by Brenna Lyons
“I only kept my vows. I vowed to kill Resten, and I vowed to make it painful if he ever dared touch my woman. Did I vow your deaths?”
“What do you want?” Cerran asked.
“I’ve come to offer you a trade. I will teach you how to use one of your powers if you use it to serve me.”
“Teach me how you travel,” Cerran demanded.
“Teach me how you clothe and clean yourself,” Draden decided.
“Teach me how you hide yourself when the warriors are near,” Lorian added.
Carstol nodded his agreement.
“Nothing that would help you so much,” Jörg replied in amusement.
“Then what?” Cerran asked suspiciously.
“I will teach you to see human thoughts — if you use it for me. A few nights’ work in exchange for the skill.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him if they profited from it or turned him down. He could handle the situation alone, but it would take much longer and make out only Jörg as the monster.
“It could have uses,” Lorian admitted. “We could anticipate their blows in battle even when they outnumber us grossly. What do you want in return?”
“Use it to find the villagers who threaten Regana and kill them,” he replied simply.
“Why?” Lorian demanded.
“You know why,” Jörg answered coldly. “I am printed to her. Even though I cannot have her, I am still bound to protect her as printing demands. Any who threaten her, face my wrath.”
“You still feel for her,” Carstol accused with a predatory cast in his mind, forgetting that Jörg could easily read his intent to use Regana to force Jörg to teach them all he knew.
The fool! Just because they could not read him, they forgot too often that he was not hampered in such a fashion.
“No,” Jörg lied smoothly. “You know I have no kinder emotions. Making me beast while I was printed simply made me a slave to my duty to her. Nothing more. All I feel is hatred for any who harm her.”
“Of course,” he grumbled, seeing his aspirations fading away.
“You must keep my vow in this. I swore never to hunt the village except in her defense. You must only kill those who pose a danger to Regana. If you break this agreement, your life is forfeit. I will not hesitate to exact the same punishment I heaped on Resten to any who cross me in this. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Lorian nodded. The others nodded and grunted their agreement just after him.
“Good. Then I will teach you. The night is still young. We will eat enough for months in the nights to come.”
* * *
Pauwel sank into his bed in exhaustion. For four nights, the beasts had been in a frenzy of feeding and murder. Every night, they had been sent to ground by the warriors, but their beasts always kept them alive and healing to fight another night. He had to admit that training side by side with the warriors all those years allowed the beasts to anticipate the warrior’s fighting styles too effectively. There would have to be a new generation to defeat them, new personalities and styles that the beasts did not know intimately.
Regana curled to him and ran a hand boldly to cup him.
He laughed as he hardened in her hand. “Now, who is the evil one? I have hunted all night, and I must train you this afternoon. When will I sleep?”
“I propose we conduct my training now. Then, we can sleep late together,” she offered.
“I’m too tired, Regana,” he pleaded.
“You? Never,” she breathed as her hand moved over him, drawing him into a deep groan. “Some part of you wants to see to my training.”
Pauwel’s grin widened in understanding. He pinned Regana beneath him and mounted her smoothly. He stilled half inside her, as she arched against him, teasing her with what she asked for. “Is this the training you want?” he crooned.
“Yes,” she panted, trying to draw him deeper as he backed off to keep his penetration minimal.
“Perhaps, I should train you in patience,” he teased, moving with excruciating slowness.
To Pauwel’s surprise, his gentle rocking propelled Regana into pleasure and dragged him along with her, taking his release in just a few deep strokes into the sweet warmth that beckoned him and milked him to blackness.
As they lay stunned in the aftermath, Pauwel ran his hands over their son tenderly.
“No,” Regana moaned, stilling his caress.
He looked at her in shock. “Why not?”
“You make me want you again, and you are too tired to take me a second time,” she replied simply.
“Am I?” he asked with a wide smile.
“Yes, you are,” she assured him as she nestled her cheek to his chest. “How was the hunt?”
Pauwel sighed. “What happened to the days when my bed and our child were the only things we had to talk about?” he countered wearily.
“As I recall, Gawen decided I needed a warrior’s cares — and I always worried,” she finished quietly. “Is there some reason you’re not telling me?”
“No,” he lied smoothly. “We drove them to ground, as we always do.” Pauwel yawned, a move only half for show. “Sleep with me.”
Regana murmured her acceptance of the invitation and settled her hand on his chest next to her face.
As Pauwel expected, she was asleep long before he was. Regana had spent most of the night awake as she always did while he hunted. Kethe suspected it, but the warriors that protected Regana from villagers and beasts alike over the last three nights confirmed it.
I lied to her. Pauwel grimaced that he would do such a thing, but the truth would disturb her. While the other beasts were on their rampage, Veriel kept hidden. At the rare times he revealed himself, it was to make a vicious kill of a villager approaching Regana’s location. For that reason alone, the chosen protector each night was wary but well rested.
The killing the previous night had been paced, almost sparing, and while they originally feared the beasts meant to destroy all life in the village, it now seemed that they were choosing their targets carefully. Pauwel shuddered as he considered the possibility that this was Veriel’s version of protecting Regana. But why? He threatens her, but he protects her fiercely? Somehow, it just wasn’t something Pauwel could fathom.
Chapter Eleven
Jörg watched the warriors prepare to hunt. Gawen was the one chosen to watch over Regana that night. He nodded his approval. If any warrior had to soothe the new widow, Gawen was the one Jörg would have chosen.
Separating Pauwel from the group was easier than he imagined. Several carefully orchestrated attacks, arranged by Jörg to occur simultaneously in different areas, caused the warriors to scatter accordingly. Of course, Jörg forfeited another boon to the beasts for their co-operation, the ability to clean themselves this time. It made their lives more tolerable, a fact he loathed, but better that than giving them any true power.
Pauwel didn’t see Jörg’s attack coming until he had been knocked from his horse. The older man rolled to his feet stiffly and scanned actively for his attacker. “I know it’s you, Veriel. No other can hide as you do,” he challenged. “Show yourself. Or do you intend to kill me in this cowardly fashion?”
Jörg materialized, laughing in amusement. “I don’t need tricks to best you.”
“Prove it.”
“If you wish, but answer first. Did you know when you took her that Regana was mine?”
“That you left her,” Pauwel corrected. “You left her with nothing, not even some sad excuse for why you would wrong her as you did.”
“And you used her grief,” he guessed.
“No. I sought only to comfort her, but I was walking the edges of madness. Do you remember it? You gave in to it just as I did — well, not exactly alike,” he ground out with obvious rancor. “Why do you have such a problem with this? Had you not left her, Regana would have had no need of my comfort and she would not be carrying my child with me printed to her.”
“She said she would have been yours at c
hoosing,” Jörg accused. “Tell me! When did you approach her?”
“When you left her,” Pauwel insisted. “Look at what you are, Veriel. Do you think she can ever admit openly what you were to her? Kethe was there when you asked the question of her. Even if she hadn’t been, Regana had to put you in her past. You can be nothing to her now. You have nothing to offer her.”
Jörg hesitated. Kethe had been there. What would Regana’s answer have been had she not? But, Kethe was not there when he first approached her, and Regana showed him no love then.
“She feels nothing for me,” he breathed. “Nothing but fear. Why didn’t she ever let me explain?”
“I cannot say, but she has said her goodbye. You must do the same.”
“I can’t,” he shouted. “I wish I could, but I am well and truly damned!” Jörg knew his voice showed the torture in his soul. He would not be half as damned if he could walk away from her.
“Of course,” Pauwel answered in confusion.
“You do not understand. A printed man cannot release his emotions. I cannot walk away any more than you can. Without her, I die.”
The warrior looked at him in suspicion. “That is not possible.”
“It’s my punishment.”
“It’s not true,” Pauwel stormed.
Jörg growled in frustration. “Why will no one ever believe me?”
“Tell me why,” Pauwel challenged. “Tell me how a printed man could choose not to be with his wife. Tell me how you could choose damnation over her. Were you afraid of dying?”
A bitter taste flooded his mouth at the idea that Pauwel believed his motive been something so cowardly. “I was not afraid of death. I stupidly believed myself immortal, unless I died by Gawen’s blade. I didn’t choose damnation instead of Regana. I chose it for her.”
“Do not blame her for your choice,” he raged.
“I don’t. The two I blame most are dead already. I will see the others dead if I can.”
“Explain,” Pauwel warned dangerously.
“My choice was not between damnation and life with Regana. It was not even between damnation and death. I chose death and had it denied me. My choice was between damnation — leaving Regana to make her way without me — or death for us both. I gave my life to save hers,” he explained quietly. “I tried to tell her how I was tricked—” He laughed bitterly. “A lie, of course, so she would have no idea how they used her against me. I never got the chance to explain properly.”
“Impossible! Even if they took her to Gawen, he would not have killed her — or did they threaten her murder?”
“Marclef planned to make a public call demanding her death, after they killed me as mad. I would not even have had the opportunity to speak on her behalf. He would not have stopped until the villagers saw her dead.”
Pauwel looked at him uncertainly, and his weapons wavered. “If— If that is true, I am sorry for your loss, but all the stories say you are lying. No kinder feelings.”
“Which made it the only way to damn me. I freely accepted everything else.”
“You die without her,” Pauwel spat. “Seek death, because you cannot have her.”
“I cannot. The beast does not allow it. It is the perfect curse. I am the finest warrior among us, and I never age and rarely tire.” He smiled crookedly. “I am always in my prime. Until a better warrior comes along, I cannot die.”
“I am sworn to kill you,” he reminded Jörg.
“For Regana or for your duty?”
Pauwel hesitated.
“What aren’t you telling me, KreuzStütze? I cannot read you well, but I know you are hiding something from me. You have been this entire time. I can find out what it is. I have that power.”
His eyes hardened. “Never,” he promised.
“You call me a liar, but I know you to be one. Tell me the truth, and you have my word that I will walk away.”
“Now, who is lying?” Pauwel snarled.
“I will have the truth. If you force me to take it, I will.”
“You will have to rip what you seek from my dead lips.”
Jörg smiled coldly. “As you wish.” He lengthened his hands into blades and closed the distance resolutely. He could smell Blutjagd on KreuzStütze as he struck.
Pauwel had improved markedly since he crossed weapons with him last. Had Jörg not been beast, Pauwel would be his equal — perhaps, even his better. The warrior landed the first blow, and Jörg nodded in appreciation of the skill required to do such a thing.
Pauwel didn’t break at all. He attacked again, but Jörg anticipated the move. His blow knocked the warrior flat, and he had disarmed the disoriented man before Pauwel came to his senses.
“Now,” Jörg growled, “will you tell me the truth you’re hiding from me or will I take it by force? I will walk away. You have my word of honor.”
“You have no honor,” Pauwel returned weakly.
“You’re right,” Jörg whispered. This marked the first time he had considered feeding selfishly. Always, he had chosen his prey well, in defense of Regana or feeding on the worst of mankind — or both. What Pauwel told him was true enough in itself. Did he really have the right to demand whatever secrets he wasn’t offering?
Pauwel was printed to Regana. Whatever choices he made, he would make them to protect her. The thought angered Jörg. If Pauwel was lying to him, he was doing it because he believed Jörg was a threat to Regana. But, why would he believe that? Unless Regana had some secret worse than what he already knew of her.
“I must know. I’m sorry, Pauwel.”
The warrior’s eyes widened at the sight of his lengthening fangs. He tried to hold Jörg off, but his beast made him stronger than his former friend. Pauwel cried out in frustration, as he started to feed, not in pain since Jörg remedied that immediately.
Pauwel blocked Jörg’s attempts to read his memories. He was strong. He should not have been able to do that while Jörg was feeding.
“Don’t Pauwel,” Jörg spoke into his mind. “I will take what I need. Let it end quickly. You cannot stop what I will do.”
“No,” he breathed. His fight continued.
Jörg exerted coercion. He shouldn’t have needed it while he fed, but he did.
Images of Regana in Pauwel’s arms flooded his mind, intimate moments that made the encounter the gods called him to see pale to nothingness.
Jörg fed slowly, trying not to kill Pauwel with it.
Conversations filtered in, more of what he already knew.
Still, the block was clearly visible.
“I don’t want to kill you. You will die if you continue to fight me.”
“For Regana,” he replied.
He stepped up the coercion. The block buckled slightly.
More conversations filtered in, and the truth started seeping in with it. Regana was in both beds at the same time. Pauwel hadn’t waited for her. He had pursued her as avidly as Jörg had, and she had fallen to them both. The memories didn’t come with it. He had to see it, had to know that it was true.
Pauwel was still blocking, still denying Jörg what he sought.
“Tell me, damn you! Tell me before you die for her,” he demanded angrily.
“Then, I die.” He whispered it, a calm acceptance of his death.
Jörg pushed as hard as he could, and Pauwel cried out in true pain.
The wall started to crumble, and a single quote slipped past his defenses. Regana’s voice was sad and quiet. “I wish the baby was yours—”
Jörg screamed in anguish within the link. “Mine!” The baby she carried wasn’t Pauwel’s. It was Jörg’s. “My son!” He tested the idea.
“Never,” Pauwel promised as he started to slip away.
“You stole my child from me,” he thundered.
Pauwel’s control slipped in his weakness.
His mind cried out in terror and anguish as the wall came down. He tried to lock down his memories before they flowed to Jörg, but it was too late.
>
The full import of them rocked Jörg out of his anger and into desperation. Jörg broke off his feeding and howled in his shock and disbelief, stopping the flow of Pauwel’s blood. “You fool. You incredible fool,” he berated himself. “What have I done?”
He was truly damned, now. Jörg was taking an honorable man from her, a man who accepted Regana’s child and loved them both, a man who accepted another man’s dishonor and lived the lie until it was more real to him than the truth. Pauwel accepted Jörg’s censure because he could do no less for her.
Pauwel was slipping to death, and there was no way to stop it. Already, his heart was weakened and his body barely drew breath. All Jörg had to offer him was damnation, but Pauwel was printed. It would be damnation that Pauwel could keep her through, if Regana let him. If not, Jörg would end his misery. He could kill a turned beast even as he could never kill an elder.
He opened his wrist with a blade of a finger and offered it to KreuzStütze. “Drink,” he ordered. “For Regana. For the love of all that’s holy, please take this.”
Pauwel clamped his mouth shut and turned his face away. “Better an honorable death,” he ground out from between clenched teeth.
“You don’t have to lose her. Live for her,” Jörg pleaded in desperation.
He had only turned Marclef before, and he had never considered whether that was right or wrong. It had been justice. Jörg pushed away the thought of whether turning Pauwel was right or wrong. He had no other options this time. He would not take this man from Regana. He could do no less than to give back what he had clumsily taken as best as he could.
“Not that way. I’d rather die.”
Jörg closed his wound and met Pauwel’s eyes resolutely. “I will not do this to her. Regana will decide. If she turns from you, I will give you peace in death. If she chooses to stay with you, will you accept her as you will be?”
“No. I will not drink from you,” he asserted weakly.
Jörg bent to continue feeding. Pauwel raised his hand to fend him off, but Jörg pushed it away with no effort, sinking his teeth deep again and stilling Pauwel’s pain.
