by Amy Freeman
Strings of brilliant flowers draped the grounds, hanging from trees and working into the landscape. The surface of a small pond shimmered with white lit candles, floating like ghosts on glass.
Ashbel moved toward the castle door. Sam followed, getting as close as she dared. A tree close to the entrance provided cover. Ashbel stretched his hand out toward the door, checking for something. Something, it seemed, he expected. Upon touching the handle, his hand flew back as a visible shock of energy blasted outward, covering and sealing the entire castle in gleaming golden blue. A gale of wind ensued, steeped in the same energy veiling the structure, alive with intelligence. Anvil’s intelligence.
Breath ripped from her lungs—God no. Not this.
Of all the visions and dreams she had experienced, this information was quite possibly the most significant yet. This was not a dream. A cynical smile lit his features. He reached to his side, pulling something from his belt. Sam squinted, trying to make out the object in his hands.
A dagger, coated in golden blue light. Trembling, she took a step back. She couldn’t watch this happen, but she had to. Follow him Samantha!
Against her will, she shot forward, running up the hill in a crouch, finding refuge behind the staircase wall leading to the door where he now stood. Ashbel held out his hand, the house still radiant with golden blue energy. Holding the dagger to his outstretched palm, he sliced the blade through the center of his hand.
Blood flowing freely, he reached for the door handle again. Upon making contact the energy field sucked backward in a retreating rush, tangling in wisps with the harrowing winds.
Sam stared, astonished.
Ashbel turned the knob, easily disengaging the lock, and pushed the door open. A wet, sticky substance emerged through the skin of Sam’s right palm. She glanced down, palm upturned, and reeled. A gaping wound, cut deep through muscle, filled her palm with blood. Nausea crept in, dizziness. She grabbed at the wall, breathing in, desperate to stay conscious. She pulled her hand into her shirt, applying pressure.
Ashbel glanced at his hand, eyes flickering. The wound sealed, disappearing as if it had never existed, and he slipped inside the castle door.
Sam moved to follow him, shifting her injured hand, checking the haggard flesh as she reached the steps. No wound. Her soft skin perfect, healed. She lifted her eyes to the castle, not knowing if she could take anymore. She made herself move, edging the castle door open. She stepped inside.
A grand staircase monopolized the far wall of the foyer. Lit sconces threw dancing shadows across imposing stone walls with beautiful ornate rugs covering the cold floor. With determination, she took the stairs in tiptoe. In the middle of her climb, she grabbed the banister for support as the staircase shifted beneath her in a violent lurch. The earth itself beneath the castle had moved. Her heart pounded as she stabilized and forced herself to continue her ascent.
Reaching the top she found two options. Long medieval hallways stretched out in both directions. At the far end, to the left, a hint of light spilled outward from a half open door. Sam crept down the hall, one silent step at a time until she reached the cracked doorway. Leaning in, she peered inside in time to see Ashbel remove something from his cloak.
Two leather straps flew from his hands, making instant contact with Anavi’s wrists, tethering her to the bed posts.
Anavi made no sound, showed no emotion, as if placed under some sort of spell, but her lucid gaze revealed she knew what was happening. Her stunning feline eyes followed her husband’s twin, moving to her side without emotion, without feeling.
All at once, he lifted the glowing kindjal in the air above her heart and plunged it down into her chest. Sam’s hands flew to her mouth, she turned, dropping to the floor, stifling the horror pushing its way from her throat. Keep watching! She willed her gaze back to the crack in the door.
Anavi made no sound; no attempt to fight.
He pulled the blade from her dying body, holding the crafted kindjal in his hand. Leaning forward, his muscled frame bent over her, lowering his masculine face to hers. His lips parted, brushing her mouth, soft, full edges forcing her lips open. With slow steady focus he inhaled. Golden blue light lifted like a veil from Anavi’s body, rising from her core, channeling in a concentrated path toward Ashbel’s. With one steady breath the stolen essence traveled through his body like sweet honey. He raised—massive chest rising with another deep inhale, formidable body quivering at the potent surge, the flush of unspeakable power. Sam heaved, suppressing sobs. Tears filled her eyes as she archived every gruesome detail against her will. The damage was done. She could do nothing. She had done nothing.
Turning, she ran through the ancient hallway and down the staircase to the front entryway, no care given to the sound of her shoes hitting each step, not caring who saw her. Through the grand foyer and out the front door she flew, faster and faster down the side of the cliff in the dark. Enchanted winds howled—Anvil’s vain attempt to protect Anavi. Anavi was dead. Sam stumbled and fell, hitting a rough patch of earth.
Tears flowed freely as she scrambled to her feet and broke for the village, running, sprinting. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care as long as it put distance between her and this unspeakable event. The air was thick with it, her heightened senses absorbing it like water to a sponge. As she reached the edge of the village her body went weak with a sound she would never forget as long as she lived. Anvil’s desperate cries rang from the darkened forest beyond.
The voices of the other men sounded behind him, clipped Russian punctuating the air as they raced toward the village. Sam dove into an alcove, openly sobbing as they entered the street. Leaning into the stone wall she sank to the ground in a corner, Anvil racing past her at an incredible speed. Her heightened senses brought the event to a crawl, as if time slowed. She saw everything. She felt everything.
In the split second it took for him to shoot past her, his anguish ruptured within her, feeling every aspect of desperation contorting his beautiful face, the mad grieving agony ripping him apart, shredding her heart to pieces. Anvil’s suffering could not be measured.
Curled in a ball, she hugged her legs, sobbing. An overwhelming sense of guilt crushed her heart and she found herself reciting I’m sorry. I’m sorry, over and over again. Consciousness slipped away, momentarily taking with it the unbearable pain. A rushing sound, a blinding flash of light, and a hard smack to her back.
“Sam!” Trin’s powerful arms engulfed her, folding her into his chest, his angelic aura completely clean of the hideous blackened sorrow saturating her only moments before. She had not yet opened her eyes. Disorientation crept in. Was he real? Was she trapped in the nightmare escaping into her own psyche? He kissed her head and held her close, stroking her hair, his rich voice low and desperate. “Sam, open your eyes. Look at me. I’m here.” He turned, speaking to someone in Russian.
Sam’s eyes flew open at the foreign dialogue, stealing her solace. She pushed Trin back, scanning her surroundings.
Loosening his hold on her, Trin clipped out another Russian phrase, his crystal eyes laced with panic.
Sam saw the campus in the distance, the familiar mountain range, the crisp smell of dying leaves and brittle earth. She raised her eyes to find Anvil standing behind Trin, expression filled with concern. She fell forward, heart shattering at the sight of him, choking back the tightness in her throat, threatening to release a new flood of tears.
Trin pulled her back to him. “Sam, It’s okay. You’re all right.”
Anvil squatted down. “She’s trying to speak,” he said.
Her delicate, wet lashes lifted meeting eyes with Anvil. “I know what happened,” she said, pained eyes begging for forgiveness. “I watched her die.”
Anvil went completely ashen as Sam crumpled forward into Trin, sobbing into his chest.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
T rin walked Sam to her dorm and followed her through the door. Now they knew Ashbel had used his ident
ical DNA to break the shield Anvil had left in place to protect Anavi. Anvil had listened as Sam relayed what she had witnessed, how she had seen the hunt for Ashbel, how he had taken Anavi’s essence into himself after taking her life.
“He did something to her,” Sam insisted. “Anavi couldn’t fight back. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even show emotion.”
Stoic silence permeated the warrior as he listened, enduring a detailed rendition of how his brother had killed his wife. His plan was to deliver the news to Mikhail, hoping he had found something to even the playing field between the tribe and the enemy.
Trin had pulled Anvil aside. “Sam just traveled back in time,” he said. “That wasn’t a vision. She was there, and look at her. This is too much. It’s wiping her out...and there’s something else. I’m nearly certain she teleported a few days ago, after rehearsal in the dance building. That one concerns me the most.”
Anvil looked at Trin, acknowledging the implication, but once again, without the Oracle intact, none of their questions could be answered. “I’ll talk to Mikhail. I’ll find out everything I can.” And with that, he had gone. A harvest orange sun cast shadows across the campus as it sank into the horizon. Sam was due at the dance building, her first performance only a few short hours away.
“You‘re sure you want to do this?” Trin said. “There’s no way for you to back out for just one night?”
Sam looked up at him, gathering her things together. “Would you back out of a meet?”
Trin took a breath and glanced at the floor.
“Exactly,” she said. She zipped up her bag and threw it over her shoulder.
Trin glanced up again. “I just can’t imagine you performing after everything you just went through.”
Sam shrugged, exasperated. “I’m going to have to get used to this, right?” she said. “I don’t have a choice in the matter. I can’t turn it off. I mean, I guess this is who I am,” she said. “This is what I do, right?”
Trin glowered at the wall. He hated that she was right. He felt like he spent all of his time watching her suffer and it went against everything he was created to do. He was supposed to protect her, not stand by while she endured one accost after another.
Sam watched him. “You know,” she said, “I just realized how much you truly need me.”
Trin huffed. “Just now, huh?”
“You keep trying to talk me out of doing what you all need me to do,” she replied. “I think your rationale totally took a hike the day you met me.”
“It absolutely did,” he responded. “You have no idea how difficult this is for me. This isn’t how it normally goes. I feel like I’m failing you at every turn.
“Trin, I know my limits.”
“Do you?”
Sam walked over to him, taking his hands in hers. He continued glaring at the wall, trying to resist her feminine warmth. “Part of keeping me safe is maintaining our cover. If we deviate too much from our normal schedules and responsibilities you may as well paint a big target on me. Am I right?”
Trin’s glare remained on the wall, his jaw set in defiance. His hands folded more securely around hers.
“I am,” she said. “You know I am.” She reached up, pulling his masculine face down to hers. “Where do you go to get yourself right if you’re freaked out, Trin?”
He stared back. “To the pool.”
“Right,” she said. “I go to the stage. After a day like today, I need to perform. It’s my outlet.” She smiled. “Until you let me have you.”
A hint of the smile she loved so much lit his eyes. Her fingers slid over his triceps, under his sleeves, wrapping around his muscular shoulders. Going up on her toes she pulled him forward, pressing her lips to his, lingering. She pulled back, searching his eyes. “I know how much you worry about me,” she said. “I can feel your emotions, too. Try to remember what you always tell me. You keep telling me how powerful I am. Allow me to use that.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m trying,” he said. Trin’s hands drifted down to her hips where they rested, pulling her close, encasing her in his embrace.
Her arms locked around his neck. “You’re a good teacher,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear lobe.
“Okay, you’re killing me,” he said. “Go get ready.”
The ballet showcase was about to begin. Trin and Anna had orchestra seats up front, but when she tried to take him into the theater he paused. “Go ahead and find our seats,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Anna grinned, shaking her head. “Her parents are waiting to meet you, Trin.”
“I know,” he replied. “I’ll hurry.”
“Don’t get busted,” she said, throwing him a casual smile, and wandered through the crowded entry.
Trin smiled and turned from the doors. At his insistence Sam had promised to meet him at the dressing rooms downstairs before the show. He made a solemn vow he would not come barging in to save her from anything, even if Ashbel himself were inside the building. He was loathe to agree, but she had made her point. The dressing room was off limits.
The compromise was that she would meet him at the stairs before curtain and before he was due in his seat, doors closed, insisting he abide theater etiquette.
He wandered away from the crowd and down the hallway. When he came to the stairs she was already there, stunning, like something out of a fairy tale. Tight white material hugged her slight hips falling in a loose drape barely covering her slender thighs, her bare midriff exposed, interrupted only by a tight band of material hugging her breasts to her chest, delicate shoulders bare. Something flashed in his azure eyes, holding him in place at the top of the stairs. A pause, and he descended the steps with a bouquet of roses, a deep beautiful red.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and moved toward her dressed for the occasion in dark designer slacks, and a suit coat to match. He lifted the bouquet, his open collar parting with his movement, teasing her with a hint of what lay beneath. A slight smile ignited softness in his eyes. She drew in the breath he had taken from her and smiled, a flush to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
He nodded.
She gave him a once over. “Do you ever clean up nice. Where do you shop? London?”
He raised an eyebrow, pursed lips accentuating his masculine jaw. “Occasionally.”
Sam smirked.
He took in her heavily painted face. “I love your makeup.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “I’m going to wear it like this from now on.”
“Awesome.” He searched her face as if sincerely looking for something, then lowered his face and pressed his soft lips to her neck just above her collar bone. She giggled sensing his dilemma. “I can’t...” he gestured toward her face, “you know, you’re all...that’s a lot of makeup.”
Sam laughed.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, his tone more serious.
“I’m good,” she replied. “I really am. I’m excited.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “I’m glad,” he replied. “I’ll be right there the whole time if that changes.”
“I know,” she said. “Have you met my parents yet?”
Trin shook his head. “No. I guess I should go get that done, huh?”
“Probably. They’re excited to meet you.”
“Okay.” He lingered for a moment, tall muscular frame towering over her. “I don’t remember what I’m supposed to say. Is it bad luck to say ‘good luck’, or don’t break a leg or something?”
Sam laughed out loud. “Just close your eyes for the final lift so you don’t have nightmares,” she replied.
Trin huffed, glancing at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he responded. “What are your parents going to think? Have you told them Ivan is gay?”
Sam balked, but before she could shove him, he pressed her body to his in an iron embrace, his lips hard against her neck with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Trin” she whispered, stifling another laugh. She pushed him off her, while
resisting the urge to pull him closer. “My costume is going to be a mess now,” she said, giving him a shove.
“You look beautiful,” he replied.
She flushed, lowering her eyes and smiling. She shot a brief glance over her shoulder. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” he said. He pulled her close, stealing another kiss on the neck.
“Trin!”
“I can’t kiss you anywhere else!”
A moment passed between them, eyes locked.
“Love you,” she said.
“Love you,” he responded. “More than I can say.” His hand drifted to the small of her back, fingers leaving a trail of hot ice on her skin. He rested there a moment, his electric eyes gleaming, contrasting his tanned masculine face. He turned, darting up the steps and back to the theater doors right before they closed.
Trin watched Sam dance with a reverent awe, her movements so graceful, so elegant...unparalleled perfection. The whole audience was moved, but Trin could see what they all felt—the multifaceted energy surrounding her form. Every time she pushed off the floor she engaged her element and it responded giving her added strength and balance, propelling her movements with brilliant results.
The showcase came to an end. The curtain closed following an impressive finale, and then drew back as the performers came forward to take their bows. Sam and Ivan came to the front, eliciting a standing ovation and thunderous applause. Trin started a whooping fist pump, getting an elbow in the ribs from Anna, laughing. “It’s not a ball game, Trin.”
He shrugged, grinning, and released a sharp whistle.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
T rin, Anna, and Sam made their way through the parking lot to Trin’s truck. Sam had showered and changed in the dressing room and they were headed to Trin’s to get him some comfortable clothes. Anna had introduced him to Sam’s parents who showered him with praise over his performance and representation in the Olympics. But there was a party to attend—Griffin’s twenty second birthday, and they had promised Vig an appearance despite their overwhelming weekend schedules. Trin’s next meet was in Las Vegas the next day. He was terrifi ed about leaving Sam by herself, but they truly had no choice. He was due at the meet and she was due on stage. Any deviation from that would bring undue attention and very possibly expose Sam completely.
