The Offering (21 page)

She'd heard the snap of a twig just as clearly as if it had been the shattering of a colossal tree trunk. It had come from behind her, and she knew that if she didn't time her actions carefully, they might easily be her last.

Spinning around, she dropped to the ground, crouching low. In her left hand she had a handgun pointed in front of her. In her right the double-sided blades were concealed close to her hip. She was prepared for anything.

Except for what she saw.

Aron took a step backward, his eyes locked on the gun directed at his face. “A simple ‘Nice to see you' would have done.”

Brook inhaled sharply and squeezed her eyes shut. She
tried to calm her pounding heart before it cracked a rib or bruised a lung.

When she opened her eyes again, Aron was studying the body at her feet. “D'you do all this?”

She narrowed her gaze on him, resenting the question. “Would it matter if I had?”

Aron looked again, and then at the bodies in the hills beyond her. He shook his head. “You planning to lower that thing anytime soon?”

She hated that she couldn't still her heart. She hated that she had to ask this, even though she should know the answer. “Depends. Tell me about Niko.”

Aron frowned, and she searched for any sign that his confusion about her question wasn't genuine. “What are you talking about? What does Niko have to do with anything?” He took a step toward her, and she waved the nose of the gun at him, staving him off. “Brook, what's going on? I find my girl out here, all alone in the middle of a bloodbath, and all you can do is ask me about Niko? Should I be jealous?”

Brooklynn blinked. She thought about shooting him right then and there, and then she glowered at him. “Don't call me that,” she growled irritably.

He grinned then, a smug grin that made Brook's stomach flip. And this time he ignored her weapons and marched boldly to her, disregarding the fact that she could pull the trigger at any moment. “Call you what? My girl? What do you expect me to call you, then? Commander? Ma'am?” His arm shot out to her waist, and he hauled her up against him, his eyes sparkling devilishly.

Brook let the gun drop to her side. Her heart stopped beating and lodged in her throat. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes roved over her face—“wolfishly” was the only word she could think of to describe it—made her cheeks burn.

“I missed you, ma'am,” he whispered, right before his lips claimed hers.

She wanted to push him away—to shoot or stab him, or step on his foot. But his mouth made a convincing argument, and instead she leaned closer, surrendering completely. Telling him with her impatient lips and the coaxing of her tongue the things she refused to voice out loud.

That she'd missed him, too. That she'd hated being apart from him.

That she wanted him.

And that was how an entire band of her own soldiers came upon the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, groping clothes and tugging hair, and straining to be closer to each other. She never heard so much as a single hoof strike against the ground.

It wasn't until Max—
Max, of all people!—
shouted her name that she was even aware they were no longer alone.

Her face burned for an entirely different reason as she shoved away from Aron, who seemed to feel none of the shame she did. “Let go,” she muttered under her breath when he kept her tangled in his embrace.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, chuckling, but he didn't stop touching her. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him, as if daring her to pull away. It was possessive, and sort
of endearing, and she'd missed the feel of him far too much to try to step away.

“Where's Charlie?” Max insisted breathlessly as he dismounted from his horse. He broke any spell Brook had fallen under upon Aron's arrival, the immediacy in his tone reminding Brooklynn that Charlie was still out there . . . with Niko.

“We . . .” She glanced down at the dead soldier on the ground in front of her. “We were attacked.” She struggled with how to explain it all. “Niko was here, and he . . . he took Charlie.” She could hardly believe it herself, and still didn't understand why Niko would be working with Elena.

Max surveyed the scene—the bodies, the bruises on Brook's face, and the bloodied knife, still in her hand. “Well, you did the best you could. I know you wouldn't have let him take her unless you'd been overpowered.”

Brook looked down at the knife she clutched, and then at the soldier lying at her feet. “I didn't do this,” she explained. “Charlie did. She fought and killed him. I've never seen anything like it. Not from her.”

Max looked as stunned as she'd felt, and then a look of understanding crossed his face. “I guess she wasn't joking when she said Zafir had been teaching her to fight.” He scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. “But Niko? Why Niko? What did he say?”

“I don't know. I was hiding. I was planning to follow them—” Max stopped her with a raised brow, and she tried to explain. “That—that was when Aron found me,” she stammered. “I didn't have a chance to formulate a plan. I'm not sure where they were going, or what Niko had in mind. They have
Eden, too, though. She'll keep Charlie safe till we find her.”

Max was already getting back onto his horse and talking to one of her soldiers—one who would normally be taking orders from Brooklynn herself. “Get the commander a horse,” he barked. “She's going to lead us to Queen Charlaina.”

xiii

“You're making a mistake,” I told Niko, even though I'd already said as much. Even though he'd already ignored this very same threat time and time again. “You'll be executed for taking me prisoner. It's nothing short of treason.”

Inside, Sabara wrestled with me, attempting to gain control once and for all. She wanted more than to intimidate Niko. She craved so,
so
much more.

The problem was, I was doing a less than impressive job restraining her, and Niko was the reason. His presence distracted me and made Sabara stronger, giving her the incentive she needed to keep trying, trying,
trying
.

He scooted closer to me in the seat we shared, pinning me against the wall of the VAN. I couldn't help but react instinctively to the scent of him, his masculine odor of sweat and leather that should have made me recoil but instead had me straining to be nearer to him.

“It would be treason only if I were one of your subjects,” he protested in a low voice that filled every inch of the cramped
space. He was too close to me now, and I told myself to pull away. But my head was spinning and I could feel Sabara's strangle­hold on me tightening. “Besides, you're not my prisoner. You're my guest.”

“Then untie me,” I shot back, my voice, at least, not betraying me.

His lips curved into a delicious smile that coaxed me the barest amount closer. I felt a surge of something charged, something dizzying, course through me, and the last of my control slipped away. His words, when I heard them, seemed to come from far, far away. “It's not that simple, Charlaina.”

It was the use of my name—and not hers—that broke the spell I'd very nearly fallen under. I blinked, and blinked again. I shook my head to clear my muddled thoughts at the moment when his lips were almost upon mine.

Our noses banged together, and his eyes widened, as if he were as surprised as I'd been to find us so close to kissing. He wasn't fooling anyone, of course.

“Stop it,” I hissed, speaking to both Niko and Sabara now. “Leave me alone.”

I glanced over to where Eden sat, her hands and feet tied so tightly, her fingers were turning an uncommon shade of blue. There was a gag stuffed into her mouth. One of the remaining soldiers, his mask still on his face, stood above her with the tip of a rifle pressed lightly to her temple as the VAN leapt unevenly over the terrain. I watched his finger, praying it didn't slip on the trigger.

Niko's touch drew my attention; the back of his hand was caressing my cheek and stroking my jaw. “Charlaina, please. Be
reasonable. I have no intention of harming you.” He came closer, so that his lips were in the same place his hand had been just seconds before. At my jaw. “It's her I want. Only her.” Goose bumps prickled my skin everywhere. “Always her.”

Sabara knew. She knew what he meant, and she didn't shy away.

I knew I was bested when I could no longer feel the goose bumps, only the sensation of warmth bleeding into my limbs, all the way to my fingertips. I was intoxicated by her power. Drugged and woozy as her Essence overwhelmed me, her desire to be near him winning out over all else.

“Niko,” I breathed, even as I tried to hush my vocal cords.

The need I heard buried in my own voice was heartbreaking, and Niko responded to it. He captured me, and suddenly it wasn't just Sabara who overpowered me. Niko's lips crushed mine, and I let him, unable to do anything else.

My mouth parted to let him in. He conquered, and I yielded.

The taste of him was heady, and his touch was electric.

And not one of those feelings—or reactions—was my own. But that didn't stop me from basking in them. From getting lost in the sheer, unadulterated bliss he'd unleashed within me.

I was still pinned, but no longer trapped. I pressed myself against Niko's chest and let his hands rove over my back, my sides, his thumbs finding their way to my stomach. They moved up . . .

And up . . .

. . . too high . . .

I wasn't sure which of us was more surprised when my teeth
sank into his tongue. Or whether it was me or Sabara who flinched first from the taste of his blood.

But I knew for certain that I was the one who'd had enough and had come to my senses long enough to put an end to Sabara's influence over me. At least long enough to stop whatever had been transpiring between Niko and me.

“Bitch,” he cursed, and shoved me back as he swiped the blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Bitch
, Sabara echoed, and I banished her once more, my resolve strengthening as my confidence returned. I wished I could bite her, too. I wanted to see her bleed.

I saw Eden fighting to free herself. She wanted blood as well.

“We're here,” the driver, another soldier, announced from the front of the VAN, and I lifted my head to see where
here
was, exactly.

What I saw caused cold fingers of dread to seize my spine and rattle me to the core. I wanted to cry or scream, but I did neither. My mouth was open as I stared at the tented city that spread out before me.

There were at least a thousand tents. Not multicolored or jumbled or packed together to take up as little space as possible.

No, this encampment was orderly and single-hued. Black like death, and mottled only by the red Astonian banners that waved overhead. The tents themselves were so numerous that they extended for as far as I could see, disappearing into the valley beyond.

I felt sick, and wondered again and again and again why
exactly Niko had brought me here. Why he had turned to Elena's side.

And then she was there. Elena. Waiting for us.

Her expectant gaze searched the VAN as it drew to a stop.

“Why?” I managed at last, just as Niko was yanking me up from my seat. He was no longer tender, and his fingers bit into my arm as he dragged me to the front of the vehicle.

His eyes alighted on Elena, and he plastered a smile to his lips, not bothering to look down at me when he answered. “For her, of course. Always for her.”

As he shoved me down the steps, delivering me at the feet of my fiercest opponent, a woman I abhorred almost as much as the soul residing within me, I had to wonder which of them he'd meant—Elena or Sabara.

sage

Sage supported Xander's weight the best she could. It had been that way for miles, as she'd forced him to continue walking, if that's what you even called what he was doing. She felt more like she was hauling him at this point. He could barely stand on his own, let alone manage the work of dragging one foot and then the other to keep moving—the work required to be considered walking.

Her shoulders and her back and her own feet ached. She was sweating, despite the chill in the air. But she couldn't stop until she found a suitable place to camp for the night.

No, not camp. Hide.

She watched as the sun set, moving lower and lower in the sky, and she tried to make conversation with her companion. To keep him alert. To convince herself he was okay.

That she wasn't going to have to dump his body somewhere.

“We'll stop when we reach those trees up ahead,” she told him.

“Mm,” he grunted, making an attempt to raise his head so he could see what trees she referred to.

“We should be able to take cover in them. You can rest then.”

Another grunt.

“Just a few more steps. You can do this.” She heard the desperation, the plea in her voice. She didn't want him to know how worried she was for him.

There was no sound, no grunt this time, and she glanced sideways to see if he was still awake. His feet shuffled, as if he were automated, kicking up dirt in his path.

“Xander?” Her voice rose insistently.

Still, there was no response.

She tightened her grip on him, around his waist and on his arm, which was still draped around her shoulder. She squeezed as hard as she could until she knew she was pinching him. “Say something. I mean it.”

“That . . . hurts,” he slurred, almost incoherently, his only reaction to her fingers digging into his flesh.

A relieved laugh escaped her lips. “Good. My back hurts too,” she countered. She didn't tell him how thankful she was that he'd understood her demand, and that he'd reacted to the pain she'd inflicted on him. It meant he was still with her.

They reached the edge of the forest. Tall evergreens with dark green needles smelled pungent and sharp, and the scent filled her nose. There were ferns and broad-leafed shrubs and boulders and fallen logs, all things that made it the perfect place to stay hidden for a night. Maybe two.