Lightning Rider (20 page)

I avert my eyes, my face a mixture of embarrassment and anger at my own stupidity. That I just pole danced him doesn’t help anything. I turn and begin to unravel the blanket from my upper body.

Our horses stand together, waiting. He presses behind me, and I wait for him to help me get back on. I know he’s frustrated with me and how shitty I am at this war stuff, but I don’t know how he thinks I’m going to just know it. 

I hear him sigh, and his breath tickles the hairs that have come loose from my braid. He steps away, and I stare up at the saddle, mustering the courage to get back on by myself and ride this stupid horse. As I lift my frozen fingers to the cinch strap, he catches my hand and pulls me away.

Is he making me walk? Tears of frustration burn the backs of my eyes. Tonight could not have gone any worse. I want to apologize, to tell him I’ll do better next time, but I don’t trust my voice. Dammit! A sob surges up, but I swallow it back down. I will not cry until he’s gone. Rolling my lips between my teeth, I bite down and trudge behind him, waiting for my send-off. We pass in front of the horses, and I glance down the dark road, sniffling. 

In a motion so swift I have no time to prepare, he swings me onto his horse. I clutch its mane and every bit of leather I can grab as the horse pulls against the reins the moment my butt hits the saddle. I’m on a loaded rocket and someone just pushed the countdown button.

Constantine climbs on behind me and loops my horse’s reins through the back of our saddle. I press forward as far as I can, but he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against him. The heat from his body leeches into me and, though I don’t mean to, I sigh.

He tucks the blanket around me and nudges his horse with his heels. When the big stallion responds, I’m pressed more firmly against Constantine, and our hips nestle together in the shallow swell of the leather. These horses are bred for a rhythmic, rolling stride, which is great for a warrior riding miles into battle but not so great when one’s bare ass is pressed against the front of that warrior. I wiggle in an attempt to situate myself and tug at my skirt to pull it under me, but he clamps his arm tighter around me.

His body is tense, and he growls in my ear. “Stop. Moving.”

I freeze and loosen my grip on the horse’s mane. The only way I’m going to make it is if I quit fighting the rhythm. I relax against Constantine and hear his quick inhale. His arm softens around my waist, and we all become one entity instead of three.

We ride in silence until I stop shivering. I sit up straighter and notice my surroundings. He’s not taking us back to camp the way we came. Small mounds force us along a drunken, weaving pathway crowded by thick trees, making it difficult to see more than twenty feet ahead. Somewhere close, a river scrambles over rocks. The daytime warbling and birdsongs are silent now to the deeper, darker noises of the night, and a soft glow caresses the edge of the horizon.

“I heard men behind us when we left,” Constantine says.

“Are we going back to your house?” I whisper, rolling my eyes at the breathlessness in my voice.

“Yes.”

I try to ignore the same in his.

I struggle for a mindless question to ask him, something about battle or swords or . . . I ditch the idea as the rhythmic rub of his thighs against mine overrides any coherent thought. My ass slides back a little farther with each step, and his pushes forward a little more. When I press back again, I can’t ignore the unmistakable ridge of his erection. I gasp. The memory of his big hands on my bare skin makes me shiver. I want them there again. Everything about him forces me to respond, even when he’s pushing my buttons. 

He makes a low noise in his throat, something between a growl and a purr, as his hand slides lower over my belly. My muscles quiver, and I bite my lip to quiet a moan. Spirals of heat radiate outward from my belly button, and my toes curl.

I want the horse to speed up our rhythm, and I squeeze my calves against its ribs.

Constantine drops his heels, and the horse slows.

Undaunted, I arch my back and grind my hips across him.

He brushes a finger against the lace of my panties. I bite my lip and his hips jerk forward. I press back, and his teeth nip my neck.

I try to hurry him, but he takes his sweet time, stroking me with the same slow roll of each stride, a man in no rush for exploration. My head falls forward, and I grip the front of the saddle.

He shifts his rein hand, and the curve of his arm brushes the underside of my breast. He doesn’t move it away. Each stride grinds our bodies in a slow drag, all the way forward, then a slow retreat along the same sensitive path he’s wearing against my body. The thin layer of his tunic is the only thing separating our skin, and it’s about to drive me out of my mind. 

Constantine stiffens against me and before I can react, he draws his sword as three men charge from the forest and surround us.

One man rushes us from the hill alongside the path, swinging out of the trees like a wild creature. Constantine plunges his sword into his chest. I scream.

“Take the reins!”

I dive forward to catch them and realize my mistake too late as my balance shifts and I’m falling again. Using the reins for balance, I twist and roll this time, landing on my feet but yanking hard on the horse’s mouth and ripping the reins away. The horse jerks backward, pitching Constantine forward in the saddle. I cover my head with my hands as the horse bumps against the men, his big hooves thrashing. I tumble away from the fray and cower from a safer distance.

The two remaining men circle Constantine, and he fights them off, using his legs to maneuver the horse without reins.

I fight to keep my eyes open, but when he severs a man’s head, I squeeze my eyes shut and bite back bile.

With a startling cry, the last man leaps toward Constantine, sword drawn. Constantine’s horse spins and, unable to adjust in midflight, the attacker sails past them and lands with a thud in the dirt. Another man and horse burst through the forest behind Constantine, and the man on the ground gets up and stumbles away.

I shrink back into the foliage on the edge of the pathway until I’m backed against a tree. I could arc, but could I leave Constantine?

His fight seems far from over. He strikes a blow toward his new opponent’s shoulder, but the man counters with equal strength. The meeting of swords rings through the small space, amplified by grunting and the thrashing of horses.

The man on the ground advances, shaking his wild hair. A thousand emotions crowd my mind. I quench them with the fire in my belly and reach for Constantine.

Lightning fills the glen.

Chapter 15

Colorful light and noise blind us, and I stagger. Constantine falls off his horse mid-jab with nothing to counterbalance him. He lands in tall reeds as his horse takes a wobbly step sideways.

We’re on the bank of a massive river. Blinded by the scorching sun, I raise my hand to shade my eyes. I have no idea how I made that work or where we are. I meant to take us to Constantine’s house, but I panicked.

I try again.

Light blazes, then a black expanse of nothingness swallows us.

In the darkness, I realize I forgot the horse. I wonder how I grabbed him in the first place. I’m glad I didn’t accidentally grab a bad guy.

Constantine flails until his fingers touch my arm. He pulls me tight against his chest.

I shift my feet to balance his weight as the ground solidifies beneath us.

Shit.

I managed to get us to someone’s house, but not Constantine’s. This house is the antithesis of his; the architecture boasts bright, airy walkways filled with servants moving from room to room.

And from the sounds of it, we’ve arrived in time for a party. I pull Constantine through a doorway and back him into a corner so I can pull myself together before I try again. He wavers and closes his eyes, but stays on his feet. With my hand to his chest, I hold him steady and peek into the hallway for somewhere I can focus my thoughts enough to arc us out of here. This chaotic house won’t work. I spot the door nearby. We’ll slip outside, and then maybe I can find a quiet spot in the yard.

A young girl in her early teens steps through a wide doorway, a small pastry in her hands. She pops it in her mouth then heads past the kitchen. I relax and let out a shaky breath.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Constantine asks as he tries to push around me.

I shush him and hold him in the corner. “Would you rather I let that guy stab you?”

He grunts. “We wouldn’t be in those situations if you’d release your hold.”

“I don’t have any spell on you!”

“Oh yes, you do.”

A singsong voice from the kitchen area calls out, “Papa, I’m leaving.”

Constantine goes still and the color drains from his face.

I peer out from our hiding place. The girl is back in the doorway and headed straight for us.

“Aurelia.” The name is a spirit on his lips.

“Who?” I search the room for an escape route. “Do you know where we are?”

“My house.” He surges upright. “I must see her.”

“No! We have to hide. She can’t see us.” Three more steps and she will. Constantine lurches forward. I make a grab for him, but he wrenches out of my grasp. I lean back and dig my heels into the floor.

“Stop,” I say.

One more second and they’ll collide. I reach for my lightning again, and the room plunges into darkness.

Adrift in nothingness again, I push the images of the last scene away and hold the image of Constantine’s house. The fire, the sparseness, the desolation.

It materializes slowly. Like my eyes are merely adjusting after walking into a darkened room, they dilate and pull the soft orange glow from the fire. It’s a smoother transition, and I wonder for a moment if I’m getting better.

“No! Take me back!” Constantine yells.

I jerk away, battling to find my equilibrium. The room flickers once, and I hold tight to the image before Constantine distracts me and I lose my hold on the now and fling us back. We wrestle, and I press forward until the other image slips away.

Constantine stumbles across the room, and I drop to one knee, lost in a tornado of memories that aren’t mine. When the room anchors around us, I sort through them as best I can. They come faster now. One from the man who attacked Constantine, one from a maid in Constantine’s house, and a damn weird one about eating grain that must have come from the horse.

Constantine’s memories assault me as the others fall away. Aurelia learning to walk, her first trip to the market, pulling her from a tree. The onslaught feels like he thought of nothing else while we arced.

I file the thought for later. Right now, I have a three-hundred-pound Roman ready to strangle me.

He stands in the middle of the room, seething. Arms stiff at his sides, he hangs his head, but his eyes bore into mine. Anger rolls through the room like smoke from the fire.

“We can’t go back, Constantine,” I say, taking a small step backward. I have no idea what I’m going to do if he charges me. From the look on his face, I’m two seconds away from finding out.

“She’s right,” says a voice from the darkness. Penya is perched on the bench by the fire.

Constantine advances. “We must save my daughter.”

“No.”

“Then teach me how to travel so I can.”

“No.”

Constantine’s keening wail blasts through the stagnant air, lifting every hair on my body. My gut wrenches at this glimpse of his deep-seated horror and desolation. If he mourned her before now, it didn’t afford him any closure, and seeing her alive moments ago has reopened a festering wound in his soul.

Penya stands and reaches for his arm. Her voice is quiet, calming. “Constantine, once you adjust, you will value my logic.”

She draws him toward the bench and forces him to sit. He stares into the fire, and she turns. “Tell me about tonight.”

I sort through everything that just happened. Any remnants of confusion from the arcs are nothing compared to Constantine’s outburst. My insides ache. A tremor shimmies up my spine, and I stare blankly at Penya.

“Tonight,” she says.

“Wait. When are we? Did I get us to the right time?”

“Yes. How may tries?”

My head is a mass of chaos. “Three . . . I think . . .”

Constantine drops his head into his hands, and my attention drifts over the tightness in his shoulders.

Penya pats his arm and takes a step toward me, purposefully blocking my view of Constantine’s tortured form. “You’re getting better. Good. Tell me about Viriato.”

I tell her about sneaking up on his camp. “It looks hopeless.” I say the words quietly so I don’t rile Constantine further.

“It’s true.” Constantine rises from the bench, his voice strong.

I wonder for a second where he’s stuffed the emotion, but I realize the action must come as second nature by now.

“Viriato is surrounded at all times,” he says. “They train and fight endlessly. A large section of the camp is always awake. When he does leave, it is with heavy guard. They are always looking for a battle. Some of his men attacked us, so he will be on high alert.”

“Did you kill the attackers?”

He glares. “We left two alive.”

I hadn’t thought about anything other than getting us out of there. I open my mouth to speak, then close it. His disappointment is clear.

Penya turns to me. “Why didn’t you kill them?”

“With what?” I ask.

She looks at my hands, her hostility evident. “You must choose. There are two halves to the power, and you must accomplish certain things every time you travel. Sometimes that means using your weapon against people. How could you selfishly think a gift like this could be about a single person instead of for saving humanity as a whole? You would trade their lives for yours? For mine? For your father’s?”

“You want me to kill people.” That doesn’t fit at all with what Ilif told me we’re meant to do.

“I want you to do what is necessary.”

“I did. Necessary at that moment was getting Constantine and myself to safety. If ‘what’s necessary’ is killing people, I don’t want it. It’s not a gift if I have to pay a price, especially one like that. What good is a super power if I have to kill people instead of save them?”