Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) (11 page)

Beatrice watched,
helpless to stop Silverblade as he bolted forward, his powerful long-legged
strides carrying him across the distance faster than she could think.

He lunged at the
nearest horse and rider, driving them both sideways. The acolyte lost his seat
and fell to the ground where the panicked horse trampled him. The horse
continued its terrified bucking, thinking a wolf was on its back now.

For his part,
Silverblade seemed unconcerned and just clung to it. When another acolyte
spurred his horse toward the lupwyn, Silverblade launched himself at him, landing
behind the acolyte. Beatrice spotted a flash of silver and then the hunting
knife in the lupwyn’s hand severed the acolyte’s neck.

More acolytes
converged upon the lupwyn scout’s location, clearly planning to overwhelm him
with numbers. Beatrice freed another bolt from the dwindling supply tucked into
her harness’s belt and fitted it into the crossbow. Taking aim, she studied the
acolytes and their locations and then glanced over her shoulder at the burning
spell net behind her.

The fire was
doing its work and flames now crawled along the rope, eating through the thick
fibers. She jerked her gaze back to the fighting. Perhaps if she opened up a
path, Silverblade could fight his way free? Firing her crossbow, she toppled
another acolyte from his mount before he could reach Silverblade.

That brief
flicker of hope was extinguished a moment later as two other acolytes filled
the hole she’d made in the ranks but a moment before. She grabbed her
second-to-last bolt and readied the crossbow, but didn’t pick out a target.
These last two had to count, because she couldn’t leave Silverblade behind to
be fed upon by the acolytes, or worse.

Besides, she
would not leave another to die in her place.

On a logical
level, she knew one of them had to escape to warn the other magic-wielders that
the acolytes were far more deadly than any of them had envisioned. The acolytes
were showing new powers she’d been unaware they possessed. Someone with a
chance to defeat the acolytes needed to know that information.

“Wait,” the order
was barked out by a hooded figure waiting at one side of the battle.

If she was to
guess, it was the leader of this particular group. She did not recognize the
voice, so knew it wasn’t Acolyte Ironsmith, nor was it Lord Master Trensler.
She counted her blessings. This one might not know of her death magic. She’d
take any advantage she could get.

“Our master wants
all Elementals captured alive for study. You may feed upon him, but do not kill
him. Restrain him and we will return to River’s Divide.” The leader gestured
toward Beatrice where she still stood before the burning spell net. “Our master
wants that human as well.”

Three acolytes
broke away from the fight with Silverblade and started in Beatrice’s direction.
She leveled her crossbow at the nearest one but dwelled a moment on what the
leader had said. So the acolytes were studying the Larnkins’ individual power?
They weren’t just feeding or making new slaves out of their victims. As if the
first two options weren’t worrisome enough, the acolytes were learning from the
Larnkins as they killed them. Charming.

Beatrice did not
plan to feed them. Nor did she plan to give them knowledge of her own deadly
power or her healing gifts.

Behind her, a
large chunk of the spell net dropped to the ground, the hole enlarging quickly.
A breeze rushed in, making the fire flicker and snap, but the fresher air
fanned the heat of rage rising within her.

The cursed
acolytes would not have Silverblade.

Logic no longer
lived in her soul, only passion, rage, and the awakening death magic.

As the fire
burned away more of the net, the weakness swamping her body ebbed and her magic
flared colder, expanding out from her body. It lashed out as it had once
before, but it didn’t attack the acolytes. Instead, it exploded outward and
rushed toward the damaged spell net.

Even as the spell
net blew apart in a thousand disintegrating bits of decaying fabric, the seven
remaining acolytes overpowered the lupwyn, taking Silverblade to the ground
while he was still astride the panicked horse. As a group, they toppled
sideways, but Silverblade managed to twist free at the last moment and avoided
getting pinned under the horse.

But he didn’t
escape the acolytes and moments later, he was surrounded again. He still
fought, his lethal claws shredding his enemies. Yet even she could see he was
weakening, his strikes no longer as swift or strong.

She’d seen
enough.

The three
acolytes assigned to capture her continued their approach until they stood in a
semi-circle before her. Beatrice held her arms out wide, daring them closer.

One acolyte
reached for her, his cold, dead fingers closing over her wrist. When he began
to feed, she reached out with her power, deep into the mind of the acolyte and
beyond it to the creature that controlled it.

“You wish to
study me? Then go ahead—learn the nature of your doom.”

Her power
unfolded within her, a great wave rushing out and her Larnkin back-handed the
acolyte who dared to touch her. Before he’d fully disintegrated, her Larnkin
was already unleashing her rage upon the next two nearest acolytes.

Seeing three of
his puppets destroyed, the acolytes’ master must have ordered the rest of them
to converge on her, for suddenly all the acolytes had abandoned the lupwyn to
rush towards her instead.

Her healer’s
magic roused for a moment amid the swirling chaos of cold death to study the
lupwyn. Silverblade was gravely wounded but breathing. As long as he was
breathing, he was fixable. Beatrice didn’t have time to feel relief, though.
The acolytes were nearly upon her.

Yes, she needed
to destroy them. But to do so, she’d have to unleash the full force of her dark
power, and that power might prove just as devastating to this land as the
acolytes themselves. Her power had nearly slipped her control once before, but
that time her Larnkin still slumbered. This time her Larnkin was awake, aware,
and wanted to destroy.

While it might be
the only way to destroy the acolytes and save Silverblade, she still fought for
control, knowing that this mad, ravaging power that was the opposite of life
wanted to consume everything around her. And leave nothing alive.

Very well, then.
The acolytes had forced her hand. It was on their heads.

Her heart
pounding, she turned her head and met Silverblade’s eyes. He’d managed to prop
himself up against a tree. He was so very weak, his pack bonds and Larnkin
shredded by what the acolytes had done.

She did not know
if her power would protect him as it had before, or if he would be destroyed
along with the acolytes. Possibly even along with herself.

But it was
necessary.

He nodded his
head ever so slightly, his eyes telling her he didn’t regret their meeting.

With a sigh,
Beatrice closed her eyes and surrendered to that darkness in her own soul.

Silverblade sat
with his back propped against a tree trunk. He refused to slump to the ground
or surrender to his pain and exhaustion. Yet standing was presently beyond him.
He’d try again in a moment.

Moments were
probably all he had left. His Larnkin was dying, but he’d live long enough to see
Beatrice destroy these acolytes. It warmed his chilled soul to know she’d live.

When Beatrice
closed her eyes and her expression turned calm, he knew he wouldn’t have long
to wait. Her power expanded outward from her body in a rush. He could actually
see her magic—his own was gone, but his physical sight could see the
destructive wave at work. It rushed toward him, destroying acolytes in the
blink of an eye.

When it touched
him, a chill similar to what the acolytes wielded covered his skin, but this
chill penetrated deeper, changing. Between one heartbeat and the next, it
morphed from a cold chill to a fiery heat. Purifying fire raced over him,
leaving him if not untouched, at least not destroyed like the acolytes.

His senses
sharpened, strength and feeling slowly returned to his body. Other things sank
in. The remaining acolytes fled. They didn’t get far, their skin melting from
bone. Muscle and blood misted away, their bodies a mere drift of ash upon the
breeze.

Even after the
last acolyte was dead, the death magic continued its spread outward into the
surrounding forest.

He’d been certain
there were no more acolytes out there. Perhaps he’d been wrong. His mind
drifted for a time, his body miraculously growing stronger again. He was just
thinking how nice it would be to sleep for half a day when Beatrice’s magic
whipped out and latched onto him like a snake coiling around its prey. A moment
later, that power was dragging him toward her.

His head struck a
knotted root or some other rocky protrusion, and his already graying vision
blackened completely for a few heartbeats. When his senses returned, he was
sprawled in front of Beatrice.

She was kneeling
beside him, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking. Silver-gray and
flame-like, her magic still flowed away from her in ever-increasing waves.

The power
cascaded over his body, rushing past, reminding him of a raging river. By some
miracle or intent on her Larnkin’s part, he was spared the worst of its
destructive magic. Even so, he could feel where her power plucked at his
dwindling reserves, stripping more away. For some reason, her magic focused on
his pack bonds, tearing into them.

It was worrying,
but at least he was alive to worry.

Forcing himself
to sit, he looked around. There were no more acolytes, yet Beatrice still sent
her power out into the forest. Was she destroying the rest of the spell net? It
was probably wise to destroy all traces of the acolytes so the corruption
couldn’t spread, but surely that could wait until they were both rested.

“Beatrice.
Enough.” He reached out and brushed her hair back over her shoulder and uttered
a surprised sound before he could repress it.

Her once-lush
golden hair was now brittle, the texture like straw. When he pushed more hair
gently out of the way, he saw the true cost of her magic.

Beatrice’s face
had taken on a gaunt, hollowed look, the skin tight over her high cheek bones.
Veins stood out blue against her pale skin. Worst of all were her eyes. They
were coated with the white glaze of death. Reaching out, he touched her then,
his fingers stroking the cold flesh of her forehead and temple. Had he not seen
the tears sliding down her face or the rise and fall of her chest, he would
have thought her dead. He was still deeply struck by horror—never had he seen
such lethal, hideous power—but her tears roused sympathy.

“Beatrice, it
will be all right.” He pulled her unresisting form against him and whispered
soothing nothings in her ear.

Her power reached
into him, dragging a good portion of energy from him. Adrenaline raced through
his blood and his heart continued its mad pounding inside his chest. But
Beatrice needed a mentor, so he pushed his own fear away even as she continued
to harvest power from him. Considering what the acolytes had already took, he should
be dead.

He couldn’t claim
to know what she was doing, but it wasn’t killing him. So either her Larnkin
wanted or needed him alive.

When the remains
of his pack bonds that she’d severed earlier flared to life, he started to
understand. Her Larnkin needed to feed. His own agreed. Together, the two
Larnkins were using the links which had once tied him to his pack to share
power, drawing strength from each other and then returning it purified and
magnified.

Strength slowly
returned to his body.

He was just
processing that not-so-small miracle when Beatrice sealed her lips against his
and kissed him. Shock slowed his mind and at first he didn’t react, but after a
few moments of her soft assault, other instincts rose within him and he
returned her kiss. Her lips began to warm against him, her skin heated back to
a natural temperature. His own Larnkin stirred awake and communicated in his
silent way, commanding hers to stop, telling her that it was safe, the acolytes
were destroyed, to rest now.

Slowly the flow
of death magic ebbed.

When she broke
away at last, he noticed her eyes were no longer that disconcerting, milky hue.
They were her normal gray-blue again. Likewise, her hair and creamy skin had
returned to what they’d been before she’d called her death magic.

Beatrice touched
her lips and ducked her head, murmuring apologies.

For what? The
kiss? For destroying all the acolytes? Or for her Larnkin somehow feeding from
him, but giving back the strength tenfold?

“Easy,” he
whispered. “There is nothing to apologize for. Your Larnkin did what she had to
do to save us.” He continued to stroke her hair and then her cheeks.

She didn’t shove
his hands away, so he pulled her back into his lap and nuzzled his face against
her shoulder, comforting her like he would a fellow lupwyn. When she wrapped
her arms around his neck and started to sob, he knew he’d done the correct
thing. Clearly in the past, Beatrice had only herself to rely upon, but her
power was too great, too fierce for her to master alone.

Was her Larnkin
even intended to work alone? His gut told him no. That power was too great for
one host body to sustain. Somehow their Larnkins shared a link, their powers
complimenting each other, allowing Beatrice’s to draw fuel from more than one
host.

He dragged his
fingers along her sides and then down her back, rhythmic strokes he hoped would
soothe her emotional and physical trauma. Sensing Beatrice would’ve pulled
away, he locked his arms around her and trapped her in his embrace. She
continued to shake with cold or some other form of misery, as if her body was
going into shock from all the resources her Larnkin had stripped to fuel her
magic.

Ah, a piece of
the puzzle fell into place. Her death magic used her own body as fuel, but
somehow, when they were together, their two Larnkins could link through the
conduits created by his pack bonds and share power, alleviating the worst of
Beatrice’s physical symptoms. What he’d first taken for an attack upon his pack
bonds was actually her Larnkin’s attempt to seek help.

His pulse raced
anew as another thought occurred.

Just what would
she be capable of doing with an entire lupwyn pack adding their strength?

Perhaps it was
for the best his pack bonds had been damaged by the acolytes. There was no
telling how far her death magic would have spread with an entire pack to fuel
it before she’d reined it back in.

Her power was a
great weapon against the acolytes, but it was far too dangerous to use until
she’d learned control.

 “Life and death
and balance,” she whispered drawing him from his own thoughts.

“Balance?” he
asked.

“Life and death.
They are the two sides of my power. Healing others has always strengthened me.
But the death magic feeds from my body, draining it of all life, aging me,
perhaps even tapping into my soul.”

She shuddered
again in horror. And he felt a little horrified on her behalf.

“But you somehow
balanced the two powers within me. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to take from you
without your permission.”

“Larnkins don’t
always ask permission. Certainly not when their hosts are at risk.” He leaned
back so there was enough room between them that he could tuck his finger under
her jaw and tilt her head back. When she met his eyes, he continued. “We
survived. The acolytes are dead. We will get through this together. I had
planned to mentor you myself, but now I think we will need someone to mentor us
both. When we make it back to my people, I’ll speak with the elders. They will
assign us to an ancient. We may have to go to the city of Grey Spires to be
trained.” He reached up and dragged a few strands of her bangs from her sweaty
forehead. “But I promise we will find the help you need.”

Beatrice nodded
her head and then buried her face against his shoulder again.

Not knowing what
else to do for her, he settled her more comfortably in his lap and shared his
body heat with her while whispering soothing words, things like how much he
respected her for her bravery and her selflessness. And if he sounded a touch
like a love-struck fool, he did not care. The woman in his arms needed to hear
them. He sensed the great ache in her soul stemmed from the fact that she had
never belonged anywhere or to anyone. She was an outcast among her own people.

Well, from this
point forward, he’d do all in his power to make sure she knew she belonged.

“Rest easy,
little healer,” he whispered. “You are pack to me, and as long as my heart
still beats, you will always have a place to call home.”