Heart of the Hunter

by Lara Adrian

  She dragged her attention away from her brother. "I don't know."

  Deep black lashes swept down lazily to shutter le Nantres' intense green eyes. If he was angered with her answer, his blithe expression betrayed nothing. Nor did his calm voice, uttered but a hair above a growl. "I know he's come here to retrieve one of the Chalice stones. I need you to tell me where he is. It will be easier on all of you that way, I promise."

  "Your promises mean nothing. I have heard plenty of what your word is worth to know it cannot be trusted." She sent a worried look toward Kenrick and caught the nearly imperceptible nod of his head. He shared her judgment, as he shared her conviction that the Dragon Chalice could never fall into le Nantres' clutches--or his nefarious employer's. "I wouldn't tell you where Braedon was, even if I knew. If you mean to kill us, you'll do it regardless of what I say now."

  "Your fire is admirable, dear lady, but do not presume to know my methods...or my motivations. The mistake you make here would be grave, I assure you."

  He stared at her, chilling her with the depth of bleak detachment in his gaze. If Draec le Nantres had a heart at all, surely it was buried beneath a mountain of cold, hard stone. His mouth was his warmest feature. It curved into a smile that bordered on the sensual, a profanity of nature, when it could so easily delivered the black threat that still lingered in the hallowed corridor of the abbey.

  "You know I mean it," he said. "And you are afraid."

  She could say nothing to deny it. Her heart was racing. Her breathing was becoming erratic and shallow the longer le Nantres watched her, waiting for her to comply with his orders. He could wait to eternity, she decided, trying without success to tamp down the rush of panic that kept threatening to overtake her. To her further alarm, the dark-haired knight strode up to where she stood, imprisoned by Ferrand's unyielding grasp around her waist. Like a bird of prey sizing up its quarry, le Nantres moved in with light, predatory ease.

  She considered lashing out at him, alive with the need to strike something. If not for Ferrand trapping her arms at her sides, she would have done just that. Jaw clamped so tight it hurt, Ariana glared at le Nantres in mute rage. Reflexively, her fingers curled into fists. The object of her contempt merely grunted in response, not missing even that small act of defiance.

  "Rash behavior will only bring you trouble," he told her. He threw a look at Ferrand. "Secure the lady's hands."

  "Leave her alone," Kenrick snarled as the order was quickly carried out. He, too, bore a look of murder, all of it centered on Draec le Nantres. "Damn it, leave her alone." He tested his captors' hold on him and was rewarded with a knee driven into the small of his back. He arched taut with the blow, restrained from falling by the rough hands gripping his arms. The breath he dragged into his lungs soughed sharply in the quiet of the passageway.

  Ariana winced to see Kenrick in renewed pain. A tear flooded her eye and spilled down her cheek. Le Nantres caught it on the tip of his finger with all the gentleness of a lover. He was standing before her now, scarcely a hand's width separating them. Ariana could hardly breathe for the subtle invasion of the air around her. Le Nantres reached out and took her chin in his hand, tipping her head back until she was staring up into his hell-born gaze.

  "Perhaps you don't have to tell me where Braedon is," he said, studying her at length. He stared into her eyes, as though stripping away her flimsy veneer of bravery and seeing straight to the depths of her panicked heart. He lifted his hand to touch her. Ariana flinched away, an instinctual reaction that he seemed to find amusing. Or advantageous. The profane smile widened. "Perhaps le Chasseur--the acutely perceptive Hunter--can be persuaded to come to us instead."

  "He already has."

  Braedon's deep voice came from down the length of one of the darkened corridors. Ariana turned her head toward the sound, relieved to hear him, yet fearing what danger awaited him now that he was found out. He stood in a slim wedge of light near the end of the passageway. Flickering torch glow poured out from the doorway behind him, haloing his wide shoulders and warrior's stance. Unearthly, radiant with the light that broke all around him, he had never looked more fierce. Nor more avenging.

  "Let them go, Draec. This is between you and me now."

  Le Nantres chuckled as he took a careful step down the corridor. "Between you and me? Well, now. My employer would likely argue that point. He wants the Dragon Chalice; I am merely the tool by which he'll get it."

  With an ungentle shove, Ferrand set Ariana walking down the passageway, their pace slow behind Draec's calculated swagger. She could just see Braedon's face past le Nantres' thick shoulder. He watched the group of them approach, his teeth now bared in an antagonistic grin.

  "You're out to serve yourself, Draec. I know you too well to think otherwise. I knew it the moment I realized you hadn't returned the satchel to de Mortaine. If you seek the Chalice, you do so for your own purposes."

  "So, you want to paint me as a villain, do you?" Le Nantres gave an insolent shrug as they advanced toward where Braedon waited. "No matter. I certainly don't intend to explain myself to you, old friend. Let's end this, before someone gets hurt."

  "Release Ariana and her brother, and we can end it here and now."

  The edge of Braedon's mantle shifted as he spoke, skating ever so slightly with the movement of his body. That hint of movement would not have caught Ariana's notice at all, save that the subtle shift of light from the chamber at his back betrayed an object that Braedon hid behind him. Shiny. Golden. Barely visible for how he tried to conceal it behind his back, the object glinted like a beacon in the torchlight. It was a glimmering, golden cup.

  For one astonished instant, Ariana wondered if it was the Calasaar cup. But no, she thought, recalling the warnings of Braedon's mother. With his shifter blood, he could never touch any part of the Dragon Chalice, so this must be...dear God, it was a ruse.

  But le Nantres and his men knew naught of Braedon's legacy. Their eyes were on the prize, greed for the Chalice treasure overshadowing caution.

  "He holds something behind his back," Ferrand advised Draec in a smug whisper. "Do you see it there?"

  "That's right," Braedon said, utterly calm in his deception. "If you want Calasaar, le Nantres, then come and get it."

  Chapter 25

  As intended, Draec and his men began to close in. Braedon tilted the brass goblet he held behind him, inviting the light from the ossuary to glint once more on the hammered golden bowl. Taking the goblet from the treasure room had been an impulsive bid for leverage, seized upon the instant he realized Draec had captured Ariana. He could not hope to pass off the rather unremarkable cup for the ornate, mystical Calasaar, but then he had no intention of trying. All he needed was a decoy, a diversion.

  He backed into the ossuary, then farther still, leading them into the dim crypt of the treasure room. Draec followed willingly enough, his gaze never straying far from the cup Braedon secreted behind him. Le Nantres stepped over the threshold of the vault, followed by the others. Ariana looked worried, more for him than herself, despite Ferrand's bruising hold on her. The bastards had bound her hands. The leather cording was cutting into the delicate skin at her wrists, leaving red chafe marks. Ferrand seemed only too eager to worsen her discomfort. He drew her arms tight, ensuring her abrasions would hurt her all the more. Braedon wanted to cut the Frenchman down over the very idea, but he had to keep his head. He had to proceed with caution.

  Positioning himself far into the chamber, he watched as Draec came to stand some half a dozen paces before him. Ferrand held Ariana to Braedon's left, well out of reach. Kenrick and the two guards on him took their place on the right, effectively knitting him in, should he entertain the idea that any of them could escape to attempt flight.

  Le Nantres crossed his arms over his chest, arrogant now that he was in control. That was one of his greatest flaws, Braedon recalled. Arrogance was a warrior's most crippling weakness, and well he knew that. It could make a man careless. Even a man as cu
nning and controlled as Draec le Nantres.

  "So, Calasaar was here all along," Draec remarked.

  Braedon did not answer. He was careful to keep the cup out of direct sight, lest his ruse be discovered too soon.

  Le Nantres held out his hand, expectant. "Give it to me."

  "I will. But not until you release the woman and her brother. I want no harm to come to them."

  Draec's expression grew deadly serious. "The one in harm's way is you, old friend. Give me the cup, or you force my hand in this. How it ends tonight is up to you."

  Braedon kept his gaze trained on the dark knight, giving him nothing. "Tell me one thing."

  Le Nantres quirked a raven brow, an affectation of patience, though Braedon could tell what little he possessed was beginning to wear thin.

  "The day you betrayed me and the rest of our men. How long had you been planning it? It was you who first told me about the Dragon Chalice. And it was you who convinced me to meet with de Mortaine about the first stone. You knew I would go after it, just as you knew de Mortaine would be waiting to kill me--to kill all of us--once we returned."

  "You make it sound simple. It wasn't. "

  "I am glad to hear that," Braedon drawled sarcastically.

  "There was little I could do once it had all started. Silas de Mortaine is a dangerous man. He made it clear that I was either with him, or against him."

  "I've never known you to cow before anyone, Draec. Do you mean to tell me that you feared de Mortaine so much, you willingly brought about the slaughter of your brothers in arms?"

  "It wasn't fear," he said at length.

  "Then what?"

  "Have you any idea what the Dragon Chalice will mean to the man who finally claims it? We are talking about wealth and power beyond imagining. We're talking about the prospect of life immortal. I won't be stopped in this. Not by you, nor anyone else. I must have that Chalice."

  "Don't you mean de Mortaine must have it?"

  Draec's mouth curved into a dragon-like smile. "It is time for you to decide, old friend. Do you give me Calasaar, or do I take it by force? How do you wish this to end?"

  Ferrand, obviously gleeful with the notion of imminent bloodshed, wrenched Ariana tighter against his portly body. Lips flattened against his teeth, he chuckled when she tried to pull away from him. To add further insult, Ferrand grinned at Braedon, then crudely licked the side of Ariana's neck from base to ear. She cried out, revolted, and every muscle in Braedon's body went taut with the need to kill.

  No more waiting. He would end this now. On his terms.

  "Very well," he ground out from between gritted teeth. He tightened his fingers around the cool metal of the cup at his back. Slowly, he began to bring it around. "You want the damned cup, le Nantres--then have it."

  As Draec came forward to seize the cup, Braedon jerked his arm upward, releasing the goblet to the air. It hurtled high above their heads, cartwheeling top over bottom into the arced space of the crypt.

  "You bloody fool," le Nantres growled, turning to follow the soaring path of the cup. "Get it!" he shouted to Ferrand as the goblet sailed toward him through the air.

  But the Frenchman seemed unable or unwilling to move, let alone comply. His eyes went wide with horror as the golden vessel spun toward him. In the instant his attention was stolen away, Ariana lunged out of his grasp. She needn't have bothered, for Ferrand was already shoving her aside to escape the path of the cup he feared would incinerate him on contact.

  An instant later, Braedon caught her in his arms. "Are you all right?" he asked, whipping his dagger free of its sheath and slicing away her bonds.

  She nodded. "Be careful."

  In that moment of chaos, Draec vaulted forward to catch the goblet as it dropped. Kenrick used the diversion to his advantage as well, ramming his elbow into the chest of the guard who held him at knifepoint. While the dullard coughed from the blow, Kenrick wrenched the weapon from his slackened grasp and rounded on the second man, gutting him in one swift blow. The second guard moved quickly then, drawing his sword with a roar of rage.

  Braedon saw the deadly attack coming. Although he knew it would be to his best advantage to fell Draec, or even Ferrand, he could not stand by while Ariana watched her brother take a lethal blow. His dagger cool and heavy in his hand, the sole weapon he had in that moment, Braedon took quick aim and let the blade fly. It arrowed across the ossuary and struck home, planting to the hilt in the heart of its target. The big knight went down with a curse on lips, dead before he hit the ground.

  Kenrick threw him a look of gratitude, but it turned to stricken alarm an instant later.

  Behind him, Ariana cried out a warning. "Braedon! Look out!"

  He turned his head, too late. Ferrand's sword came at him in a flash of steel, a sure strike to his midsection. But in the instant it would have torn into him, something stopped it--Ariana's slender form. She came in front him, too abruptly for him to react, her arms spread wide, spine pressed against him like a fragile shield. Everything happened in a blink, yet the motions played out in sluggish horror, as though time crept forward in agonizing slowness.

  Braedon saw the long blade protruding from beneath Ariana's ribcage. He heard her gasp of startlement, saw her arms drop down limply at her sides. He felt an excruciating wave of anguish--of wordless shock--as Ferrand drew back his weapon. The sword came away from her, stained with blood. Ariana's blood, which was spilling out of her and onto the slate tiles of the ossuary floor.

  "No!" Braedon's voice was a pained howl, booming in the sudden pall of the chamber. "Oh, God--no!"

  Eyes wide with shock, Ariana began to sink slowly to her knees. He held her, easing her down, every part of him--his every instinct--clawing at him with the bone-deep fear and pure, overwhelming grief of losing her. Now, after everything. Before he'd had a chance to tell her how much she truly meant to him. How very dearly he loved her, and always would.

  "Braedon," she whispered, her voice thready as she gazed up at him.

  "I'm here, love."

  "Am I...bleeding?"

  "Shh," he soothed, unable to form words as he knelt down beside her and carefully cradled her in his arms.

  She moaned softly, wincing, struggling to draw air into her lungs. Her hands came up as if she meant to assess for herself what had happened to her. Braedon gently guided her away, closing his fingers around hers before she could feel the terrible truth of her injury.

  "Oh, angel, nay...just lie still."

  The wound was bad. Worse than bad, he acknowledged with a grim sense of understanding. Kenrick dropped down on the other side of his sister, offering quiet words of reassurance. His face was ashen, however, his hands trembling as he drew aside her mantle and looked upon her bloodstained gown.

  "Jesu," he hissed.

  That softly uttered word confirmed Braedon's worst fears. He sat there, numb, then shook his head in denial.

  No. Not her.

  Not Ariana. Not like this.

  A wave of raw fury built in him, swelling past his grief, a need for swift vengeance. With a vicious snarl, he shoved to his feet and whirled to face Ariana's assailant. God help him, he would tear Ferrand's throat out with his bare hands. He would slay them all. He lunged forward, but three blades held him at bay. Draec and Ferrand, and the last remaining guard all stood before him, weapons poised for attack.

  Draec gave him a grave look, saying nothing as he took in the severity of Ariana's wound. He knew, too. Braedon could see the truth of it in his old friend's eyes. "It didn't have to come to this, you know."

  "No, it didn't, you bastard."

  Ferrand began to chuckle, clearly enjoying the misery he had dealt.

  "You could have stopped it," Draec said, sharing none of his associate's amusement. Indeed, his face held a surprising degree of remorse, his sharp green gaze darkened and grim. "You could have prevented this, Braedon. All you had to do was tell me where to find the damned cup--"

  "To hell with you and the Dra
gon Chalice!" Braedon roared. He turned his fury on the vermin grin of Ferrand de Paris. "There is a score to be settled here now, goddamn it."

  "Yes." Draec nodded. "You are right about that."

  With measured civility and an utter lack of warning, he pivoted toward Ferrand and slashed his blade across the shifter's throat. The chortling humor flushed to a slackened gurgle, then a rasping, dying sputter. He slid down to a lifeless slump on the floor, his dull black eyes wide and unseeing.

  "Your score is settled now, friend. All that remains between us is the matter of the Chalice stone." Ferrand dead and already forgotten, Draec held out the false cup. "Calasaar, is it?" he asked Braedon, who was still held at the end of the last guard's blade. "You know as well as I that the true cup will have a dragon wrapped about its base, the same as the other. Like Avosaar, the true cup bears a dragon clutching one of the Chalice stones in its talons."

  The plain brass chalice hit the floor in a clatter. Draec stared hard. Outside, the full moon shone like a ball of white fire through the narrow arched window of the crypt. The bright spangles of light spilled over le Nantres' face, illuminating what seemed a mask of barely contained rage. But his eyes flashed with something stronger still. Desperation, Braedon realized, looking into the haunted visage of his old friend, his old betrayer. More than greed or want of glory, what drove le Nantres now was a steely, desperate need.

  Braedon thought to call it fear, but he had spoken true when he said he'd never known the brash knight to be afraid of anything. Least of all, the wrath of another man. Draec did not seek the Dragon Chalice so much for his shadowy employer as he did for himself. The question was, why?

  "Where is it?" Draec demanded. The guard's sword edged closer, biting into Braedon's chest. "God damn it, do not be a fool. Where is Calasaar?"