ve a day or two to become accustomed to the idea,” he said, tone soft with what she thought might be understanding. He raised a hand as though he wished to soothe her with his touch. She leaned away, a protective arm curled around her daughter. A muscle jumped along his jaw as he looked from her to the path ahead. “My home is now yours.”

“Your interest in us makes no sense.”

She shook her head, intuition igniting suspicion. Xavian wasn’t telling her the whole truth. He could have chosen from any number of healers in Severin, ones with good reputations. So the question, the one bothering her: What had made him come after her? From what she knew of him there must be a reason, above and beyond his injury. No random event had brought him to her door, Father Marion notwithstanding. The more she thought about it, the more she realized he’d used the priest’s name as a way into her cottage; a nonviolent tactic to achieve his goal.

Narrow-eyed, she stared at him, sorting through the possibilities. “Tell me why you wish us to make our place with you. Do you even need a healer?”

“I do.” He glanced at her sideways, assessing her from his periphery.

What he was looking for, she didn’t know, but his silence unnerved her. He used it to effect, she realized, crushing his opponents with a well-placed pause. She refused to take the bait and be the first to break the hush. If he wanted a standoff, she was more than ready to give him one.

After an intense moment, he sighed. “You are a thinker, Afina. That may prove to be a problem.”

That nailed it. Sir Tell-the-Truth was withholding information. “For a man who demands honesty, you seem to have difficulty using it yourself.”

He chuckled, the sound rusty with disuse. Surprise creased his face before he smoothed his expression. “Touché, but choosing not to inform you of something does not mean I am lying.”

“A lie of omission, then.”

He shook his head, the gleam of enjoyment returning to his eyes. “Patience, Afina.”

Patience, her foot. “What if I don’t have any?”

He bumped her with his knee again, the movement playful. One corner of his mouth tilted up, he put his heels to his steed’s flank and said over his shoulder, “Learn some.”

Her lips pursed, she watched him ride away, wishing she held a sharper weapon than her tongue. How dare he lecture her about untruths then refuse to adhere to the same rules he demanded she follow? Irritating, domineering dolt. Her gaze centered on the back of his head, she racked her brain, trying to assess all the angles. What was he hiding?

Whatever it was, she knew it must be important. Big. Huge in a way that scared her. Did it have something to do with Vladimir? Her heart stalled, refusing to beat as panic closed her airway. A little light-headed, she clung to the saddle horn and tightened her hold on Sabine.

Her daughter squirmed, an irritated, sleepy wiggle. “Mama?”

“It’s all right, cherub,” she whispered around the lump in her throat. Loosening her grip, she rubbed the center of Sabine’s back, soothing her with rhythmic circles. “Shh, go to sleep now. Everything is all right.”

And it would be. She wasn’t lying. She would find a way out of the mess she’d made. Pry them out of Xavian’s talons to keep Sabine safe. She’d made a promise to her sister, and now her actions must support that vow.

Escape was the only option. No matter how afraid, she must break free.

Dread burning a hole in her stomach, Afina closed her eyes and prayed that luck, just this once, chose to befriend her.

Xavian clenched his teeth as the blade nicked his thumb. Turning the chunk of wood in his hand, he shifted on the moss-covered log and glanced down at his hand. Blood welled on his skin. The third cut in less than an hour. He frowned, disgusted by his lack of concentration. ’Twas a problem, one that rarely plagued him while he engaged in his favorite pastime.

Normally carving kept him calm. Sane. Better able to sink inside himself and withdraw from the brutality life handed him, day in and day out. All without leaving his perch.

The perfect escape for an imperfect man.

And he was thankful. Thankful for the old assassin who’d taught him to whittle as a child. Thankful for the ability to disappear inside a world of his own making, far from Halál and the harshness of his former life with Al Pacii. But the real boon? Working with his hands helped him relax, providing an endless source of satisfaction. He loved taking a rough piece of wood and transforming it into something useful...something beautiful.

But not today.

The half-finished figurine did little to ease the tension. The well-worn handle of his carving knife felt awkward in his palm and distraction gave way to clumsiness.

With a sigh, Xavian sucked the droplet from his thumb then leaned forward to prop both forearms on his bent knees.
Afina was driving him daft. Concentration seemed an impossible mission with her flitting about the campsite, nimble fingers stealing what she needed.

He should stop her, but he wouldn’t. Not when he knew her aim. He’d been waiting for her to make her move for days. An hour ago, she had, slipping a pouch of dried meat into her healing satchel.

Xavian stared at the wooden block, unable to keep his lips from twitching. His little troublemaker had been busy, gathering supplies in preparation for escape. Plucky lass. If naught else, he admired her tenacity. ’Twas mayhap what he liked best about her, aside from her beauty. The innate toughness allowed her to adjust under less than optimal circumstances. A rare trait in a woman and one that made him wish to give her what she wanted.