As she stared, she felt her own pulse slow to match the pace of the glow. A heavy sleepiness washed over her, tempting her to close her eyes.
Torr was still down there. She couldn’t give in to the need to take a nap when he was in danger.
Grace forced herself to look away from the light and concentrate. She couldn’t see him anywhere, but she could now hear what he had heard. Voices, low and rumbling. They were speaking in the same flowing language that the Athanasian women did, but there was no smoothness to the sound. The rough words were punctuated with a rhythmic clinking that set her teeth on edge.
Her sleepiness faded more as she looked away from the light longer. Whether that glowing was some kind of magic or technology, she wasn’t sure, but it was definitely potent stuff.
She scooted back down the hill and moved a few hundred feet to her left, hoping for a better angle that might allow her to see Torr. By the time she was nearly back in position at the lip of the crater, the clinking sound had changed pitch. It was higher now, but it still made her skin crawl.
As she peeked out from the brush hiding her, she saw the source of the noise. Two huge creatures were chipping away at the glowing stone with heavy chisels and hammers. The workers were shaped like humans, but the similarity ended there.
Their skin was a smooth, flawless surface without a single hair anywhere. They were a muddy gray color with the same sheen as freshwater pearls. Their skin was granular, like fine-packed sand. Their eyes were tall, narrow slits filled with the same glossy black as the stones they chiseled. Completely naked and apparently sexless, they worked in perfect unison. Thick, bulbous hands gripped the tools, making their forearms bulge with visible strength. Each of them had in the center of its chest a bright circle that seemed to glow with its own inner light. Swirling plumes of yellow and white rose from that mark, bursting out like solar flares.
Between heavy blows to the boulder they worked on, their lipless mouths defiled a language Grace had once thought beautiful. She could feel power vibrating in those words as the cold air turned them to fog. As the strange men neared the end of their sculptural project, the black glass they were carving into the shape of a Hunter began to move.
These two gray creatures had to be the Masons that Brenya had talked about—the ones that were trying to kill the people Grace loved.
Torr sneaked out from behind one of the glowing boulders near the pair. His sword was in his hand, as lethally beautiful as the man himself. He moved silently, his breath misting in the cold air.
Grace stared in a surreal kind of trance. She knew his life was in danger and that he was going to try to kill those gray men. She knew that no matter what she did, there would be pain. And yet she still couldn’t pull her gaze away from the scene, as if her watching could somehow alter the outcome.
Torr slipped behind the large boulder they were working on. In a blur of flesh and steel, he moved in for the kill, cutting cleanly through the waist of one of the gray men. It fell into two pieces, but there was no blood, only a spray of fine sand spewing through the air in the wake of Torr’s blade.
The second man screamed in rage and panic, and slammed his hammer down with brutal force. The Hunter he’d been chipping from the stone was broken free, missing one of its legs.
Its jaws snapped as it lunged for Torr. He leapt out of its path, but because of its incomplete form, its aim was off, causing it to veer toward Torr anyway. He brought his sword up at the last second, lodging it in the thing’s jaws with two hands.
Blood leaked from Torr’s palm where he braced the blade with his bare hand. The Hunter’s body bowed and its single back leg scrambled awkwardly, trying to gain traction.
Grace couldn’t breathe. She was terrified for Torr but even more terrified that anything she might do would distract him and make things worse. She hated being stuck here, able to do nothing but watch and pray, but the alternative—getting Torr killed—was unthinkable.
The tall gray man knelt next to his fallen partner, aligning the two severed halves of his sandy body. There still was no blood. Whatever made up those guys, it wasn’t flesh and blood—not as she understood it.
As she watched, the gap between the two halves of the gray man’s body began to close. The whole one picked up his heavy hammer and moved around to angle himself behind Torr.
One blow from that hammer, and Torr would be dead. She didn’t care how fast he healed. A crushed skull was going to be fatal.
She had to do something without making things worse. And she had to do it now.
Grace rose from her hiding place and took a step out onto the charred ground. A chill sank through the thick leather protecting her feet, as if she were standing on ice. Without making any noise that might distract Torr, she began waving her arms.
The gray man who was about to bash Torr’s brains in saw her and started to come her way. That was exactly what she’d hoped for, but she certainly hadn’t realized just how fast legs that long could run.
Holding back the squeak of fear that rose to her throat, she sprinted into the woods. There was no way she could outrun him, but she could hide and give Torr a fighting chance.
Chapter 17
Torr was going to throttle Grace. Assuming he lived.
He’d seen the Mason sneaking up on him, knew it was a threat. He’d had another seven seconds to kill the wounded Hunter, which was more than enough.
If she’d been a Theronai, connected to him in the way his mate would have been, she would have known his plan. She would have seen his thoughts and stayed silent and hidden.
Of course, if she’d been a Theronai, she probably would have already used magic to shatter the Hunter to splinters.
Now, not only did he have to disable the Mason but he had to find it before it had time to kill Grace first.
With a spurt of brutal rage, Torr wedged his foot between himself and the Hunter and shoved the creature back. The move gave him room to regain his balance and fix his grip. He held the sword in both hands and swung hard just as the Hunter came back inside his reach, forcing it backward.
As he moved forward, with one hand he picked up the giant hammer the fallen Mason had dropped, and with the other hand he sheathed his sword.
One wicked slam of that hammer against the side of the Hunter, and it shattered, screaming as it died.
The Mason on the ground had nearly rebuilt itself, but Torr didn’t give it a chance to finish the job. Instead, he smashed its head with the heel of his boot and crushed its chest with the hammer until it was a pile of sand.
Let it rebuild that.
Anger and fear fueled his steps as he raced in the direction Grace had gone. His heart pounded, but it was less a sign of exertion than of his terror that she would get herself hurt.
He could not lose her again. He would not.
His ears drew him in the right direction. The sounds of thrashing brush and Grace’s heavy breathing grew louder.
She let out a breathless cry of fear—the kind of sound that only a woman who knows she’s trapped can make.
Torr forced his legs to move faster. He slashed at the branches that barred his path.
In the distance, he caught glimpses of the sandy-skinned Mason between the trees. It had stopped and was now circling a single location.
Torr looked up and saw that Grace had climbed a skinny tree and was struggling to get higher, out of the Mason’s reach.
It grabbed the tree in both hands and began shaking it.
Grace screamed and hugged the narrow trunk with her whole body. She was flung around, slammed into the branches of nearby trees.
She slipped down a couple of feet, and Torr could see the bright stain of blood left behind on the trunk where her skin had been torn by the rough bark.
A red haze the same color as the blood flooded his vision. Rage took over his limbs, giving him seemingly endless strength. He bellowed as he charged. His attack was less about killing the thing than it was about getting it the fuck away f
rom Grace.
Torr’s face must have been scary, because the Mason looked over its pasty gray shoulder and then set off at a dead run.
Torr ran faster.
He tackled the Mason from behind. It flipped over, trying to slam its hammer into Torr’s head, but he was already inside its reach, making the tool nearly useless.
He didn’t waste much time dispatching his foe, not with Grace bleeding and in need of aid.
The Mason’s body was heavy, smooth and hard to grip, but Torr managed to get a firm hold on its throat and started squeezing. Sand crumbled in his hand, cutting off the Mason’s cries of pain. A whooshing rush of air blew dust into Torr’s eyes, blinding him.
The hammer fell against his calf with enough force to send a riot of pain up his spine. Two huge, rough hands gripped his shoulders and started twisting. He felt like he was going to be ripped in half, but it didn’t stop him from clawing his way through the Mason’s thick neck.
More sand fell away from the thing, and with every additional fistful, the Mason’s strength drained away a little more.
Finally, Torr felt fallen leaves slide against his fingertips, and the Mason’s hold on him failed completely. The heavy body went still.
Torr pushed himself to his feet and wiped the sand from his eyes. As soon as he could see again, he saw the Mason’s crushed neck being rebuilt, one grain of sand after another.
He slammed his boot into the thing’s head, kicking it into a tree, where it burst into a shower of dust.
The rush of battle was still pulsing through his body with each beat of his heart. He’d destroyed three creatures in the last three minutes, but he wished there were more waiting for him to kill. An entire army would have been welcome, and perhaps even enough to quell his rage.
Grace had risked her life. Again.
How dare she? Did she have no idea how precious she was? How fragile?
When he was done with her she’d know. And she would never again even consider being so careless. He was going to make sure of it.
• • •
The man stalking toward Grace was not the one she’d thought she knew. This Torr was different. Furious. His amber eyes glowed with murderous intent.
Panic hit her hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her pulse kicked up, speeding so fast she could barely tell when one heartbeat stopped and the next started.
She slid the last few inches down the tree, wincing as the raw skin along her thighs rubbed across the bark. As soon as her feet hit solid ground, she started backing away, putting as many trees between her and him as she could.
It did no good. He was faster than she was, and he didn’t even look like he was exerting himself.
Maybe he was saving his strength for what he was going to do to her when he caught up with her. And he would catch up. She had no doubt how this would end.
At the last second, she couldn’t hold back the panic exploding in her chest—the need to turn and flee.
She now knew why she flinched when people moved too fast in her presence and why certain looks on the faces of others made her want to crawl into the smallest, darkest hiding space she could find. Her stepfather had taught her those behaviors, and while he was nowhere near her now, he’d left his mark.
And now the lessons he’d taught her took over, ripping rational thought away and forcing her to run.
She had made it only a few yards when her feet left the ground. Torr’s thick arms wrapped around her, pinning her against his chest.
Grace kicked him with every bit of strength she had. The move tore at her abraded skin, but she landed a couple of solid blows against his shins—hard enough that he let out a grunt of pain.
“Stop it,” he growled in her ear. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“No, I’m going to hurt you if you don’t put me down.” Her words were too breathless to hold much force, but at least she was able to get them out.
“You need to stop. You’re bleeding. This is only making it worse.” His voice was calmer than she would have expected for a man who wanted to kill her. The shock of that helped snap her out of the need to run and never stop.
“Put me down!” This time her words were not breathless, flighty things. They had enough weight to make him listen.
“Are you going to run again?” he asked.
She didn’t dare struggle. This was her opening, and she wasn’t going to do anything to set him off again. “Are you going to keep looking at me like you’re going to kill me?”
He set her down, held her long enough for her to steady herself, then let go. She spun around to face him, ready to run again if that look of rage was still on his face.
She hated it that she was so ruled by panic, by something from so long ago, done to her by a man she could barely remember. But just because she hated it didn’t mean she wouldn’t respond to that blind panic in exactly the same way if provoked.
She shifted to put a thick tree between them, just in case.
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. His wide shoulders lifted several times as he pulled in a series of deep breaths.
Grace waited, torn between wanting to ease his obvious distress and wanting to run and hide.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said.
She wasn’t falling for it. “Words are easy. Apologies mean nothing coming from a man who knows he’ll hurt you again.”
He froze, then turned slowly to face her. The anguish in his expression was painful to witness. “I hurt you?”
Afraid that he would fall on his own sword if she said he had, she decided to tell the truth. “You scared me. That was bad enough.”
He swallowed twice before responding in a tone laced with tiny tremors of shame. “You scared me, too.”
She hadn’t been expecting that. “How? By running away from you?”
“You let that thing chase you. You drew it away. On purpose. It could have killed you.”
It would have. If it had been six inches taller, it would have been able to reach her in that tree, and she’d be the one lying in pieces on the ground instead of it. “It could have killed you, too.”
He scrubbed his face with one hand and sucked in a long breath. “I can take care of myself.”
Arrogance. “It was sneaking up on you.”
“I saw it.”
“So? You were already a little busy.”
“I’ve been fighting for centuries longer than you’ve been alive. I had time to do what needed to be done. You should have trusted me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“Well, don’t!” His shout was so loud that the leaves over her head shivered.
Grace backed away, unable to stand her ground in the face of so much rage. Her whole body was shaking now, and a chill took root just beneath her skin.
His gaze flicked down to her thighs, where she could feel a sticky film of blood from her scratches. His mouth hardened as he saw the damage. “Shit. I’m sorry, Grace. I’m scaring you again, aren’t I?”
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily frightened she was, so she pretended she was like Tori—impervious to fear and ruthless enough to know she could flatten him if he tried anything.
Her chin went up and it didn’t even wobble a little. That victory alone was enough to make her proud and to strengthen her resolve. “You’re not even the scariest thing that’s chased me today.”
He shoved out a heavy sigh and his body relaxed visibly, as if he’d simply willed it to do so.
“We’ll talk about what you did. Later,” he said. “You’re bleeding, and that’s more important. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Her chin was still up and Tori’s fierce essence was still guiding her. “I don’t need help from someone who thinks he has the right to shout at me. I’ll manage on my own.” She wasn’t sure how she was going to walk with the blood making her thighs stick together, but she’d find a way to fly before she would accept his help.
>
“I don’t have the right to shout, but I do have a duty to protect you. Letting enemy combatants chase you is exactly the opposite of that.”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything for me, including protecting me. I’ve been fine here without your help for years. I’ll be fine here after you’re gone.”
His eye twitched. His fists tightened.
The need to run away quivered through her legs again.
He must have sensed it, because he did that forced-relaxation thing one more time. His voice came out calm and quiet. “You’ll be fine only if we do as Brenya says. She brought me here for a reason, and part of that reason was because you all needed my help.”
“All of us need your help. Not just me. That means that it’s my duty to keep you safe so that you can do what Brenya brought you here to do.”
“There you go again, acting like my life is more important than your own.”
“It is. I don’t like it, but that’s the truth. You have skills I can only dream of having, and if anything were to happen to you, I’m afraid Brenya would be too weak to summon more help. Like it or not, you’re our only hope. I won’t let you die and make the people I love suffer because you’re too arrogant to accept my help.”
“And I won’t let you die, period.”
She shrugged, trying her hardest to pull off casual nonchalance. “Humans have short lives. Not much you can do about that.”
One second he was too far away to reach her and the next, his hands were around her arms, holding her close. His touch was careful but unbreakable. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Grace.” His thumbs slid along the tender skin under her arm. “Please, just let me keep you safe. I need it like I need to breathe.”
“Because of your vow,” she said, suddenly remembering that he’d taken a vow to protect humans. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think what it would do to you if I risked my life.”
Vows were serious things. If he thought he’d broken his, she had no idea how much pain it might cause. She was safe, but she was finally starting to understand why he would freak out over one human trying to help him in combat.
Willing Sacrifice Page 14
