Vengeance Born (The Light Blade #1) (8 page)

An earsplitting howl shattered the night air. She barely turned to face the female when she was knocked from her feet. The massive weight on top of her drove the breath from her lungs.

“Annika?” Kalan’s shout broke through the
Vorc
’s incensed snarls. Annika twisted her fingers in the fur at the animal’s neck as her claws ripped through her dress. Hot pain scored her side. She twisted, trying to avoid being shredded completely. Needle-sharp teeth sank deep into her forearm; agonizing tendrils of fire lanced every nerve and muscle. She screamed.

“Annika!” Boots scrambled on rock. Glancing up, Annika saw Kalan descending the cliff.

“No!” Her warning came out as a hoarse whisper.

The
Vorc
released her arm and went for Annika’s face. Annika locked her hands around the straining neck and jerked her head aside. The female’s jaw snapped so close to her ear, she felt the hot, moist breath on the skin of her neck. The
Vorc
lunged again. Agony tore through her shoulder as her teeth pierced skin and muscle then grated on bone.

Desperate, and knowing the
Vorc
would kill Kalan once he made it to the ground, she drove a second burst of energy into the female. The animal howled in pain then collapsed, her life energy quickly fading from the fatal blast.

Nausea washed through Annika, closely followed by throbbing pain. Sucking in deep breaths, she pushed the female’s corpse to one side and rolled to her knees. Something warm and wet ran down her arm. She sat back on her heels. With a shaking hand, she touched her shoulder then stared at the blood covering her fingertips.

“Annika? Are you all right?” Kalan’s bootsteps crunched on the pebbled ground. He appeared at her side, peering from her to the lifeless
Vorc
.

“I’m fine.”

Kalan’s gaze narrowed at how hoarse and strained her voice sounded. Shadows and darkness hadn’t let him see much of her struggle with the
Vorc
but he recognized the metallic scent of blood.

Annika swayed as she pushed to her feet. “I told you to stay in the cave!”

Ignoring her reprimand, he caught her arm and felt a hot stickiness soaking the sleeve of her dress. “How badly are you hurt?”

“The
Vorc
need to be disposed of… can’t leave them to rot.” She pushed against him. “Their Masters will search for them when they don’t return… the river will wash them downstream…” Her slurred speech made his decision easy.

“I’ll take care of them.” He urged her toward the ledge behind them. “Sit. Before you fall down. Tell me where you’re wounded.”

“Shoulder… forearm.”

Kalan tore strips from the bottom of her dress, wadded them and, using his fingers to feel along her arm, he pressed and tied the makeshift pads against the puncture wounds. Not exactly pretty but it would have to do for now.

“Rest. I’ll get rid of the carcasses.” She didn’t argue. Kalan worked as quickly as he could.

The sky was beginning to glow yellow by the time he’d dragged the
Vorc
to the riverbank. The swift-moving water would carry them well downriver before they snagged or were seen by anyone. Scattering leaf litter to cover the drag marks ate away more precious time.

Annika was slumped against the cliff face, cradling her hurt arm against her body when he returned. Her eyes were closed but they opened as he approached. The irises glowed a dull red.

“Your scent…” Her voice was thin, reedy.

“Too late to worry about that now. How are we going to get you up to the cave?”

Inhaling deeply, she slid off the ledge and peered upward. “I’ll manage.”

The climb was going to require both of her arms. Kalan eyed the distance she was going to have to cover. “Are you sure you can do this?”

Her mouth flattened and an inky blackness flashed through the red in her eyes. “I’ll make it.”

He matched his pace to hers as they climbed; saying nothing more but watching to make sure she secured each grip and hold before pushing up. The light from the impending dawn was bright enough for him to see the taut, pain-filled expression on her face but beneath it he recognized the stubborn flex of her jaw. Her determination sparked his grudging admiration. Her attitude was one he expected in a seasoned warrior, not a healer.

Annika’s breathing was harsh and ragged as they neared the top. The visible tremors in her limbs warned him she’d reached the limits of her strength. Covering the remaining distance quickly, Kalan scrambled over the final ledge and leant back over. “Take my hands.”

Grasping her wrists he hauled her over the lip. She issued a muffled cry and slumped against him. Half sprawled on top of him, and even through two layers of clothes he felt just how cold she was. She started to shiver. All the symptoms warned him she’d lost too much blood. He shifted into a sitting position and reached for her healer’s pouch.

“There’s
fer-moss
in the inner pocket. Pack it into the wound. It’ll stop the bleeding.” Her words were slurred, thick, as if she was struggling to focus on forming every word. “The jar tied with red string. I need to sip the liquid…” She slumped against him.

Cursing under his breath, Kalan eased her to the ground. With the dawn light he could see fresh blood seeping from the puncture wounds in her forearm and shoulder. Little remained of her sleeve, and four long tears shredded her dress just below her left breast.

“Annika?” He tapped her cheek and frowned when she didn’t respond.

One-handed he riffled through her pouch, looking for the
fer-moss
and jar she’d mentioned. Placing both beside him, he packed the soft, springy moss into each wound, making sure the delicate fibers began to swell with the congealing blood before retying the bandages. Then he picked up the jar and pulled the cork with his teeth.

A heavy, minty odor filled the air, one he’d smelled many times in the healing halls and on the field after battle.
Vaa’jahn
. Every warrior knew the benefits of this broad-leafed plant. The roots were dried and ground up into a powder then brewed into a thick liquid that could be applied directly to a wound or swallowed to aid in the fight against infection. He placed the edge of the jar against Annika’s lips. She swallowed reflexively as he dribbled a small amount into her mouth.

That done, he moved her into the cave, surprised to find it well provisioned, lending credence to her earlier claim she’d used it before. Blankets lay folded on a flat-topped rock and wood had been neatly stacked near a shallow depression dug into the floor of the cave. As much as he knew they both needed the warmth of a fire, he decided against starting one. He had no idea how far they’d traveled from the fortress, and he couldn’t risk the scent of smoke giving away their position.

Spreading out one of the blankets, he laid Annika on it, shook out another to cover her, then hesitated. Blood coated her upper body and soaked the material of her bodice. He should check the claw marks along her ribs. All his efforts so far could be wasted if he didn’t see to those wounds.

Kalan paused, his fingers tangled in the laces on the front of her dress. Usually the sight of a naked woman didn’t bother him but the memory of her disrobing earlier during their escape from the underground prison had aroused and unsettled him.

He smoothed a long strand of hair away from her pale face. Fighting his aversion to the skin markings, he lightly traced those trailing down the side of her face. Other than in battle, this was the first time he’d seen the demon markings up close.

Annika’s were less prominent than those he’d seen on
Na’Reish
warriors, darker than freckles and smooth to the touch. Curious, he nudged her top lip up a fraction. She hadn’t inherited her father’s pointed teeth; hers were as square and white as Kalan’s.

The Blade Council’s archives contained accounts of demons siring children with human-slaves but they’d been based on rumor and speculation, not fact. She was living proof that those rumors were true. Hesia and Annika had hinted at the existence of other
Na’Chi
and both had mentioned the
Na’Reish
’s intolerance for her heritage.

Kalan ran a hand over his face.
Lady of Light
, her existence would shock many, including those on the Blade Council. No, shock was too mild a word. History and centuries of beliefs would be
challenged
, maybe even threatened, by her existence.

Her actions of the last few hours had left him feeling confused and unsure, a state he’d rarely allowed himself to fall prey to and one he disliked intensely. Her compassion and her Gift from the
Lady
were traits he’d never expected a demon to possess.

Kalan grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. Her motives in helping him were self-serving, but assisting others seemed to be an innate part of her nature. There was more to her than there appeared on first glance.

How had she survived past childhood? That she had survived hinted at an independence bolstered by an incredibly strong will, one developed from a very young age. Logic told him her father had to be
Na’Reish
, a demon lord. The whim of raising a child of mixed blood belonged to the upper caste, not underlings.

How much of an influence had her father had on her? How
Na’Reish
was she? And there lay the problem. How would her presence affect his people? By bringing her back to Sacred Lake, he could be risking not only the safety of his people but the stability of their culture, too.

He sighed. The unknown was too much right now for his tired mind to grapple with. Perhaps if he was more sure of her, trusted her more, the future wouldn’t seem as uncertain. But he wasn’t sure if he could learn to trust someone like her.

She healed you, helped you escape.
She is
Na’Chi
, not
Na’Reish
. He shivered, the difference not as reassuring as he’d hoped it would be.
Mother of Mercy
, he’d drive himself insane trying to solve this now. Perhaps after some sleep he’d think more clearly, but first he had to deal with Annika’s wounds.

Inhaling, he plucked at the knot in the laces of her dress. Getting it over her head wasn’t an option, not without reopening her shoulder wounds, but with the top of it torn he’d be able to slide it off her body and down her legs.

He tried to keep his gaze averted as he tugged the dress downward over her shoulders but he couldn’t avoid touching her when the fabric stuck. Even though his fingertips barely grazed her breasts, he knew they were soft and full, and from the corner of his eye he could see dusky nipples puckering and hardening in the cold morning air. His groin started to ache and throb. He had no control over his body’s response, and that confused him.

Careful not to touch her more than was necessary, he eased the material over her abdomen and hips. He couldn’t stop himself looking at her. The pale glow of dawn lightened bare flesh at the junction of her thighs and her skin took on a tawny hue. She had curves in all the right places, undeniably a woman, but her limbs were lean like a female warrior’s. There was strength in her well-toned muscles, even while relaxed. He swallowed dryly as his arousal increased, and tried to fight it.

Merciful Mother, give me strength.
Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he forced his thoughts back to the task in hand. He’d treated female warriors on the field of battle, stripped them to tend wounds. Not once had he had this sort of instant physical reaction. Now should be no different.

Checking the claw marks scoring her ribs, he saw that they were red raw but not bleeding.
Thank the Lady
. She couldn’t afford to lose any more blood. Rolling her onto her side, he checked her back, and was surprised to see a myriad of pale scars marking her skin, mingling among the twin trails of her body markings; old ones and none of them claw marks.

Back in the tunnel there hadn’t been enough light to see them. He traced one of the longer ones with his finger. It had been made by something thin and straight, perhaps a cane or very thin belt. She’d been beaten. Disturbing.

Quickly cleaning the blood off her body he spread a little
vaa’jahn
over the scratches to ward off infection. Her skin was smooth, silky, and as soft as it looked. And ice cold.

“Fool of a warrior,” he hissed under his breath. Here he was staring at her while she froze. His arousal tempered by his thoughtlessness, he jammed the cork back into the jar and quickly drew the second blanket over her.

Wrapping another blanket around himself, he sat against the cave wall and leaned his head back. Old bruises throbbed and his limbs were beginning to ache. He longed to lie down and sleep but, in unknown territory, instinct warned him to keep watch.

Kalan pulled Annika’s healing pouch closer. The leather was soft but well crafted. He ran his fingertips over the sun etched into the flap. The symbol was a familiar one. It belonged to the
Lady
, an image used to remind believers of
her
power and goodness.

Again the incongruence of the situation caught him off guard. The symbol was a reminder that a demon believed in
Her
. He had no doubt
She
had preordained Annika’s healing Gift and faith, but who had encouraged and guided her? The old healer, Hesia? Other human-slaves?

The
Na’Reish
certainly wouldn’t have encouraged her. They ridiculed the
Lady
and desecrated any temple they found, murdering and obscenely displaying the bodies of any Handmaiden or Manservant discovered within.

Kalan flipped open the pouch flap and peered inside. It was well stocked. He sifted through and examined various bags, jars, vials, bandages, and small instruments.

“The tools of a healer,” he murmured, setting them on the ground beside him.

Spotting a small pocket sewn into the side of the pouch, he felt inside, eyebrows lifting as his fingers brushed against something cold. It felt like a necklace. The feeble morning light caught on a small sun charm dangling from the silver chain. It was a Light Blade amulet, similar to the one that hung around his neck.