by Lynn Lorenz
"Stefan." Sarah's upturned eyes begged him to help her.
"He has returned to me. Too bad you won't be able to watch as he gives himself to me." The Sorcerer's voice rumbled through the clearing.
The image of Marsh on his knees taking the Sorcerer in his mouth, servicing him that way, made the bile rise in Stefan's throat.
He prayed to the One God for death. Now, before it was too late. Save Sarah. Save Sarah. Save Sarah.
"No, never!" She shook her head in denial, as tears fell down her cheeks.
"Kill her, Bane." The voice sounded in his head, commanding him. Compelling him to obey. There were two selves inside him--one who obeyed the voice and the other who struggled against the intruder.
This is not happening. Not real.
Despite this rational thought, he feared that what happened here, now, in this meadow, would be his destiny. Their destiny.
A long, low moan vibrated in his throat as he brought the wand to bear on Sarah. One part of his mind summoned the power. As it surged through his body, another part of his mind reached for the blessed crack. Only one chance.
Sarah shook her head. Her voice was hoarse as she begged him. "Don't please, Stefan, not the baby." Holding out her hand to ward off the blast, she closed her eyes.
The killing power spilled over, cascading down his arm to his wand. The crack split open, and with one great effort, he turned the wand on himself.
Black flame erupted.
* * * *
The horse reared and whinnied as it tried to break free, pulling against the tied reins, shaking its head back and forth as Stefan screamed.
Stefan clutched his head as he sat back against the tree and waited for the pain to subside. As it lessened, he got to his hands and knees and tried to stand, but a wave of nausea rolled over him. Too weak to do more, he sat back on his heels and shook his head to clear the pain and wait for his stomach to settle.
Like a specter, the pain was gone, as sharp as it had come, and his mind cleared. Stefan's gaze searched the clearing for Sarah. Of course, she wasn't there. He sat on the ground, his wand still in his holster. The clearing held only the frightened horse and himself.
Stefan stood at last, his legs shaking. He untied the frightened animal and tried to soothe it, offering calming words, meant not just for the horse, but himself also.
After dashing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, he put on his cloak, and leaned against the side of the horse for a moment, shaken by the dream. Was it a vision of what was to be or merely a warning, meant to scare him into some inaction?
However it was meant, it knocked Stefan off-center. He led the animal back to the road, put his foot in the stirrup, and mounted. Giving the reins a soft pull, he turned the animal, kicked his heels into its side, and galloped down the road to Avalon.
* * * *
By the time he got to the castle, Stefan was tired, wet, and hungry. He'd seen his horse stabled and then headed to the mess hall to eat. A blue power bolt narrowly missed him. He turned, drew his wand, and dropped into a defensive crouch as his eyes scanned the foyer for his assailant. Already on edge, his nerves were wound so tightly, much more and he felt as if they would snap.
A patroller with a red armband ran past him, pursued by a second man wearing a blue armband, firing another blast. It missed Red Armband as he 'ported out, then reappeared at the top of the stairs overlooking the foyer, took aim, and fired back. It caught Blue Armband in the chest and he fell to the floor.
"You're out, James," Red Armband shouted as the man sat up, shaking his head.
"Aye, good move, Davis." James stood, brushed himself off, and then stripped off his armband and gave it to Davis.
Davis saluted and then James 'ported out.
"What is the meaning of this?" Stefan grabbed the remaining man by the arm.
"We're practicing! Team competition, you know." Davis looked down at Stefan's hand clutching his arm and grimaced. "You're hurting me, sir."
Stefan let go, still scowling. "Is this one of Patroller Tallow's ideas?" His hand tightened around his wand.
"Indeed, sir, and a great idea it is, too! We're getting lots of practice doing these maneuvers."
Stefan took a swipe at his damp hair, pushing it back from his face. "Where is she?" His voice deepened and his eyes narrowed. Part of him was furious and part of him just wanted to see her alive, unhurt.
"I don't know, sir, around somewhere, keeping score." Davis shrugged as he headed outside. "I have to turn in my armband and have the score counted to my side."
Stefan stood for a moment listening, his head cocked. When he picked up her voice, his heart thudded in his chest.
Sarah walked into the foyer carrying a clipboard, with Patroller Gareth Watkins at her side. She looked so beautiful and alive that he had to fight to not go to her and pull her into his arms. Instead, Stefan ground his teeth at the thought of Watkins and Sarah together.
Stefan noticed, with resentment, that Gareth was looking handsome and clean; unlike his own disheveled and damp appearance after night duty in the rain.
Did the man ever have a bad day?
They hadn't even noticed him; they were so engrossed in their conversation, or knowing Sarah, an argument.
"Sarah, really, you've got to let me try it."
"No, it's too dangerous, Gareth. I don't want you hurt." She shook her head and her braid swung with the motion.
Gareth took her by the arm and swung her around. His hand caught her waist, pulling her to him.
"Worried about me?" Gareth looked into her eyes and then suggestively to her lips. With his fingertip, he tilted her chin up.
They were very close. Too damn close, for Stefan's taste. Sarah looked up into Gareth's handsome face as it lowered toward hers, his lips parted, preparing to take hers.
"Patroller!" Stefan's growl carried across the foyer.
Sarah startled. Gareth jumped away, releasing his hold on her. When he recognized Stefan, he swore softly.
"Stefan? Now what's wrong?" She didn't hide the exasperation in her voice as her hands flew to rest on her hips.
"What's wrong? I was nearly hit by a blast from one of your men in this little running battle you've got everyone involved in." He stalked up to them.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Gareth chimed in. "Best training exercise I've ever been involved in."
"I'm not speaking to you, Patroller." Stefan gave him the signal for silence.
Gareth's mouth closed with a snap.
"Sorry, someone was supposed to be at the door to warn people we were having games." Sarah shrugged.
"Perhaps that person is off haring after the others? Did you get clearance for this? I don't remember seeing anything about it."
"Aye, Stefan. Thatcher gave me his permission personally. You were away. I didn't think you needed to be involved. So, if you're thinking of reporting me again, forget it."
It was as if she'd struck him, and he tried to hide his flinch. He realized he wasn't mad at her, but at himself, for looking like something the cat threw up on the hearth's rug, yet again. Well, he'd had his chance, hadn't he?
Gareth stood to the side and rubbed his chin. He reached out and put his hand on her arm, possessively from Stefan's perspective. "Come on, Sarah, let's go. We've got to tally the score." Gareth tried to lead Sarah away, but she pulled her arm free.
Sarah gave Stefan a last frown and, with a toss of her braid, she turned on her heel and left.
Stefan chewed the side of his mouth, deciding perhaps, in light of everything, it was for the best if Sarah was never his.
He spun away from the mess hall and took the stairs, two at a time, up to his room.
* * * *
If Sarah had been awake, she'd have noticed the change in pressure when he 'ported into her room. Luckily for Stefan, she wasn't skilled enough to put a teleport block on her room. Not yet. Nor had she thought to ask Thatcher to do so.
Stefan walked to her bed and looked
down at her, sleeping peacefully. Suffering bastard, he loved her. He knelt at her bedside and took a thick strand of her hair in his hand. He flicked open his pocketknife, cut off a small curl and placed it in an envelope, then returned the knife to his pocket.
Had things gone differently, he would have asked her for the lock as a keepsake, a token of her love, to carry with him, but he'd made his decision. If he couldn't have her, he'd have a small trifle for himself. To console himself. A reminder, even though he knew if he lived to be one hundred, he'd never forget her.
No, tell truth. It's to punish yourself.
He walked to the fire, leaned against the mantle and pulled out letter he'd written her from his jacket. After he propped it up on the stone mantle, he sat in the chair.
His eyes flicked to the letter. After rising to his feet, he snatched it up and tossed it into the flames. Writing it had been self-indulgent; giving it to her, pointless.
Stefan sat back in the chair to watch it burn. It was a fitting bonfire, he thought. Tonight, his hopes and dreams were going up in flames. He snorted at his maudlin thoughts.
You're an old fool whose past has finally caught up to you. Whether the sorcerer knew it or not, he'd won. Sarah would never be his and there'd be no child. No son.
Which loss hurt the worse, he couldn't say. Perhaps they were too intertwined to separate He stretched his legs toward the warmth, leaned back his head, and closed his eyes. I have to stop thinking. Please, my One God, let me stop thinking.
* * * *
Sarah woke shivering. It must have been just before dawn because the fire had gone out. Her spell to keep it burning hadn't lasted as long as she had planned. Another spell to work on in what little was left of her free time.
She tossed the covers back, pushed her feet into her slippers, pulled on her robe, and started toward the fireplace.
In the dim light of the glowing embers, she made out a figure sitting in her chair. In a heartbeat, she knew him. She walked to the chair and gazed down at Stefan, sleeping deeply. He looked so peaceful it was a shame to wake him.
She knelt beside him. For a moment, she allowed herself a small boon and leaned over his hand that rested on the arm of the chair, letting her lips touch his skin. She longed to linger, but she sat back and let out a deep breath.
It was wrong, him being in her room. If caught, she'd be in even more trouble than she was already. And the ramifications for Stefan were worse. He had to leave.
"Stefan, wake up." She shook his shoulder.
His head rolled to one side, but he slept on.
"Stefan, wake up." This time, she reached out her hand and stroked his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard. He hadn't shaved in days, it seemed.
No matter what he'd done, no matter how she tried to harden her heart against him, she wanted nothing more than to take his hand and lead him to her bed, to finish the night wrapped in his arms.
That could never happen. She wouldn't let it. She would never put herself in that position again. Never have her heart broken again.
He'd lost some of her trust in bringing her before the Chief and shaming her in his eyes. Even though the punishment had been slight, she would never forget the look of disappointment on the chief's face.
Stefan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Sarah." He stared at her and sat up.
"You shouldn't be here, Stefan. It isn't proper."
"I know, I just..." He pushed himself out of the chair and rubbed his chin, clearly embarrassed. "Fell asleep." His eyes searched hers.
"Just go back to your room, Stefan. I won't report you." Sarah stood and turned away. If she looked too long at the look of hunger in his eyes, she'd be in his arms.
The pressure in her ears changed and he was gone.
* * * *
"Who could it be at this early hour?" The priest rose from his cot, tossed his robe over his head, slipped on his sandals, and padded to the chapel door.
There was the knock again. He opened the door and looked out into the soft, grey mist of the morning. Was the sun even up yet? Hard to tell on days like this, with winter on its way.
"Stefan, what brings you to the chapel so early?"
He shrugged and stepped inside. The priest watched as Stefan went to the alcove, lit a candle, making the sacred signs to head, heart, shoulder, and shoulder, and then went to his usual bench to pray.
The priest went to this office and set a pot of tea on the iron hook over his small hearth. He decided to start the day instead of going back to sleep.
After an hour, Stefan appeared at the priest's doorway and cleared his throat.
"Yes, Stefan?" The priest, teacup in hand, looked up from the book he was reading, the collected lectures of their High Holy One.
"When do you know you are doing the right thing?"
"Well." The priest put his cup down, leaned back, and closed his eyes to think. "That would be when you're not ashamed of the doing or the telling." He fixed Stefan with his eyes, then picked up his cup and drank.
Stefan nodded and left the chapel.
Chapter 14
Late Friday afternoon, Rolf waited by the Chester village square as the large six-horse travel coach crossed the bridge over the stream.
He wore his dress uniform, the collar of his black jacket fastened securely at his throat, his silver inspector's crossed wands glinting in the sunlight, and his hip-length grey cape flung over his shoulders.
Who could fault him for wanting to look his best to greet Sarah's friend?
Most of the people nodded and smiled at him, glad to see someone representing right and light. He'd noticed the growing fear among the folk in these parts and wondered if it was the same elsewhere.
He tapped his fingers absently against the wand holstered at his hip as the coach pulled to a stop and the passengers began to disembark. As the people exited, Rolf scanned over the crowd. Both addlers and humans were busy unloading and loading the baggage from the back of the coach.
Today it was particularly full. After Sarah's description of her friend Luci, he was sure he'd recognize her. An unusual witch, in both looks and talents, Sarah had told him.
When what seemed like the last passenger had stepped down and moved to the back of the coach to retrieve his packages, Rolf slapped his hand to his side impatiently.
Did I miss her or did she miss the coach?
He searched the crowd. A woman stepped off the coach wearing a dark green velvet traveling cloak and carrying a large, multicolored carpetbag. The color of her cloak set off the deep red hair she wore loose to her waist. Her straight bangs almost covered her green eyes. Rolf's heart stopped. She was the most exquisite creature he'd ever seen. At last, his heart regained its beat.
He stepped over to her and cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but you must be Luci Greenwood, Sarah's friend." He addressed her with a deep hand-over-heart bow. Rolf couldn't keep his eyes off her face. Her penetrating eyes pulled him into their emerald depths.
"Aye, and you must be Inspector Rolf Creel. Sarah told me to expect you. You are just as she described you." Her voice was soft and melodic. "I only have the one bag here, so..." She motioned to the suitcase in her hand.
Rolf quickly took the bag and led the way to the waiting carriage. After securing it to the rear of the carriage, he helped her in. He climbed up next to her, snapped the reins and the pony took off at a trot as he spread a traveling blanket over her lap.
"Thank you, Inspector." Luci smiled at him as she settled back in the seat. "How long is the drive?"
"It's usually about an hour to Avalon Castle, where we're stationed."
"That's too bad. I was hoping it would be longer. I enjoy riding in the country and watching the scenery go by."
"I could slow the pony, if you like." He pulled on the reins. The sturdy grey pony slowed to a walk.
Luci's eyes flicked to his face. "How did you receive that fascinating scar?"
He raised his hand to touch his cheek. "In an accident, when
I was younger. From a tree, I think." He stumbled over his words. In truth, he couldn't remember how it had happened, like most of the scars on his body.
His nostrils flared. A woodsy scent with an underlying female musk spoke to his body like nothing before had ever done. Her scent. He must have been up wind of her all this time. His heart pounded in his chest and he had to control the images it invoked in his mind, wild runnings, dark shadows moving between the trees, and coupling with her on a bed of leaves.
The surge of desire wasn't the only thing swelling. Rolf pulled the blanket across his lap to hide the evidence of her affect on him.
Now was not the proper time for such thoughts. He swallowed and stared straight ahead. When would be the time?
They rode on for a while just looking at the scenery in silence. Rolf made a few attempts to start a conversation, but each time he drew a blank and closed his mouth before the first word came out.
Luci broke the silence. "It's been a long time since I've seen Sarah. I'm so glad I have the opportunity to visit and pleased she found a post."
"We're all pleased to have her here," Rolf said.
She looked at him sideways from under her bangs. "The chief was very generous to let me stay in the castle and I think I'm going to enjoy my visit very much. Things are looking very interesting."
Rolf turned to look at her and she boldly held his gaze.
She reached out her hand and placed it on his hand. "Tell me, Rolf, are you attached?"
He'd spent most of his adult life avoiding relationships with women. When he became "infected," as it was called by most people, he'd realized he'd never have a normal life again. There would be no wife, no children, and no home.
In the patrol, he had a home of sorts, a safe place to transform in, and even a few friends. A sort of life. No, he had a good life, a life with purpose here in at Avalon Castle.
However, he'd never met a woman who would willingly share his life and accept him for who and what he was. He knew an incredible woman like the one sitting next to him could never want him.
Was a life with purpose enough to offer this woman?
