Graeme’s breath shuddered. “What do you demand this time?”
When his task was done, he stood his full height and met both pairs of flaring eyes. “The female Amalea visited with you two nights after your mate and your general left the stronghold.”
Graeme’s eyes widened slightly. “How do you know that?”
“She delivered to you a ring. Give it to me.”
Graeme eyed him, his frown deep. “Why do you want it?”
“It is the price you must pay for my further assistance.”
He nodded and fished into the sack tied around his waist. The ring was meant for a woman, its’ sizing too small for a man. The vampire’s eyes burned brighter upon sight of it, and he presented his opened palm in anticipation. Graeme allowed it to drop from his fingers. Sutter clutched it tightly and turned away in a flash. "There is an old shepherds trail to the west of the village that leads to the River. I will lead them there and they will follow until the tributaries of Edinburgh.”
The child whimpered in the corner closest to the fire. Awe and wonder settled upon Sutter’s features, and he stepped forward slowly, carefully, as if unsure of what to expect. One foot from the basket, the vampire’s face reflected a series of emotions that ranged from disbelief to confusion.
“So, you are the reason for this battle,” he murmured, then, as if suddenly recalling there were witnesses about, stiffened his spine and turned away abruptly. His heavy footsteps lead to the window where he vanished in the snowy depths without a backward glance or another word.
“Can he be trusted?” Rhys inquired as Graeme went about the business of awkwardly finishing the nursing that Sutter had begun.
His hands trembled in pent up emotion at the welts there, deep and raw. “He upheld his end of the bargain once. There is no reason he will not do so again.”
Rhys secured the sword to his back and nodded, casting one last look at the babe. “I will go to the horde until your return.”
Graeme’s brows pulled together in a tight scowl. “You will need to explain my absence.”
Rhys nodded stiffly. “I will do what I must.”
Graeme stood his full height, awkwardly offering his hand to his general and friend. “I have put you in a precarious situation yet again.”
The general grinned crookedly and pulled him into a quick embrace, slapping his back with unsaid affection. “You have your mate and your son. For you, it is everything. But for me, the horde awaits."
Graeme nodded and could not bring himself to say goodbye when he turned his back and left the room.
Chapter Nineteen
A babe wailed.
Through the thick, dark haze of slumber, the piercing sounds of distress echoed in the recesses of her mind. Instinctively, she clutched onto the sound and forced her eyes to open. They were unresponsive, heavy. The cries of the child grew stronger, as if it suffered, and in a flash, memories flooded her and filled her with dread. No, this was not her baby.
Her child was dead.
A wail of agony seized her. Her parched lips were sealed shut by weakness. There was no effort to weep – tears fell through her burning eyes helplessly. The white hot pain that stroked her form each time she attempted to move could not compare to the furnace within her chest – or the void in her stomach.
Such agony must mean she was alive.
The tears fell even more. There would be no reprieve from the path she chose then. This was the torment she would have to bear for a millennia for going against the Coven. She wept silently until there were no more tears to cry, until her ragged breaths became once again even – until she heard the heavy, all too familiar footsteps of her mate.
Through swollen lids she forced her eyes open. He occupied a chair close to where she lay. Funny, she had not heard him sit. But then this was only a dream. And what a sweet one at that, for in his arms she spied a wee child, swaddled in a thick, woven blanket. Another hot tear trailed a path down her cheek, but she was too tired to stay awake. There was warmth suddenly, a rough hand gently stroking her cheek – and the scent of fresh blood. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Instinct took control when she could not, and as she drank her fill, she momentarily met flaming concerned eyes.
Day turned to night and night to day. Nightmares plagued her, of children burnt in a fire, of the Hunters butchering Graeme, of Rhys dying.
“Remember what you have cost him when your Coven comes looking for you!”
She wept.
With the nightmares the fever came. Icy fingers slithered across her body, and the blood she was so frequently fed she could not keep down. Familiar faces floated before her eyes – a dark haired Hunter with blazing blue eyes and a fierce countenance. Vilirus! Yes, it was her brother who mopped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. Her fingers found his wrist and she gripped there tightly. The pulse that throbbed beneath her thumb was strong and swift.
“Rest now,” he spoke tenderly. “All will be well. I promise.”
How many times had he spoken to her the same words a child when the dark shadows of the Coven terrified her? There is nothing to fear. The darkness and the vampire are one. It is a part of you.
A baby cried, and the relief that settled upon her like a blanket was ripped away and replaced by agony and rage. Vilirus dislodged her fingers from the death grip she implied upon his arm and pressed his lips to her head before moving away from her side. Panicked, she cried voicelessly for him to return before darkness once more claimed her.
****
Graeme drained the mug of ale and eyed the Hunter who sat in a far corner of the inn. Vilirus he called himself. Three days ago he had come from visiting his son in the nanny’s room to find the vampire whispering hushed words of comfort and reassurance to his semi-conscious female. His first attack was met with the sharpened tip of a sword, so swift was his reflex.
“I am here to help you,” he said in a breath.
“Who are you?”
“Her brother.”
Graeme snorted, body held tense, eyes heated, determined. “I don’t need your help. Now move away from her!”
“She is hurt. She needs to feed.”
“Do not think to tell me what she needs Hunter. It is because of your kind she is wounded.”
Genuine sorrow made the harsh lines of his face soften. “I know.” Just as swiftly he sheathed the sword and considered his sister on the bed. “The Elder sanctioned the beating privately. We only discovered what happened after she was rescued.”
“And you call us beasts,” Graeme growled. When he advanced, Vilirus did not move. Indeed, his eyes had stayed upon Amarinda.
“There has been a new edict – your head on a pike and her return.”
“Are you here to try and kill me then?” he asked in bitter humor.
“I am here to help in whatever way I can.”
Now, he sat before the dying flames of the fire. The Hunters he informed, scoured the land, looking for any sign of Amarinda. When none could be found, they sent an emissary to the stronghold and demanded an audience with him. Graeme stole a glance at the female who stirred beneath the thick blankets. Soon, they would have to get moving. It would not be long before the horde scattered to the four winds. When that happened, his son and his mate needed to be far away and as safe as possible.
Graeme made his way across the small room and brushed strands of hair from her face seconds before she opened her eyes. Emotion forced his throat to close momentarily as awareness dawned upon her in degrees. The hot tears that stung her eyes he kissed away silently.
“You – you came back for me,” she croaked. Her voice was thick and raspy from lack of use.
“Did you doubt it?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Sadness swamped her then, such that her eyes lowered and the sudden flush of warmth that possessed her frame at discovering him present was shadowed by the fresh tears that haunted her eyes. “The baby…” Harsh fingers sank themselves into the hair at the back of her head
. Graeme kissed her roughly, his tongue seeking as he re-discovered the recesses of her mouth. She attempted to pull away. He held her firm. “Please…”
“The child lives.”
Stunned, her large eyes met his, hope shadowed by uncertainty. “Do not jest,” she managed, each breath pronounced. “Do not be so cruel and jest…”
Graeme linked her fingers with his and kissed her ashen knuckles firmly. Slowly, carefully, he recounted to her the details of the days passed until all she could have done was whimper and weep and speak in her Mother Language. His hands found themselves stroking her hair and arms of their own accord. When her weeping had run its course, he listened to the light, hesitant steps of her brother approach. She must have heard it as well, for her head lifted sharply and a hard edge chilled the warmth in her orbs.
“What is he doing here?” she demanded stiffly.
“He is here to help,” Graeme granted.
Her fingers sank into the coarse wool on the bed and she forced herself to move. “Get out!” Vilirus’ lips tightened in a thin line. Still, he said nothing. The pain in his chest reflected only in his eyes. Graeme pushed her back gently upon the bed, a dark frown drawn between his brows.
“Maintain your temper,” he clucked tenderly, unconcerned by the tremble of her lips. “This is no way to greet your son.”
That soothed her, for some of the tension left her body, and when she finally laid her head to rest upon the pillow, she turned her face pointedly to the firelight. Graeme stroked the hollow of her cheek and planted a gruff kiss upon her head before turning to the Hunter who had yet to take his eyes off her.
“It seems that your presence is not wanted by either one of us,” he drawled thickly.
Vilirus seemed to stand straighter still. “Be that as it may, I gave my word to our father that I would ensure her safety. Until such a time when I am of no use, you and I are stuck together.”
Graeme snickered and wrapped fingers of steel around his upper arm. “Count it lucky that you still live to be so obtuse, vampire. She may be your sister, but she is my mate. All she has to do is say the word and I will have your head sent to your precious Elder along with her regards. Do not be foolish and upset her.”
The Hunter shrugged out of the hold and straightened the strap of the daggers upon his back before meeting his gaze, eyes cold and unmoving. Graeme turned his back and left the room, summoning the wet-nurse as he did so. From down the hall she ventured with the wee babe snuggled warmly to her breast, suckling greedily. After another moment, he was disengaged. Graeme cradled him and returned to the room. Vilirus was nowhere to be seen.
“I do not want him here,” Amarinda stated with frosty finality.
“Neither do I. But enough of him. Here is our son.”
She faced him instantly, the shadows that haunted her face gone in a flash. Hot tears stung her eyes and her form trembled fiercely when he deposited the bundle in her arms. Graeme pulled a stool closer to the bed and considered her face and the fleeting emotions that flickered there. Wonder, happiness, anger, relief, confusion – a complexity he did not try to understand or explain. Her fingers stroked the hair upon his head, and she pressed her nose to the tender flesh of his neck and inhaled the essence of him deeply, familiarizing herself with his unique scent. Each finger and toe was counted several times, each part of his body inspected as if to reassure herself he was not bruised or wounded in any fashion. And when she was fully satisfied, she met Graeme’s eyes boldly.
“Has he a name?”
He nodded but once. “Ulleam.”
She scrunched her nose in displeasure and scrutinized him again. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “Rhys saved his life,” she muttered. A long tear stained her cheek.
“Aye.” Graeme’s voice cracked, moved with emotion at the memory of exactly how he had discovered the duo.
A small smile claimed her lips. “Then Ulleam it is, for he is strong.”
Graeme considered his mate and son, both inspecting the other in awe and pleasure. His sharp eyes caught a glimpse at the healing wound upon her shoulder, one of the many that was ruthlessly crisscrossed upon her back. He clenched his jaw and not for the first time, managed to barely control the white rage that seized him. The marks upon her body healed slowly, for each wound ran deep.
He felt the warmth of her hand tentatively stroke his and captured her fingers within his own quickly, overwrought with emotion to do naught else than press his forehead to her flesh.
“What are we to do now?” she asked softly. He met her eyes. Exhaustion sapped her strength.
“I have planned it all. There is no need to concern yourself about the minor details. Come, you need rest.” He attempted to lift the child from her arms but she shook her head, her grip tightening.
“I will have my son with me a little longer,” she announced, her eyes focused on the infant. Graeme nodded. The desire to press his lips to hers, to reassure himself that she was indeed in his care once more humbled him.
“We need to travel as soon as the weather holds. Feed.”
She struggled to sit. Graeme reached for the blade strapped to his boot and hesitated before sinking himself upon the side of the bed. It was there he offered her his neck. She gasped, stunned by his show of intimacy no doubt, but he did not care. She was his mate, and he needed to feel her lips upon him. There was a quiver in his hand when he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He considered her lips and her lashes that were clumped together from the tears she had cried. Even with the weight she lost and the dark shadows beneath her eyes, she was beautiful. On instinct he kissed her, a tender exploration that charged emotions he felt cowardly to verbally express. Her seeking tongue ventured into his mouth and he held his breath as liquid fire exploded within. His need became a demand, and soon enough, her labored breaths and the pounding of his own heart warned that he needed to pause. She was hardly strong enough for this. Marshaling his self-control, he moved back swiftly. The whimper of disappointment she offered almost made him change his mind.
“There will be time enough for that later, when you are well.” He managed to sound almost convincing. A hot blush stained her cheeks, but not before the nurse charged into the room, her wide hips rolling.
“Tis time for Ulleam’s nap,” she announced. He retrieved the child and handed him over to the woman who cooed to the infant on her way out. As soon as the door was closed, Graeme attempted to kiss her again. This time, with this touch, he could not contain the moisture in his eyes.
Amarinda gasped and pulled away, stunned at the salty mixture of tears that invaded their meshed lips. He attempted to turn away, but her firm staying hands held his face in place. Worry pleated her brow. He was shedding tears. Her heart pounded, in concern, in love, in confusion. This was the first time she had ever seen him thus.
“I have died a thousand deaths, thinking I had lost you,” came a thick confession. “Ach woman…I have been such a fool.”
Love and warmth blossomed in her chest, drowning out the discomfort upon her back and the growl in her stomach. Words were not needed, not when she cupped his face within her palms and kissed him fiercely, greedily. Amidst their love-play, she fed. Slowly, he nudged her upon her stomach to view the damage done to the flesh of her back. His touch was tender and hesitant, stroking the sides of her ribs and the dimples at the bottom of her spine in wonder and regret.
“We travel to England. Once you and the child are safe, I will return and make the Elder pay for doing this.”
She shuddered at the cold fury that laced his voice, so contradictory to the warmth of his touch. “He is no longer here.”
She groaned the exact moment his hand left her body. “What do you mean?”
Fighting through the haze of exhaustion, she struggled to turn to her side and winced considerably. There in the glow of the firelight, his features were cast in shadows and planes. The intense expression on his face lent the flare in his honeyed gaze an almost sinister light. “I k
now my grandfather. He would not stay for fear that there will be a battle.”
“So he flees? Like a coward?”
She allowed her eyes to fall. “The females will be taken to safety, as well as the Elder and those charged with his protection.” Only when she dared to look into his stony countenance did she see the anger that flared within his eyes. “It matters not. I am here now.”
“It matters not?” he repeated distastefully, moving away to reach for the sword. “They dared to hunt you like an animal, attempted to murder my son, and whipped you – a female – as if you are nothing but a criminal simply because I am your mate!” He spat the words furiously. “I want their heads on pikes! All of them!”
Amarinda considered the heavy breaths he took in a vain effort to contain his emotions and fiddled with the frayed end of the coarse blanket before nibbling her swollen lips. “Another Coven was sent to retrieve me,” she whispered. Hot tears stung her eyes, reliving each moment even as the memories came. “I was not whipped because of us. It was punishment for severing the head of the Hunter who…” Her voice broke. Her clouded gaze met his stunned eyes.
“Whose head did you sever?” he pressed, stunned.
She dashed the tears away and laughed hauntingly, suddenly too tired to continue. “I took revenge the only way I knew how. They were honoring him for killing our son…”
His large arms embraced her and she hollered in agony. He put her away from his quickly, face sorrowful. “I cannot touch you, cannot make love to you…I swear on my life this shall not go un-avenged. When I return -”
“But you know the Elder will not stay here.” She clutched the blanket to her chest, confused. “What do you mean return?”
“What they have done to you in unforgivable,” he explained patiently, stroking the length of her cheek. “And I need to explain to the horde that I have found my mate among the enemy.”
She hesitated and shook her head after a moment’s pause. “You – you cannot. They will kill you.” He shrugged as if it were not a serious consequence and earned her scowl. “You have bargained with a vampire to have me brought here. Now that we are safe, can we not simply disappear?”
The Sanction Page 15
