Willing Sacrifice

by Shannon K. Butcher

  Brenya. She’d done this. That’s what she’d meant by taking everyone to the southern village. She’d teleported them there, leaving only Grace and Torr behind.

  But why?

  As soon as her thoughts touched on the question, the answer blazed in her mind in vivid detail.

  The Hunter had killed one of the Athanasian women—one of the Solarc’s daughters. The Hunter would report this kill back to the Masons, who would then report back to the Warden, who would report to the Solarc. If this Hunter didn’t die, then the Solarc would know his daughters were sneaking through the gate. By nightfall, this whole world would be invaded with a force so powerful that even Brenya’s magic wouldn’t be able to hold them at bay.

  “You have to kill it,” she yelled at Torr.

  His muscles bunched with the effort of combat. “Working on it.”

  The Hunter began to back away toward the tree line. If it got much farther, it could disappear into the woods and they’d lose it.

  Grace couldn’t let that happen.

  She grabbed the closest weapon she could find—the ax used for splitting firewood. She’d spent enough hours with this tool in her hands for it to feel comfortable there. And while she knew that she was no match for the Hunter, she could at least keep its attention.

  She sprinted toward the creature, weapon raised, screaming like a crazy person. One of its eyes swiveled toward her.

  “Stay back!” ordered Torr, but she ignored him.

  Getting close enough to the thing for it to slice her in half wasn’t an option, but that wasn’t her plan. All she had to do was get a little closer.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Torr’s body speed as he launched a series of graceful blows. She didn’t dare look at him directly. She couldn’t afford the distraction.

  Her lungs were burning by the time she got close enough to hurl the ax at the side of the Hunter. It provided a huge, flat target that even she couldn’t miss at this distance.

  The hard head of the ax slammed into the top edge of the Hunter, knocking it off balance. Small chips of black rock rained down from where she’d hit it, freezing the ground wherever they touched. It regained its footing and turned to face her and charge. Torr was faster and shattered it with one brutal blow from the Mason’s hammer.

  Red gashes opened in his skin wherever the shards struck him. He scanned the area, searching for more enemies. His chest moved heavily with each breath, and the expression on his face was terrifying enough to have Grace backing away.

  “Stay where I can see you,” he snapped.

  She clamped down on the urge to run, though she wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to ease his worry or because she didn’t want to provoke him into chasing her.

  That was one footrace she knew she couldn’t win.

  When he was satisfied that there were no more Hunters here, he turned to her. He was furious. His face was red, his amber eyes practically bulging with the force of his anger.

  He took one long step forward.

  Now she wished she’d run.

  She stumbled back and tried to pull in a breath despite her hammering pulse. The cold air caught in her throat. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe.

  She’d felt this way before, and as that knowledge came to her, so did the memory.

  Her home had been invaded by demons. She and her stepbrother were desperately trying to stay quiet. He had a golf club in his hands, his young, scrawny body quivering with fear. She held the pistol her stepfather had kept in his sock drawer.

  He didn’t need it anymore. He was dead in the living room, demons feasting on his flesh.

  It was better than he deserved.

  She still couldn’t believe what she’d seen, still couldn’t find a place in her mind for those creatures to fit. They were too twisted and scary to be real.

  As terrifying as they were, what really frightened her was the comatose body of her mom, lying helpless in the back room, surrounded by the machines and tubes that kept her alive. Once the demons were finished with her stepfather and came searching for more food, the only thing standing between them and Grace’s mom was her, her baby brother, a shaky golf club, and an even shakier gun.

  The door to the back room flew open. The demon was huge, with rows of yellow teeth coated in red blood. That, and the eyes. Glowing, sickly green.

  She stepped in front of Blake and fired. Each bullet pushed the monster back a few inches and made it more furious.

  The gun clicked. Empty.

  Blake’s squeaky scream of rage bellowed out of him as he charged. Grace grabbed him around the middle and flung him back onto Mom.

  A loud crash sounded in the living room. Low male grunts and the wet slap of severed flesh hitting the hardwood floor.

  The demon charged.

  Grace blinked, shocked to realize that she was in her little village, standing only a few feet away from the tiny hut she called home.

  But this wasn’t her home. It wasn’t even her world.

  Torr stood in front of her, holding her shoulders as if he feared she’d topple over. Concern lined his face and made his amber eyes burn bright. “Breathe, honey.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant until she felt the burning in her lungs. She’d been holding her breath against the terror of her memory.

  She forced her mouth open, forced air into her lungs. It was a strange mix of summer warmth with swirling tendrils of cold from the Hunter’s presence.

  He slipped her hair behind her ear and tipped her chin up to look at him. “Better?”

  She nodded. Swallowed.

  Mom. She’d been so helpless. Had the monsters gotten to her? Had they reached Blake?

  “I think my whole family is dead,” she whispered.

  A shocked pause passed. “You had another memory?”

  “Yeah. Demons broke into our house. Ate Jerry. Blake and I were protecting Mom.” She had to force another breath. “I don’t know if they survived.”

  His expression went blank. He let her go and stepped away to where the Sentinel Stone had stood only moments before. A shallow depression was left in the dirt. Small insects scrambled for cover from the suns.

  Brenya had taken that, too.

  Torr scanned the forest, making it impossible for her to see his face. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he said.

  Facing her worry was somehow harder without his touch. It made her feel completely alone. Weak. “You don’t know that.”

  “You should try to stay positive. Things here are tough enough without you borrowing trouble.”

  “I just wish I knew the truth.”

  “Maybe you will,” he said, his voice oddly flat. “Maybe one day you’ll remember everything.”

  “Every memory I have is crappy. You’d think there’d be at least a couple of good ones in there, too.”

  He looked at her then, finally shedding whatever chill had come over him. There was blatant need on his face, so stark it was almost desperation. “I hope so, Grace.”

  She had no idea what to make of his odd behavior. Maybe all Theronai were like him, running hot and cold after a battle. She couldn’t be sure. The only other one she’d met was Tori, who was always burning hot, her every action fueled by rage.

  Torr made a full circle of the area before he came back to where she waited, trying to pull herself together. “I saw the light when everyone vanished. Brenya?”

  “Yes. She said she was taking everyone to the southern village.”

  “She didn’t take everyone. You’re still here.”

  “She wanted me to tell you that she has the crystals and that we should come get them when the time is right.”

  “I would have figured that out on my own without her using you as a messenger.”

  Grace refused to let his curt tone insult her. She’d helped him in that fight, and nothing he could say would change that. “That’s not the only reason she left me behind. She gave me information.”

  “What inform
ation?”

  Knowledge about the Hunter and its connection to the Solarc had come to her suddenly, as she’d needed it. Just like Brenya had said.

  While that little piece of the puzzle was now in place, Grace could feel more of them, still hidden in her mind. They were there—their weight was easily recognizable—but she couldn’t reach them at will. Like all the bits of memory she’d recovered, the knowledge would come to her when it came, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to speed up that process.

  Rather than telling him she didn’t know what the information was, she lifted her chin. “I’ll tell you when you need to know.”

  He stalked up to her, his jaw set in a way that made her want to turn and run. Only the certain knowledge that he wasn’t going to hurt her made her hold her ground.

  “You’ll tell me now,” he ordered.

  “Nope.”

  His big hand circled her throat. The touch was firm but careful. His fingers were so long they reached all the way around to her nape, where the heat from each fingertip branded her. His thumb grazed across her pulse, making an army of tingles march down her spine.

  He stared at her mouth for just a moment too long—long enough to make her think about kissing him again—then looked into her eyes. “I can make you tell me, Grace.” It was a threat, but not to inflict pain. This threat was much more deadly, his gaze and touch promising her something far more potent than pain.

  Pleasure.

  Her voice shook when she spoke, and she knew he could feel that weakness vibrate against his palm. “You can try. I’m sure I’d enjoy your effort. But everyone is counting on you to drive back the invasion.”

  He was quiet for a long time, his only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest. She wondered if she should step back, away from his touch, but she liked the feel of his hand on her skin too much to move. Even angry and covered in cuts from battle, he still possessed a mesmerizing kind of beauty that made it hard to look away.

  “Apparently they’re counting on us,” he said. “Whatever information Brenya gave you, it has some purpose.”

  Grace nodded. “I’ve never known her to do anything without at least three reasons.”

  “And she probably never tells you any of them when you ask.”

  “Now you’re catching on.”

  He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Then he nodded to himself, as if he’d made some difficult decision. “First we bury the dead. Then I’ll take you as far as the southern village. If Brenya isn’t willing to answer our questions, then we won’t cooperate with her until she does.”

  “Everyone does what Brenya wants. That’s just the way the world works.”

  “Well, I’m from a different world. She needs me. It’s time she starts acting like it.”

  Grace stifled a groan. His plan could end only one way: badly.

  Chapter 21

  Torr gave Grace a list of things to collect from the village while he dug the grave for the Athanasian woman.

  It didn’t seem right to bury her so far away from her home and family, but it was the best he could do for now. Maybe Brenya would be able to send her home, but even if she did, chances were it would bring up questions better left unasked.

  He felt Grace approach a moment before she spoke from behind him. Her presence burned through him like a brush fire, destroying all other thoughts. Even the bad ones.

  There was a kind of quiet magic in her that he’d never encountered in anyone else. She gave him peace in a life that had been filled with far too much war.

  “I like the spot you picked,” she said. “It’s pretty here.”

  The small clearing just inside the tree line had a thick carpet of ground cover the color of sapphires. It was far enough away from the village not to risk contamination of their well water, but still within sight of where the Sentinel Stone had recently stood. A canopy of shimmering leaves shaded the area, and the rest of the forest gave it a sense of privacy.

  “I thought so, too. Do you think she’d approve?”

  “I didn’t really know her, but I’m sure she would.”

  “You didn’t know her?”

  “She just arrived through the stone this morning. I would have gotten to know her over the next few months, while she carried her child to term.”

  “She was pregnant?”

  Grace nodded. “The women who come here almost always are.”

  Torr grieved for both the lives lost here today, but didn’t allow himself to linger or wallow in it. There was too much to do, too many more lives at stake. “Did you get what I asked for?”

  “I got the food and water, along with a few medical supplies.” Her gaze fixed on his chest, and the blood and dirt covering him. “You should let me use a few of them on you. Some of those cuts are deep.”

  As he watched, a hairline cut opened along her arm, in the exact spot where he was injured.

  She was healing him again without even trying. He didn’t dare call her attention to it for fear that she would realize that they were connected by the healing disks and start asking questions. Worse yet, she might start using the power purposefully. So far, her accidental healing of him had been minimal. That could change at any moment.

  “I’ve had worse. They’ll heal fast,” he said casually, hoping she’d forget all about his wounds. “What about weapons? Did you find any?”

  “I searched Brenya’s hut. There were no more crystals or anything that looked like a weapon. Mostly just books, jars and bottles. All unlabeled.”

  “I was sure she’d have some kind of stash in there.”

  “If so, it’s hidden. There were a few spears in the practice area and a couple of swords that Tori uses.”

  “Not exactly the magical artifacts I was hoping for.”

  “Do you want to search it yourself?” she asked.

  “No time. We have to find the location the Masons are using to build the portal before it opens and we’re screwed.”

  As soon as he said the words, Grace went pale and got a distant stare like the one she’d had right before telling him she thought her family was dead.

  It had taken all his willpower not to tell her the truth. Blake was still alive. She still had a brother who loved her and missed her. Her mom hadn’t survived the Synestryn attack, but Torr had managed to save both her and her brother that night.

  The night he was paralyzed.

  Dark, furious emotions seethed just below the surface. He couldn’t think about that time now—not when there were so many people who needed him to be at the top of his game.

  Torr reached for Grace, both to comfort her and to soothe himself. There was magic in her skin, and he wasn’t above using physical contact to stay strong and steady for her.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Nothing. We should get going, though.”

  “That wasn’t nothing. Tell me.”

  “You said yourself there’s no time. Let’s just do what we need to do and get moving. East.”

  “East? You sound sure. Did Brenya tell you?”

  “Let’s talk about it later. I’ll go back and search her hut again for hidden storage.”

  She scurried off before he could stop her. As fast as she was moving, he knew there was definitely something on her mind.

  He tried to ignore the sting of insult her silence caused. There had been a time when she would have trusted him enough to tell him anything.

  Clearly that time was over, but he would earn her trust again. It was too precious a thing for him not to crave it.

  Torr went to the lake just long enough to wash the blood and dirt from his body. The shallow cuts had mostly healed, but every time Grace looked at him, her gaze went right to the blood smeared over his skin and the dirt of the woman’s grave.

  That wasn’t what he wanted her to see. Not even close. She’d experienced too much blood and pain for one short lifetime.

  By the time he was done, she was waitin
g for him by the water’s edge. He came out of the lake soaking wet but clean. Grace tracked his movements, her color deepening with every step he took closer to her.

  He’d never known a more beautiful woman. Even the Athanasians he’d seen couldn’t compare to the light that shone out from Grace’s soul. If he lived another thousand years, he would never tire of looking at her, never tire of the desire that reddened her skin and made her dark eyes glow.

  She tracked him all the way to the shore. Even though the water was cool, he felt warm everywhere her gaze touched.

  His wet, charred, tattered jeans had seen better days. He needed a needle and thread to repair the opening Grace had cut along the leg, but at least they covered him and kept his swelling erection in check. As much as he wanted to lay her down and see if the languid expression on her face was the invitation it appeared to be, there were more important things they needed to do. Less pleasurable but definitely more vital.

  “Did you find anything good?” he asked.

  A smile built along her lips, slow, lazy and brimming with the promise of paradise. She didn’t have to say a word for him to know what she was thinking.

  “I meant in Brenya’s hut.”

  She blinked a couple of times, casting off all traces of the delightful ideas that were running through her head. “No. Nothing. I did find another shirt for you, though. I think one of the women made it for you.” She held up simple sleeveless shirt made from some kind of loosely woven fabric. “It’s not hemmed yet, but I figure it’s better than nothing.”

  Torr slid it on over his head. The fabric was softer than it looked, and it fit perfectly. “Remind me to thank whoever made this.”

  “Let’s just hope we all live long enough to make that happen.”

  He strapped his gear to his body, sliding the Mason’s hammer into a simple leather loop he’d tied on his belt. The heavy weight of it tugged at his jeans, but it was a small price to pay for having the weapon handy. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes. We need to head east. To the lake.”

  “The village is to the south.”

  “I know, but Brenya’s map is headed east. To the lake.” She tapped her temple. “And you can’t find it without me.”