by Sally Slater
Tristan added, more softly, “Sam is a fine swordsman, Your Grace. I’ve seen no better. And if it gives you any comfort, I will join the Uriel, too.” He twisted in his seat, facing Sander. “Thank you, sir, for this second chance. But my conscience tells me that I cannot accept your offer without saying this first: The Paladins do not all share the High Commander’s vision, whatever it is. I became a paladin because I wanted to fight demons; I have no wish to fight good men.”
Tristan was right. The Paladins might be rotten at the core, but that didn’t make them all unredeemable. She thought of Will and Quinn; in the short time she’d known them, she’d come to think of them as friends.
“I know that,” Sander said. “After all, you, Sam, and Braeden were once Paladins, too. I do not think the three of you an anomaly. I would not fight this war against men if the High Commander had not forced me into it. I cannot promise you that no good men will die by my order, but I can promise I will listen to your counsel and spare lives where I can. Will that be enough?”
Tristan nodded once. He would be a Uriel, too.
“What say you, Braeden?” Sander asked. “Can I count you among my men?”
Surprise flashed across Braeden’s features and then disappeared, replaced by an emotionless mask. He drew his shoulders back. “No, you cannot.”
“Braeden!” Sam cried. “What are you saying?”
Tristan put a quelling hand on her shoulder. “Peace, Sam. He has the right to make his own choices.”
Gods, had she completely misjudged Braeden? No, she didn’t believe that. She knew Braeden; he was virtuous to a fault and the most noble, self-sacrificing idiot she’d ever met. There was something he wasn’t saying, something he held back. “Why, Braeden?”
His mask crumbled into pieces, and finally, finally, Braeden looked at her. “Did you not hear what I said? The High Commander can control me. I’m a danger to you all.” He ripped open his robes at the neck, exposing his skin to the navel. Sam gasped at the sight of the swirl of glyphs across his chest. What did they mean?
“My master . . . the High Commander has marked me as his,” Braeden said. He turned to Sander. “I’m sorry that I cannot join the Uriel. But you needn’t worry that I’ll jeopardize your cause. I’m leaving.”
Fury coiled in Sam’s belly like a snake lying in wait. “Leaving? To go where?”
“Away from Luca,” Braeden said. His strange eyes held a faraway look. “Across the Rheic Ocean, as soon as I can find a ship that will take me.”
She would never see him again. “No,” she said. “No! Sander, Tristan, say something!” They said nothing, looking at her with grim faces.
With a scream of frustration, Sam drew her sword from its scabbard and held the point against Braeden’s throat.
“Samantha!” her father exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She ignored him. “Get up,” she snarled, rotating around the table till she was on the same side as Braeden, her blade still at his neck. Tristan started to rise from his seat, reaching for his own sword, but Sander stopped him with a look. “Let her go,” she heard Sander say.
“Get up,” she repeated, and Braeden rose wordlessly from the table. If he was shocked at her actions, he had buried it well. Sam slid the blade forward so that the middle lay on its edge against his neck. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand and dragged him across the room. Letting go of his wrist only to open the door to exit the domed tower, Sam called, “Eat without us!”
“Where are you taking me?” Braeden asked as she hauled him down the stairs.
“Somewhere we can talk without interruption, and somewhere you can’t run away.” Leading Braeden through a long corridor, Sam dropped his hand and fumbled in her belt pouch for the key to her chambers. “This will do.” She fitted the key into the lock, pushed open the door, and shoved Braeden backwards onto the bed.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Pink sheets, Lady Samantha?”
Her lips threatened to curve. Braeden, imposing as ever in his somber black robes, looked ridiculous sprawled out on her bright pink bed. She schooled her traitorous lips into obedience. “Do I amuse you, Braeden? Do you enjoy toying with my feelings?”
His mouth lost its smile. “What are you talking about?”
She stepped up onto the mattress and stood over him, pressing the tip of her sword just above his heart. “You’ve avoided me for weeks, and now I find out you’re leaving. Would you have left without telling me?”
Braeden twisted his neck, looking away. “It would have been easier.”
“I hadn’t realized I meant so little to you.” She cursed the tears that welled up in her eyes and willed them not too fall. She laughed softly at her own folly. “You know, I dreamed of you while I lay unconscious. And then I woke up, and you weren’t there. I kept waiting for you to come, but you never did.”
“You had Tristan,” Braeden said gruffly. “You had no need of me.”
“I didn’t want Tristan! I wanted you!” The tears she’d tried to will away spilled over. “You promised me once that you’d never hate me. I should never have believed you.”
Braeden knocked her sword point off his chest and sat up quickly, grasping her knees. “Now who’s toying with feelings? You’re to be a married woman, Sam. You shouldn’t tell another man you want him.” He loosened his grip on her legs. “I . . . overheard Tristan’s proposal. Forgive me for not extending my congratulations earlier.”
She glared at him. “I’m not marrying Tristan. I said no.”
Braeden groaned, thumping his head against her thighs. “Why did you do that? He was supposed to look after you.”
“I don’t need to be looked after, by a husband or anyone else. And why do you think I said no, you great lummox?”
Braeden’s crimson eyes flared and then he shook his head. “Sam, you need to let me off of this bed. I have to leave. I’m bound to hurt you if I stay.”
You’ll hurt me if you leave, she thought. Out loud, she said, “That’s shite. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
Braeden ran his hands through his hair, pulling silver strands loose around his face. “Sam, you don’t understand. The High Commander and my master, they’re one and the same. This tattoo”—his hand traced the intersecting lines of one of the glyphs—“is my master’s work, and it binds me to him, as surely as the last. I can’t get rid of it; I’ve tried. He could tell me to kill you, and there’s a very good chance I’d obey.”
“I’ll take my chances. Braeden, don’t leave.”
He spoke through clenched teeth. “Maybe you’re willing to take risks with your life, but I’m not.”
Sam dug her fingers into his scalp and tilted his head back. She bent over him so that her eyes were inches from his. “Get this through your thick skull: I am not some fragile flower. I don’t break easily. I can defend myself from anything. Even you.”
Braeden growled in frustration. “Gods, Sam, you’re not invincible. You already almost died once because of me.”
She moved her head so that her mouth brushed his ear. “You’re not invincible either, Braeden.” A half-baked idea formed in her mind. “I’ll prove it to you.”
She jumped off the bed and raised her sword. “Fight me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
She held his gaze and kept her sword arm steady. “Because if you win, I’ll let you leave, no questions asked. We’ll say our goodbyes and that will be it.”
“You know, I don’t need your permission to leave.”
She lowered her sword, hurt. “I know that.”
Braeden muttered an oath and then stood up from the bed. “You’re still recovering from an injury, Sam. You haven’t any hope of winning.”
She knew that, she did. She would try anyway.
Braeden sighed, slipping a dagger into his right hand. “On the off chance that I lose, what do you get?”
Sam straightened her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “If I
win, you stay.”
CHAPTER 45
Braeden should never have agreed to fight Sam. She was barely a week out of the infirmary, but even if she were in full health, he would be stronger and faster than she was. He knew what she’d do if he dared say that aloud—she would flamboyantly twirl her sword and accuse him of treating her like a girl. She was as strong and fast as any man, she’d say.
Braeden knew that. Sam was . . . amazing. Watching her fight was like watching a thunder storm—powerful and violent and beautiful. He’d never once doubted that she was a warrior, more than worthy of fighting alongside the most elite men.
What Sam refused to accept was that Braeden was no ordinary man. He wasn’t stronger and faster than her because she was a woman, he was stronger and faster than her because he was a monster. There wasn’t a man alive who could best him—not even Tristan—except his master, and he was as much a monster as Braeden.
There was no reason for Braeden to participate in this absurd duel—what, would they fight in Sam’s silly pink bedroom?—and he’d meant to refuse her. But he was so damned weak when it came to Sam; one look at her crestfallen face and he’d relented.
What was the harm, really? He’d defeat her handily, and maybe then she’d understand the threat he posed to her. Then they would part on cordial, if not friendly, terms. Braeden remembered the last time they had almost said goodbye . . . His cheeks flushed involuntarily. He would not demand another kiss from her. Though she’d asked him to forget it, the memory of Sam’s lips on his would torture him for a lifetime.
“Will you fight me, Braeden?” There was a pleading desperation in Sam’s eyes—but he had to remain steadfast, and that way lay temptation.
His dagger was already in his hands, but still he said, “This is foolishness, Sam. You will prove nothing.”
“I will agree that this is foolishness if you agree that leaving is foolishness.” Sam stepped closer to him, holding her sword straight out from her shoulder. “I know you don’t want to fight me, and I don’t want to fight you, either.”
Braeden wrapped his hand around her blade and felt the satisfaction of steel cutting into his palm. Sam winced. “Stop it,” she said.
“I would rather bleed till my body is dry and empty,” he said, “than draw a single drop of your blood. But that choice has been taken away from me.”
“I believe in you, Braeden,” Sam said. “I wish you’d believe in yourself.”
The strength of her conviction gutted him, and his frustration boiled over. “Stop deluding yourself, Sam! You know what I am! I am not the knight in shining armor in some ridiculous fairy tale. Look to Tristan for that!”
“I. Don’t. Want. Tristan.” Sam enunciated each word. “And if this were a fairy tale, I’d be my own Gods damned knight!”
Braeden let go of Sam’s sword and stalked toward her. “If you are the knight, then I am the dragon. Do you know how many innocent lives have died by my hand? Hundreds, Sam. Maybe more. I could rend the world apart, and you would pretend that there is no evil within me. This man—this good and noble man that you imagine me to be . . . I’m not him, no matter how much I want to be.” He broke off. When he spoke again, his voice was harsh and low. “I am nothing more than a collared monster, and the High Commander holds my leash. I don’t trust myself, and neither should you.”
“Coward,” Sam spat. “That’s what you are. You would give up everything because you’re afraid of yourself. I know who and what you are, and I’m not afraid. Fight me, you coward!” She struck out with her sword, sliding it along his dagger.
He growled. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you. I’ll show you what I really am.” He jammed his dagger into his heart and let the transformation take hold. He looked at Sam through a haze of red. “This is who I am. You should be afraid.”
Sam brandished her blade. “I won’t go easy on you either. I’m fighting to win.” Without warning, she thrust her sword at his breast.
Too slow. Braeden stepped neatly to the side and swung out with his knife, catching the underside of Sam’s weapon. The blade jumped in her hand, but she didn’t lose her grip. She brought her sword down, smashing it into his dagger.
It was a mighty blow, and normally, Braeden would have dropped his knife. In his enhanced state, he didn’t even flinch. Sam spun, swiping her sword at his knees. Dropping into a crouch, he parried the attack. He rolled forward, closing the distance between them.
A dagger was a close range weapon, and a sword was not. Sam stepped backwards to allow herself more room, but Braeden wouldn’t give her the opening. He hit her blade with his knife, first from the left, then from the right. Slowly, he forced her across the room till her back was up against the wall.
Braeden drove his knee between her legs and brought his dagger to the side of her neck. He rested his forehead against hers. “Give up?”
Her eyes flashed. “Not a chance.” She leaned into his body and then bit him hard in the neck.
The sensation of her teeth against his skin caught him so off guard that he dropped his knife to the floor. “Shite,” he swore. Sam grinned and pushed him off her.
He retrieved another knife from his robes, just in time to deflect her next blow. “That trick will only work once,” he told her.
“I’ve got others,” she said, lashing out again with her sword.
Even as he fought her, he could not help but admire her. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her pale skin pink with exertion. Her hair was wild and mussed, twisted locks of sable hugging her face. Sam, his warrior. He would die before he put her fire out.
But this time he would win to save her.
Her sword struck dangerously close, drawing a thin line of blood from the stretch of tattooed skin above his breastbone. The cut sent a searing trail of heat across his flesh. His chest began to burn from the outside in, till he felt flickers of flame touch his heart. He sagged to his knees, darkness threatening to pull him under.
“Braeden, what’s wrong? I only nicked you.”
But Braeden couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, not to her. He heard only the sickly sweet voice in his head.
You are mine, Braeden. Now and forever.
Braeden seized involuntarily, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings. No, he told the voice, even as his body disobeyed him. I belong to myself.
Gales of laughter assaulted his ears. Foolish boy. My claim is staked into your very skin. I own you, body and soul. And I will do with you as I please.
No, Braeden argued. You aren’t here. You can’t touch me.
His master chuckled, low and dark. Do you think I would ever have let you go if it meant I’d lose you? I found you, Braeden. I can always find you. Fingers of fire danced across the glyphs on Braeden’s chest. And tonight I’ve come to you.
In denial, Braeden shook his head—or tried to—but his neck was held rigid.
Don’t fight me, his master whispered in his head. You are meant for greatness, Braeden, you and I together. There is only one thing holding you back.
A scorching heat coursed through his veins, filling his every pore and fiber. He bucked against the white, agonizing pain, and then his body surrendered, loose and pliant.
A hand caressed his chin—his own hand, and yet not his—and forced his head up. His vision cleared, and he found himself staring into a pair of worried, yellow-green eyes.
You see her?
I do, Braeden thought back. Sam.
He could feel his master smile, his own lips curving up in an echo.
Now kill her.
Sam watched helplessly as Braeden convulsed and contorted. She couldn’t get near him, not the way he was thrashing about. Faith in blood, what was happening to him?
He writhed against the floor, clawing at his robes till he split the fabric in half. The glyphs on his chest stood out, livid and glowing, as though they’d been set alight. Braeden threw back his head in a silent scream, and then lay still.
“Braeden,” she called s
oftly.
His hands twitched, and he rose, first to his knees and then to his feet. He stood awkwardly, as though he were not accustomed to the weight of his limbs. His shoulders drew back, his spine straightening, and he regarded her with a cold intensity.
Fear shivered through her. “Braeden?”
He smiled wide, flashing all of his teeth. “He’s mine,” Braeden said in a honeyed voice that wasn’t his. He drew closer, running the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “But he still wants you.”
“H-High Commander?” she stuttered, stepping back.
He laughed. “Some might call me that. Braeden calls me Master. I have had many names, but I think that one is my favorite.”
She took another step back and butted up against the wall. “Where is Braeden?” she demanded, holding her sword out between them. “Make him come back.”
“Silly girl, Braeden never left. He’s here with me, seeing what I see, hearing what I hear.” His smile turned feral. “And now he’ll watch your death.”
Sam shook her head, even as her body quaked with unwilling terror. “You’re wrong.”
His hands shot out lightning fast, wrapping around her throat. He squeezed, his fingers bruising her windpipe. “This is no fairy tale, little girl,” he said into her ear as she started to slump. “No one’s coming to save you.”
Before her vision could fade to black, she clasped her hands together and drove the hilt of her sword into his gut. He grunted, dropping his hands from her neck.
Gasping for breath, Sam sucked air into her lungs. “I don’t need to be saved. I’ll damn well save myself.”
“You talk too much,” the High Commander said, drawing a dagger from Braeden’s tattered robes. “I grow tired of hearing you.” He lunged forward with the knife. Sam turned and he only grazed her side instead of stabbing her through the belly.
She raised her sword and swung for his fingers in an attempt to knock the knife from his hands. As long as he held a weapon, she didn’t have a prayer.
Her sword glanced harmlessly off his dagger. She attacked, again and again, and each time he parried her blows without the least sign of effort. The High Commander in Braeden’s body was a formidable match, and she was losing.
