Guardian by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  He hooked his horns in her. Her old self fell away.

  “Good,” Wat said again, but his mouth was a hard, white line. “Not far now. We’ll make a fire. Think of the fire. How warm you’ll be”

  Fire? She tossed her head, tried to step backward. Fire meant death. But the rope went tight. He was walking, and she had to follow the man who led her. The rope tugged, and she stumbled after it.

  The world was made of snow. The ground, the sky, the air between, the man in front of her. She breathed ice, spat out water. Her legs didn’t work right. They crisscrossed at odd angles, and her hooves sank into the snow. The man took her into deep cover. The wind blew less. Trees were good. Under their spreading branches, she was safe and hidden. She sought shelter, somewhere she couldn’t be seen. She chose her spot under a low hanging bough and curled up there. The rope went taut.

  The man shouted. He lifted her. She bucked, but he was strong. He shouted again and again, and his voice thundered over her like falling rocks.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wat gathered Eva into his arms before she could bury herself in the snow. She stiffened and thrashed. He knew she had a concussion, but this was more than a bad bump on the head. Her eyes had turned glassy black, ringed by white, rolling with unthinking terror. She was scaring the shit out of him.

  “Eva!” He shouted her name again and again, as he fought to hold her close. She swung at his head. He reared back to avoid the blow and bumped against the low-hanging branch. A load of accumulated snow and dead needles fell on them. “Eva!” All he wanted was to see some recognition in her eyes.

  Bit by bit, he brought her under control, pinning her arms down, crossing his knee over her legs. Held that way, she went immobile, breathless, as panicked as a trapped animal.

  “You’re safe. You’re okay.” She wasn’t safe, she wasn’t okay, but he kept talking, letting the words wash over her until her limbs softened, and her eyes lost some of their wildness.

  “Eva,” he said again, calling her back to herself. She blinked, and he thought he saw a ghost of the woman he knew return to those black, shining depths.

  “Who am I?” he said.

  Her mouth opened and worked, but no sound came out. Now her expression was desperate, lost.

  “What’s your name?”

  She looked left, right, and then up at him. He thought she was finally seeing him, not the unknown terror that had filled her mind a few moments before. “That’s right. It’s okay.” He risked releasing his grip on her to brush the snow off her face. “What’s your name, sweeting?”

  “Eva?” she whispered, uncertain.

  “That’s right. You’re Eva. I’m Wat.”

  “Wat,” she repeated, as if remembering something from long ago.

  “You need to warm up.” He took off his coat and helped her into it, buttoning up the front and drawing the hood tight around her face. The killing cold bit the bare skin on his neck and seeped through his sweater. Time to get moving. But first, one more thing. From his bag he pulled his bivy sack, a simple envelope of coated tarp, and slipped it over her feet, cajoling her into helping him pull it up as far as her armpits. Another layer might help her some. It would cut the wind, at least.

  “Now we’ve got to fly.” She couldn’t be out much longer. Time he needed, and time he didn’t have. He slid one arm under her knees and wrapped the other around her waist. With a grunt, he rose and found his balance under her weight. She was lighter than he’d expected, but he was tired.

  He’d considered making a snow shelter back at the crash site, but he’d feared that the storm would hit hard, pinning them down for days, and had gambled on the greater security and comfort of the cabin. Now he wasn’t sure he’d made the right call. With visibility at near zero, he was navigating on instinct. But if he was correct in his heading, the cabin wasn’t far. He started walking.

  Eva nestled her head against his shoulder and sighed, her eyes closing.

  “No sleeping!” He jostled her. She opened her eyes, and then promptly closed them again.

  This was going to be a long walk.

  “Talk to me.” When she didn’t respond, he used compulsion ruthlessly. “Talk to me.”

  She started in his arms, as if slapped, but she talked.

  “Acorns under snow. Water under ice. Bark is sweet.”

  What the hell? The buck. The blood. Had it really affected her that much? Then again, if his guess was right, that was no ordinary buck that had driven them off the road.

  “Tell me about Los Angeles,” he said, trying to steer her mind back to normal.

  That was more than she could understand. She blinked up at him, confused. He tried again, something more specific. “Tell me about Alya Adad.”

  The name made her cringe, but it worked. She was fully awake and, unfortunately, terrified.

  “Alya’s going to be mad.” Her voice was like a child’s.

  “Why?”

  “I failed. Should have used Gunnar. To make you sign. Get it done. Get out.”

  “You had Dominick’s approval.” He tripped over a fallen branch, almost dropped her, and then righted himself. In doing so, he whacked her legs against a tree trunk. She yelped. “Sorry,” he said.

  There was an open way ahead, which he took, even though it was a bit off course. After a few steps, he began to accustom himself to her weight, to the change in his gait. But she’d gone silent again. He picked up the thread of the conversation. “Didn’t you have Dominick’s approval to negotiate?”

  She nodded. “My call. Bad call.”

  “It’s not so bad. What’s the cost to Adad? A few days’ time? If she wants our heads, she’ll have them soon enough.”

  “Sloppy. Inefficient. Weak.” She gave him a gallows smile, and for the first time since her collapse, he was sure he was talking to Eva. “I’m a lousy Hand.”

  “It’s not your fault we’re stubborn.”

  “I got involved.” She tapped a finger against his chest. “Never get involved.”

  “I’m not sorry you got involved, Eva Sosa Padilla.”

  She smiled, and as wan as it was, it lit him right though.

  “My head hurts.”

  “I’ll bet it does.” Her eyes fluttered closed. He gave her a little shake. “No sleeping. What are you scared of? What will she do?”

  “I don’t know.” She shuddered and buried her face against his neck. “That’s the worst part.”

  “I won’t let her hurt you.”

  “You’re sweet…” The fingers of her gloved hand brushed his cheek in a faint caress—then her arm fell down, lifeless.

  “Eva!” He jostled her. “Wake up.” He used the voice of command again. “Wake up.”

  It didn’t matter. Her head fell back and bobbed with his strides. He put his ear to her chest and listened for her heartbeat. It was weak and off-rhythm. Why would the gods bring them here just to kill her?

  All he could do was get her inside and warm her up, fast. And pray it wasn’t too late. Drawing up reserves of strength he didn’t know he had, he began to run, his legs pumping like pistons through the high snow.

  Just get me there. Get me there. Please.

  Ignoring obstacles, he crashed straight through brush and wove between trees. Over and over again, branches reached out of the white storm to lash his face, snag his sweater, to whip Eva, as well. His lungs burned, and his side ached, and his arms and hands went numb, but he held on to her. And he ran.

  He began to doubt himself. Was he going the right direction—or running them toward certain death? Distracted by worry, he stopped paying attention to ground signs and stumbled into a gully. In the space of a stride, he found himself chest deep in snow. Cursing, he fought to climb out. He had to sling Eva over his shoulder like a sack of feed to do so, and by the time he’d reached solid ground, he was shaking with exhaustion.

  Carefully he lowered Eva to the ground and checked her vitals. She was hanging on, but she was very, very cold. Her fac
e held no more color than the snow. Her full lips, usually a deep rose—even without her provocative lipstick—were bruise-purple, dry and cracked. “You’re strong,” he told her. “You’ve got to hold on just a little more. Remember I told you about the fire we’re going to have? I know you like a good fire.”

  He was babbling. Shivering uncontrollably. Winded. Folks in his condition made bad decisions. Tragedy was the stuff of backwoods lore. He knew that, but it didn’t help him any. Needing comfort, he reached for her, drew her into his arms and across his lap. He buried his face in the soft hide of her hood and breathed in her scent mixed with leather. “We’re going to be okay,” he mumbled, and knew he was lying again.

  Get up. Get going. Wat knew that if he didn’t move, they’d both die, but he felt stitched to the ground. Driving wind packed snow in the folds of Eva’s bivy sack. He peered into the storm. It had reached absolute whiteout conditions. There was no seeing anymore. Just guessing. He picked out his course as best he could and gathered his resolve.

  A faint irregularity in wall of white around him caught his attention. Movement. It resolved into a slinking shape, low to the ground, white as everything else. It hesitated, crouched, and moved forward again, its motion fluid and serpentine. It was a fox, white in his winter coat. Wat stopped breathing.

  The fox approached their feet boldly, as no fox ever would. It put a paw on Eva’s leg, hesitated, and then with sudden resolve flowed up her body and nestled on her chest. Wat, still cradling her, met its eyes. It stared back, its eyes deep gold, as Eva’s had been in the dream.

  “Brother, why have you come to us?” Wat asked, his teeth chattering.

  The fox sighed, its ribs expanding and shrinking, and it tucked its head alongside Eva’s neck, so her mouth was buried in its thick, white fur.

  Wat understood. It was like a waking into a dream, or entering a myth. Slowly, afraid he’d spook it, he pulled his mitten off with his teeth. Then he reached for his belt knife. The fox followed the motion with a twitch of its eyes, but it didn’t move. Wat held up the knife in one hand and with the other gently lifted the fox’s chin. Still, it did not move.

  He didn’t have words. He knew he should say more, but all he could do was choke out, “Thank you.” And then, with a sure stroke, he drew the knife across its throat. The blood leapt out, startling red in this world of white. He put the wound to Eva’s mouth. She stirred, and then swallowed. Her hands came up and buried themselves in the fur. He heard the sounds of her feeding, at first lethargic, and then greedy.

  The scent of hot blood washed over him. Along with it came heat. Heat flooding through her body, radiant as a bank of coals. It passed straight through the bivy sack to warm him. He wrapped his arms around her and wept with relief.

  “Drink.”

  Startled, Wat opened his eyes. Eva, her face bloody from the nose down, offered him the limp fox. He did not pretend to be noble. He ripped deep to take what blood was left. A few warm mouthfuls. Enough. It tasted of fox, but it was more than fox. It was a great gift.

  When he finished, he gave the fox back to her. She hugged it close, like a doll, her eyes fixed on some distant point, or perhaps on something he couldn’t see. He checked her pulse. It was stronger, but he knew she couldn’t walk yet. That was his job. With a groan he hauled himself up and started moving again.

  Eva woke knowing only that the wind had stopped. The air smelled musty, but also of burning wood. They were indoors. She turned her head and saw Wat stepping back from a glowing fireplace.

  “I told you there’d be fire,” he said, offering her a strange, wry grin as he helped her over to sit in front of the blaze. It dazzled her eyes. The heat hurt, but it hurt good.

  “Do you mind if I take this?” He laid his hand on the bloody fox in her arms. She looked down at it in surprise. She thought she’d been dreaming. “He’ll keep better outside. Later I’ll give you the skin.”

  “I—” bewildered, she broke off.

  “You should keep his skin. Always.”

  Wat was staring at her with a peculiar intensity. The last part of the journey was blurry. What she did remember was disturbing. She felt like she was waking from a long sleep, and yet she was tired to the bone.

  While the he took the fox outside, she blinked around. He’d brought them to a one-room cabin with a dirt floor. Plywood covered the two windows. A huge stack of firewood lined one wall. The fireplace itself was a welcome sight, built of rough stone and blackened all around with soot.

  Wat came back in and kicked the door shut. “We’re both more than a little frozen,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  “Uh—” She rubbed the side of her head. It hurt. “What is this place?”

  “An abandoned cabin. We keep it as an emergency shelter. Got lots of them. Stock of dry wood in this one and a couple of blankets. Not much else, unfortunately.”

  As he spoke, she looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since she’d awoken, and saw how pinched and drawn his face had become. A faint memory tugged at her. Had he carried her through the snow? She was wearing his coat. When had he put it on her?

  “You’re tired,” she said aloud.

  “Já, and you’re worse off. We’re both going to sleep good. But there’s things to be done first.”

  He put an old metal canteen in front of the fire. “Melting snow for water,” he explained. Then he took a small folding shovel out of his knapsack and began to dig a hole in the middle of the packed dirt floor, grunting with the strain of breaking the hard earth.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Something you’ll like. Stretch out. Sleep while I do this. It’s safe for you now.”

  She didn’t want to sleep, but exhaustion was like a riptide, pulling her out and down. Her fingers burned as they defrosted, but the heat of the fire barely sank past her skin. At her core, she was miserably cold. She shivered and closed her eyes. She dreamed of foxes and deer.

  Eva woke hot. The cabin was on fire. Yelping with alarm, she jumped into a crouch, ready to run. Shaking her head clear, she focused on the fire––not the fire in the fireplace, but a fire burning in center of the cabin floor, and realized it was contained in a large, shallow pit, about the size of a twin bed. A huge mound of earth stood on the far side of the flames. Wat was standing on his toes, hacking a hole in the ceiling with a hatchet

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to sleep warm.” He grinned, but he looked terrible--used up. The man needed to feed. She didn’t—she was full—but couldn’t remember feeding. Strange. That thought evaporated when he said, “This is our bed.”

  “A bed of fire?”

  “A bed of coals. Much better than roasting your face while freezing your backside, or vice versa. It just needs to burn down some. The hole is for the smoke.” He pointed up with his hatchet. “It will also give us some fresh air, because I reckon we’re going to buried pretty deep. This looks to be a big dump.”

  She squinted up at the hole. It was still dark outside. Snowflakes tumbled in, but melted midair. “What about daylight?”

  “Huh? Oh.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked up at the small hole. “Well. The sun won’t show her face today. If the light bothers you, we can cover you up.”

  “It won’t bother you?” As far as she knew, no vamp liked sleeping with a skylight over his head, no matter what the weather.

  He shrugged. “I’ll do. What won’t do are your feet. Let’s have a look.”

  Kneeling in front of her, he eased off her boots. She couldn’t feel her feet as he worked the boots off, not at all. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t know much about cold weather, but she’d heard of frostbite, of people losing toes—and worse.

  He peeled off her socks. Beneath, her feet were a strange grey-white color, except where they’d been rubbed raw at the ankles and near her little toes. They felt like dead weight at the ends of her legs, but he handled them like they were made of glass, stroking them and pinchin
g the toes.

  “Do you feel this?” he asked, wiggling her big toe.

  “A little. Maybe. Do I have frostbite?”

  “Afraid so. Thought you would, what with those useless boots.”

  “Is it serious?”

  He licked his finger and rubbed it over one of the raw spots, then did it again for another, his face thoughtful. She couldn’t feel his touch. “We’ve got to defrost them slow. The fire is too hot. One of your humans would be perfect for this, but I’ll have to do. Cold as I am, I’m warm enough.” He lifted his sweater and tucked one of her feet beneath his armpit, against his bare skin. “Give me your other one. And lay back.”

  She did as he asked, but said, “Uh, Wat, this is very strange.”

  Very, very strange, what with her on her back, her calves supported by his arms, her feet deep in his pits. She’d been in many positions with men, but this was a new one. From between her knees, she watched him tug his sweater down as much as he could, but his belly remained exposed, hard with muscle. He settled into a cross-legged position and looked prepared to be there for a while.

  “Strange, but necessary.”

  “My feet must feel like ice.”

  “Colder than that.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “But they won’t hurt me.”

  “Well, thanks for doing this.” Obscurely embarrassed, she focused on the ceiling. This touching, this being close, but not in a sexual way, disturbed her.

  “It’s going to hurt when you start defrosting. Hopefully there won’t be any permanent damage.”

  She nodded. Pain was familiar. Pain she could deal with. Kindness—not so much. Especially considering how she’d used him, and what was going to happen back in Brunnrheim soon enough. But for now, there was nothing to be done about the future. There was nothing but this moment. Just the twin fires, hot on either side of her, this patient man holding her feet. And the question of the immediate past.

  “Tell me what happened out there.”