Chosen (The Last Guardians Book 1)

by C. V. Gregorchuk

  How was she supposed to protect anyone if she couldn’t use Power or fight? How was she supposed to kill Kairos? Not on your own, Mia reminded herself and snorted loudly as she ducked beneath a low hanging branch. Vander. She’d seen him in Orden’s memories; first as a young dragon with scales of emerald and jade and later as a man. Handsome, blond hair and eyes the same green as his scales. A total ass and not someone she was at all looking forward to being shackled to; even if he could help her kill Kairos. Because she had to do that. Not just so that she could go home when it was all over but because Mia actually wanted to help. Orden, Breahn and Hanna, had suffered because of Kairos along with countless others.

  Yes, there were people just as bad in her own world; villains cut from the same cloth. But at home there was nothing she could do to stop them. Mia hissed as her braid was caught on a branch and stopped to free herself. At home, she was Mia; powerless to make a difference but here- her heart beat a little faster as she pressed on through the thinning trees near the edge of the forest. Here she could actually make a difference. She’d been Chosen to do that. The others, Aida and Euan, Nymal and Reiner, they’d been unprepared to face someone as powerful as Kairos, someone who had no right to be alive after Ithrielle had given her life to kill him. A flash of Orden’s memory assaulted her, the sight and sound of a massive explosion as Ithrielle, bloody and broken had enveloped Kairos in her great golden wings and erupted in light.

  Mia shook herself of the vision and stepped out of the trees on the edge of the pasture. She needed to learn how to use the Power she was supposed to have. She needed to be a better fighter if she was going to stand a chance against Kairos. Damn Vander and his giant bat wings. Mia made sure to give the grazing mares a wide berth as she passed through the field, smiling at the foals who stood close to their mothers or lay in the grass.

  Orden had explained why Mia hadn’t seen head or tail of the Dragon who’d been missing now for the better part of a month. Some bull about not being able to meet until their bonding ceremony. Even more bull about needing to prove herself worthy before that could happen. Mia snarled now as she had when Orden had told her. She was Chosen by Eldhor to be a Guardian. She didn’t need to prove anything; especially not to some overgrown lizard, she’d never met. She didn’t need Vander’s approval or his help; she’d do it on her own. But first, she had to convince Orden to teach her how to use her Power.

  Chapter 44

  Vander watched from the narrow bed as the inn keep’s daughter draped a shawl over her shoulders and flicked her braided hair out from under the material. That was all she’d worn over the shift that now clung to her generous curves when she’d slipped into his room over an hour ago.

  “Must ye go?” The brown eyes that had first sparked things between them appeared nearly black in the dampened glow an oil lamp. “Veld,” Semara prompted when he failed to respond, calling him by the name Orden insisted he use. His own eyes were preoccupied with the expanse of creamy, freckle-strewn flesh bared by the loose ties at her collar.

  “Hmm?” His smile was lazy, the slow drag of his gaze up the slender column of her neck intentional. It had the desired effect. For a girl who could trade crude jokes with the roughest of men, Semara was surprisingly easy to fluster. It had become a favorite past time of his since the night she’d first slipped into his room and climbed brazenly into his bed. Her mouth tightened but she was powerless to keep the pleased smile from her face. She padded toward the bed.

  The room was small and cramped, barely big enough to fit the bed he occupied, a small washstand, the rickety table piled high with his things and a single chair. Not much but it had served Vander well while he’d gone about his business. He’d been right to assume a warm welcome upon his arrival in Keswick.

  As he’d told Orden, Eldrin had indeed been pleased when Vander arrived half a cycle ago with twelve healthy young horses to sell. The farmer and longtime customer of theirs had bought seven on the spot- replacements for the horses he’d sold to the men riding to Torben- and Vander had used the money to buy the older man his dinner at the small rundown inn in the middle of town. That was when Vander had laid eyes on Semara, the pretty daughter of the homely Madam who owned the Dasan inn.

  Of course, he’d seen the girl before. Semara had been a permanent fixture in the tap room of the inn since the first time Orden had brought Vander along with him. She’d been a girl then. A skinny, freckled girl who, in the six cycles since he’d last seen her, had bloomed with curves that gave new shape to the plain homespun dresses that used to hang like sackcloth from her thin shoulders. Yes, he’d noticed her, and she had noticed him.

  “Can’t you stay a few days more?”

  Vander lifted his arm so that she could nestle in tight against him. The woolen shawl scratched his bare skin. “I’ve already stayed as long as I possibly can,” he dipped his head to breathe in the smell of her, salty sweat mixed with his own scent, “you know that.”

  Semara heaved a sigh and snuggled closer. “I know.”

  It was true. It had taken Vander a further two days to see the remaining five horses into good hands. He’d had no reason to stay once he’d purchased and traded for the honey, wool and other goods he’d been asked to acquire for the homestead and yet Vander had been loath to leave. To return to a home that didn’t feel much like a home anymore. A place where he had to hide from a girl he couldn’t stand to see fail at becoming a Guardian. So he’d looked for any excuse to put off the day when he would inevitably have to leave.

  Never one to refuse a set of capable hands, Eldrin had found work for Vander on his farm two strides from the crumbling walls surrounding Keswick. It was good to feel useful. To feel the weight of a plow and know his body would ache but enjoying the work anyway. Here Vander didn’t have to hide. He could work hard in the open all day and spend his evenings in a taproom filled with farmers and passing travelers. Listen to stories and gossip while a pretty barmaid with brown eyes flirted with him.

  Those eyes looked up at him now, gleaming with a forlorn light beneath long pale lashes. “When will ye come back?” Her soft voice trembled with emotion.

  “Soon,” Her shoulder dug into his side as Vander squeezed her closer. His smile felt as hollow as the lie. Vander rubbed a hand briskly over her arm and turned his face away to avoid her answering smile; full of the false hope he’d given her. Vander doubted he would ever see the girl who’d taught him how to love a woman again. Not if the rumors swirling around the taproom below- now empty and dark- were to be believed.

  Shifters terrorized the border between the Northern Reaches and the Middle Kingdom, raiding villages in packs, stealing women and killing without discrimination. It was unclear whether they acted on Kairos’ orders or out of boredom, but the result was the same. Those who survived the attacks fled South, braving a countryside plagued by roaming bands of Selk and displaced Northmen who taxed the roadways that had long since fallen into disrepair. Some sought refuge in towns like this one, others traveled as far as the Southern Region only to be turned away at the border. Overpopulation, drought, and famine were the reasons given by the dark-skinned Southerners in their gold-plated armor as they refused hundreds of refugees entrance to their lands.

  Aren Aidensson, the young ruler of the Middlelands, was rumored to have opened the stone gates of his mountain fortress promising sanctuary to anyone who needed it. Many of the patrons Vander had seen during his stay at the Dasan were headed there, to Torben. Hewn from the body of the Divide and hidden among the folds of the mountains, Torben had survived the Oluan war without a scratch. A beacon of hope in an otherwise dark time. A safe haven. The king offered his home to anyone who could make the journey. He would feed and clothe his people. He would train and arm any able-bodied man who wished to repay his kindness. He would lead the push against the Northern incursion, make safe the border and restore his people to their lands and homes.

  Vander envied them, the men, young and old who talked of joining the king’s a
rmy; of the glory, they would earn fighting against Kairos’ servants. Of doing something. How simple it would be, how tempting to travel west when he set out the next morning instead of East. West across the plains to the mountains. To Torben. The thought of returning home, doing nothing, waiting- it made Vander’s heart throb and his skin stretch tight. He wanted to go with them, the men bound for honor and purpose, to fight alongside them and do his duty. He didn’t want to wait for the girl standing in his way.

  “Veld?” Semara’s voice, once sweet now grated on his ears as she squirmed beneath the tense weight of his arm. “Is something the matter?”

  “No,” Vander molded his mouth into a reassuring smile to soften the edge that had crept into his voice. “Just tired,” a lie and then the truth, “and I am not looking forward to the journey home.”

  Her hand squeezed his thigh over the rumpled sheet that smelled of them, “then stay,” she whined, “stay with me.” Semara’s hand traced a path along his inner thigh, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Vander simply was not in the mood, robbed of any passion he might have had left by the thought of Mia and the obstacle she presented. His hand covered Semara’s, halting its progress up his leg.

  “I can’t.” He squeezed her fingers. “It’s late. I should get some sleep.”

  Disappointment and the beginning of irritation turned her plain, pretty face sour. Semara withdrew her hand and extracted herself from his side without a word. He trailed her to the door, regretting the distance he’d created between them even though he knew it to be for the best. Semara hesitated before the door he held open for her and looked up at him. Silver lined her eyes, and her voice trembled, “ye will come back?”

  Vander bent to press a kiss to her lips, his hair falling against her brow. “Soon.” He repeated.

  When she was gone Vander ran a rough hand through his mussed hair- too long, he would need to ask Breahn or Hanna to cut it when he returned home. A sigh escaped as he paced across the small room to where his trousers lay discarded on the scuffed floor. He pulled them on, his movements short and violent and cursed when his foot caught in the rolled up pant leg. When had the room become so stuffy? The air hung wet and heavy against his skin and smelled of stale mead, oil and the heady scent of their mingled bodies.

  Four steps and he stood before the washstand, wooden pail in hand as he poured clean well-water into the chipped earthenware basin. The water was the same temperature as the room, not suitable for drinking but it felt good when he splashed it on his face and combed wet fingers through his hair. Then he stood, hands braced on either side of the small table and waited for his anger to cool while the patrons of the Dasan slept on, unaware of the Dragon among them. Water collected on the tip of his nose and fell to the basin below, the splash seeming the only sound in the entire village.

  How would they react, he wondered, if the next time one of them looked to the sky and asked for the Guardians to come Vander revealed who and what he was? And what would his answer be when they asked about Mia? The truth? What would they say when he told them she was a girl, young, weak and selfish and not the answer to their prayers. Not the Guardian they were promised or deserved. Vander ground his teeth and sniffed. He pushed off from the washstand with a force that sent the table rocking back against the wall.

  He shouldn’t think of it- of her. Whenever the thoughts came, unbidden and unwelcome the effect was the same; an immediate and inescapable foul mood which took hours of concentrated effort to lift. Semara was usually enough to make him forget his anger, but there were times, like tonight, when even her soft skin and smiling mouth couldn’t distract him. Vander picked his way over to the table in the corner of the room crowded with earthenware jars of sweet honey, rolls of wool and linen and other goods Hanna had included in the list she’d pushed into his hand the morning he’d set out from the homestead.

  If he could go on without her- if it wouldn’t be considered a betrayal of Orden and ultimately Eldhor- Vander would leave the girl behind and assume the Guardianship on his own. He could do it, he knew he was ready- and yet…

  A thumb’s width of oil remained in the brass lamp’s reservoir after many late nights. Many and not enough because tomorrow he would do his duty and travel east. Home. With a breath, Vander extinguished the flame and plunged the room into darkness.

  Chapter 45

  Mia didn’t know what woke her.

  She lay on her side, one arm stretched underneath her pillow; the other curled into her chest, wide awake and tense in the dark. Not for the first time she wished she had her phone. What time was it? Judging by the deep blackness of the room, Mia decided morning had to be a few hours away still. She couldn’t remember much about the dream she’d been having. All that remained were the vague impressions of faces, old and new jumbled together in a wonky timeline. Nothing to explain the tension in her limbs, or the way every hair, nerve, and molecule of her body seemed to be listening. For what she didn’t know.

  It’s probably nothing. Mia forced her eyes closed and took a deep settling breath, willing herself back to sleep. Her mind was not so easily convinced. It picked up and discarded one reason after the other for the unshakeable wrongness. It was in the air, in the silence; unbearably loud. Like a forest gone quiet in the presence of a predator. Mia gasped.

  The moment her feet slapped against the floor she was already running, no thought or time to dress. Not until she felt the warm air on her shins and the cool dirt under her soles did Mia stop, heart pounding as she filled her lungs with mouthful after mouthful of the sticky night air. The cloying scent of wildflowers and stagnant water was everywhere. Mia lifted her face to the moon, a sliver away from full and shining bright enough to light the quiet yard. A calm shattered in an instant by a high-pitched scream.

  Mia was sprinting for the pen at the back of the barn before terror could freeze her in place. Another shriek cut through the air and found its mark right in Mia’s heart. “No, no, no!” She pleaded. She rounded the corner of the barn, and as the scene unfolded before her, Mia’s stomach dropped right out of her body. She left it where it fell.

  She had no weapon, she was barely dressed, but it didn’t stop her from vaulting the fence and charging for the end of the pen where a huge grey wolf held Seinfeld by the neck. Mia took one look at the foal’s lifeless body, so small compared to the hairy bulk of his attacker and any thought for her own safety went flying out the door, along with her sanity.

  Her feet touched down on the other side of the fence and a sound like nothing she’d ever made before came ripping out of her throat. The wolf looked at her with eyes that flickered red in the moonlight, standing its ground to the very last second until it became clear Mia wasn’t going to stop. It dropped Seinfeld and dashed out of the way. Mia placed herself between the foal and the wolf, heart beating madly against her ribs, raw adrenaline coursing through her body. She wouldn’t look at Seinfeld, her foal, her responsibility. Dead on the ground behind her because she didn’t get there in time. Not dead! Mia told herself, not dead! If only she’d gotten there sooner.

  Mia’s eyes stung and watered. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks and dropped to the ground. The wolf slowed to a trot and stopped a few feet away. It cocked its head to the side, watching her, eyes switching between yellow and red. Mia’s heart squeezed at the sight of the creature’s long muzzle stained with Seinfeld’s blood. She emitted a short bark of rage and took an aggressive step forward. It barely flinched.

  “Aaah!” Mia charged at the wolf waving her arms in the air. The animal jumped back another foot or so and stopped. She watched as it lowered its angular head, and had the most disturbing feeling that the wolf was assessing her. Deciding whether she would make a good meal. It looked down its long nose and curled back its upper lip, flashing white canines. A low growl issued from its mouth and it took a single step toward her.

  It felt like someone had upended a bucket of cold well water over her head. Mia found it hard to breathe. Her heart beat an ir
regular rhythm at the base of her throat, and her mind went blank and dizzy. Mia had heard people use the metaphor “like a deer caught in the headlights” on occasion, but she’d never understood what it meant until now. She stood there, unable to move or breathe, watching as death took another step toward her.

  The wolf seemed bigger somehow, broader, taller than before. It must weigh at least as much as she did and it was armed with vicious teeth and claws. Mia couldn’t take her eyes off the animal as it moved in a full, slow circle around her. Her body turned-either by instinct or training, she wasn’t sure- and she kept the wolf in her sights, never showing her back. It would attack soon. Weeks of reading Orden’s body language in their sparring sessions made her sure. The wolf lowered its sleek grey body until the long hair on its belly nearly brushed the ground, its tail extended behind, down and stiff. It snapped at her, the rumbling growl rising to a sharp crescendo before falling away and beginning again.

  Mia flinched the second time. It took every ounce of willpower not to run even though Mia knew she could never escape the animal in front of her. Why hadn’t she brought a weapon with her? Mia knew where Orden kept the swords they trained with, her bow, she could have easily grabbed something, anything. Even an ax would have been more helpful than nothing. To think of it, why hadn’t she brought Orden himself? Or called for help as soon as she saw what had happened? These questions and more flew through her head, reminders of her own stupidity. If she survived this, and that was looking like a giant if, then she would never hear the end of it.