Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga Book 2)

by Kamery Solomon

  “Sam,” he gasped, fingers digging at mine. “Sammy!” His voice was fading, his skin turning red in the dim light and I growled, leaning forward so I could exert more pressure. He was struggling for air, squirming to get away, but couldn’t.

  “My . . . blood . . . Sammy!” He was slapping my arms now, holding his hand in front of my face. All I could see was red, though, a call for revenge burning so hot within me that I suddenly felt like I was at sea again, waiting to take a ship we’d cornered.

  Those were the only times I killed, the only times I’d had to, and the bloodlust I felt in those moments was speaking to me now, urging me on as he struggled to get free from beneath me.

  “Sammy! Sam!” He started to pass out and I snarled angrily, tears falling. He wasn’t even fighting back, the coward. He was going to let me kill him, rather than deal with what he’d done.

  “Samantha!”

  Tristan’s voice hissed my name and I jerked in surprise, instantly letting go at the sight of him. He was standing in the tunnel, staring at me with wide eyes, the blood on his neck barely even there. Soaked to the skin, he looked like a wet dog waiting to come inside from the weather.

  Beneath me, Mark coughed life back into his lungs, rubbing his throat. The action smeared blood all over him and I finally saw what he’d been trying to show me. There was a cut on his hand, the one he’d used to slice Tristan.

  He’d cut himself and spread his own blood as the sacrifice in order to save us both.

  He hadn’t murdered the love of my life.

  Sobbing, I tore the gag off my face and out of my mouth, hurling myself into Tristan’s arms.

  “It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “I’m okay.”

  “I’m fine, too,” Mark rasped.

  For some reason, that made me cry harder. Staring toward him, I opened my mouth and closed it over and over again, unable to find adequate enough words to express the horror I felt at for having nearly killed him.

  “Ye almost strangled a man to death over me,” Tristan uttered in amazement, laughing out of what sounded to be disbelief and respect. “That’s the most pirate like thing I’ve seen ye do in a while.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled into his shirt.

  “It’s not me you should apologize to.” There wasn’t any chastisement in his voice, only awe. He studied me like he hadn’t in a long time, like he knew I could take care of myself, no matter what happened.

  The thought was a revelation to me as well. I’d felt like I’d lost myself, my ability to protect what was mine, ever since Randall had taken me from my home in Paris. I’d let Mark shelter me, and then Tristan when we were back together. When Randall had taken me again, I hadn’t even fought back to the best of my abilities. At the moment, I hadn’t realized it was because I thought I couldn’t.

  Now I felt the power I’d always had returning to me, reminding me of what I was capable of. With it came a touch of fear—I had almost strangled Mark to death.

  Bloodlust had burned within me and I had listened.

  “Mark, I—”

  “There will be time for apologies later,” Mark said, interrupting me. “We have to go, right now, before Randall gets whatever it is he’s looking for.”

  “It’s a vial,” I told them, pausing to swallow and wet my lips. “Two of them, like the ichor. I’ll explain later. We can’t let him get away with them, though.”

  Nodding, the two of them drew their swords, heading down the hall with me between them. I had no weapon to speak of, my fingers curled into fists should the need to fight arise. As we came around the bend and into the light, I sucked in a breath, not ready for what I saw.

  It looked like the catacombs, with skulls lining the entire path, stretching down further than I could see. The bones seemed to stare at us with their empty eyes, as if waiting to jump out and grab whoever was closest. Every couple of steps, arm bones reached out, the attached hands holding the flaming torches that lit the way.

  “They said the treasure was buried with two thousand Aztec soldiers, sworn to protect it for all time,” I whispered, walking slowly through the spectacle.

  “I’d say there’s enough here to be at least two thousand,” Mark agreed. “Do you think . . . will they come to life and defend it?”

  “I believe in the power of magic,” Tristan answered, glancing uneasily to each side. “But Randall’s already been through and they haven’t moved. That says to me they aren’t likely to wake up but . . . the sooner we get past them, the better.”

  His discomfort spurred Mark and me on and we half jogged through the line of remains, slowing as the walls returned to stone. The sounds of someone riffling through things reached our ears and Tristan held out a hand, moving to the front of the group.

  Motioning for silence, he snuck forward, disappearing around the bend. Following suit, Mark and I dashed after him, abruptly stopping dead in our tracks, narrowly avoiding Tristan, who was also staring at the sight before us.

  The cave was one of the biggest I’d ever seen, including the ones they talked about on the television science channels. The ceiling was so high up I couldn’t even see it, long stalactites hanging over the space like booby traps waiting to be sprung. Gold laced through the walls, shining brightly in the firelight that burned from torches anchored in the stones.

  As if the cavern itself weren’t magnificent enough, there was the treasure.

  Mounds of gold sat heaped together, ancient jewelry and art pieces simply lying in the pile, as if carelessly forgotten. Gems twinkled like stars, randomly dropped across the ground. They lined the floors, draped across stone tables, and shone in the waters of a small spring that bubbled in the corner. It looked like there were bounties from every ancient American civilization here, stored away where their people thought they would be safe.

  The Norse items were easily spotted as well, weapons and armor set out like prized possessions, bone horns, and beautiful furs that I’d never seen before tacked onto the wall.

  The tabard of a Crusader, bearing the mark of the Order of the Knights Templar, rested among the trove as well, held up on a stand in honor.

  Randall stood not far from us, a shiny, golden belt around his waist, cradling what appeared to be a small figurine in his hand. Carefully, he slid it into his pocket, reaching out for the pair of gloves that matched his belt.

  “Stop right there, Randall,” Tristan said loudly, stepping forward.

  Stiffening, the villain turned, eyes narrowing at the sight of his foe. For an instant, his gaze flickered over to Mark as anger rolled off him in waves.

  I knew with a certainty Randall would never offer to let him come back to the Black Knights again.

  “You should have left when you had the chance.” Pulling a long sword out of the mass of weapons in front of him, Randall held out the blade, murder in his eyes.

  With a shout, Randall lurched forward, swinging his sword quickly down.

  Jumping up to meet him, Tristan lifted his own blade to parry, growling. As the two blades met, there was a magnificent crash, the air suddenly crackling and shining with the pieces of Tristan’s weapon.

  Randall had shattered it into what looked like a million tiny pieces with one brutal stroke.

  Yelping in surprise, Tristan backed away, tossing his useless pommel to the side. Wide eyed, he held his arms out protectively, blocking Mark and me.

  “What’s the matter?” Randall smiled wickedly as he advanced. “Don’t you have anything else to fight me with?”

  Stunned, we all watched him, not sure what to do. There never would have been any possibility for Randall to do such a thing before. He wasn’t strong enough, let alone skilled enough to explode metal with one blow.

  Firelight glinted in the belt around his waist and I frowned, zeroing in on it. “It’s the belt,” I said to the other two. “It’s enchanted to make him stronger, or something.”

  “Remove it from him!” Mark stepped around Tristan with his own blade, revealing some hesi
tation.

  “I think I’ll kill you first, Snake Eyes,” Randall said, stopping as Mark moved up to meet him. “No one double crosses me and lives to tell about it.” Spitting on the ground, he settled into a battle stance, sneering as he prepared for the attack. It was like he was playing a game with us.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Mark muttered in reply, his response bringing a grin to my face.

  Frowning, Randall lunged, apparently deciding to make the opening move after all. Mark danced out of the way, sidestepping and almost slipping on the coins all over the floor.

  “Sloppy,” Randall breathed. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” Circling around, he watched Mark like a hawk, eyes shining with glee.

  As the enemy’s back faced us, Tristan leapt toward him, darting for the table of weapons. Moving quickly, he almost made it past Randall, who noticed the attempt seconds too early.

  Catching Tristan around the waist, he threw him back toward me and into a rack of artifacts. The objects crashed to the ground around him, rolling over the floor and out into the hallway. Dazed, Tristan shook his head, struggling to his feet in the mess.

  Suddenly, the floor beneath us rumbled, shaking slightly, and a terrifying noise barreled down the corridor at us. In my mind, the only thing I could liken it to was the sound of an army heading into battle.

  “What is that?” I yelled, covering my ears.

  Face going white, Tristan grabbed me by the arm. “The warriors,” he said weakly. “They’re supposed to guard the treasure and keep it from leaving.” Motioning to the objects that had rolled out of the room, he looked around frantically. “We can’t let anything else leave this room!”

  “Shit,” I muttered, knowing he was right. “Get those things back in here, quick!”

  Turning from the entryway and the sound racing toward us, I surveyed the room. Mark was still doing a good job at distracting Randall, despite the ear-splitting shouts echoing off the stones. The display closest to me was full of coins, but the table behind Mark had swords.

  Staring at the weapons, one of them seemed to glint in the light, like a sign from the gods, and I jumped into action, feeling as if Fate were trying to tell me now was the time to get moving.

  Running full force towards the fight, I dropped to my knees and slid under Randall’s arm through the dirt, rolling once to reach the table. As my hand wrapped around the handle of the sword, I turned to face my kidnapper and abuser, ready to seek the revenge I deserved.

  Mark stumbled backward as I advanced, kicked by the magically strengthened pirate, and fell against a stand of golden statues, tumbling them out of their case and all over the floor. Blood dripped from his lip as he stilled, staring up at the ceiling like he had no idea what was happening for a moment.

  “Hey!” I screamed at Randall, bringing his attention to me. “Suck on this!”

  Using both hands, I swung my sword at him, surprised when our two blades met and mine held together. He was definitely tougher than me, knocking me aside with ease, but my sword stayed in one piece. Apparently, it was made of the same stuff his was, or enchanted in some way.

  Stabbing toward me, Randall yelled, gnashing his teeth together when he missed me by inches.

  “Too bad stronger doesn’t mean faster, huh?” Goading him, I moved in a circle, breathing quickly as I tried to think of how to get the belt off his waist.

  Growling, Randall lunged at me again, cursing as I slipped out of the way.

  “Sam!”

  Glancing to the entrance, I saw Tristan and Mark, both holding objects that had rolled out of the room, standing at the entrance to the cavern. On the other side of them, a skeleton stood, staring down at them.

  Blinking, I froze, everything forgotten for a second. My brain wasn’t exactly sure that I was seeing what my eyes said was there. The bones were a dark gray and smooth, the figure simply standing at the mouth of the cavern, watching the two men. Behind it, another impossible body appeared, and another, and another.

  The warriors had come to protect their treasure.

  “Drop the artifacts!” I screamed, watching as the magical beings raised the swords in their hands.

  Tristan and Mark didn’t need telling twice, practically throwing the things on the ground and running further into the space, grabbing the first weapons they came across.

  The undead army charged into the room, swords flying, their roared battle cry turning into the sounds of combat. They were like a never-ending wave, more bodies flooding into the room. Soon, I couldn’t even see the two men in the middle, their shouting the only sign they were still alive amongst the chaos.

  Empty eyes circled to me then as one of the warriors stepped out and charged at me. Panicked, I jumped out of the way, slashing the figure across the spine as it passed. To my surprise, the steel passed through the spine without hardly any effort, the skeleton tumbling to the floor in two pieces. Surprisingly, it didn’t move afterward, the curse that had reanimated it apparently broken.

  “Break them apart!” I called, trying to see what was happening in the mass of bones surrounding the men. “It kills them!”

  Bringing my attention back to Randall, I stared, the spot where he’d been standing now empty. Glancing through the room, I saw him, rifling through more cabinets, dumping things out onto the ground, searching for the vials he’d come to claim. Everything he touched didn’t seem to have any value to him as he threw it aside, moving quickly. His eyes darted toward the army every now and then, as if agitated or afraid, his speed increasing as he returned to his task.

  Charging him, I shouted, swinging my sword down and catching him in the belt. The metal didn’t even dent, though, and he spun around, punching me in the face. It felt like being hit by a bus, plowing me into the ground as I saw stars.

  Struggling up, I shook my head and lifted the heavy sword, feeling dizzy on my feet. My nose was throbbing, maybe even broken, blood trickling into my mouth, but I didn’t care. Lunging forward, I tried to hit him yet again, only to be easily blocked; my motions becoming more and more lethargic. The blow to my face had doubled the weariness fighting the skeleton had given me, while the belt seemed to supply him with endless stamina.

  “Give it up,” Randall scoffed, shoving me down to the ground as he leaned over me. “You couldn’t stop me when I had human strength. Do you even know what this is?” Pointing to his waist, he laughed, shaking his head. “This is the belt of Thor, you idiot girl. It gives the wearer his strength. As long as it’s on me, you won’t stand a chance.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to try harder to get it off,” I growled, shoving to my feet and leaping forward again.

  We did our best to hit one another, but somehow never landed a blow. The frustration was building between us, and I dropped to the floor, narrowly avoiding having my head taken off.

  One of the skeleton beings vaulted over me, screeching like something from the worst of my nightmares, and began dueling Randall, driving him back against the wall. Seizing the moment, I looked around for anything that would help me get the belt off his body and away from his clutches.

  Instead, my eyes landed on Mark, trapped in a corner by three of the warriors. Struggling to keep a hold on his sword, he was basically just trying to block anything that came his way. A cut ran down one side of his face and his knuckles were bloody, but it was his eyes that told me he really needed help.

  There was a fear and desperation to them that I’d never seen before, a call for assistance I couldn’t ignore.

  Searching the table of weapons again, I saw the gloves that matched Thor’s belt and the hammer that sat above them. Hoping I could pick it up, I made a run for them, slipping one glove on and grabbing the short handle of the legendary artifact.

  “Mark!” I screamed, throwing the other glove in his direction.

  He’d just managed to worm his way out of the corner, slashing at the bones in front of him, when he heard my cry. Turning, he saw the glove fly
ing through the air and reached up, catching what was probably the best throw of my life. Hoping I could do it again, I hefted the hammer off its head and threw it as hard as I could.

  It was like magic.

  He slid the glove I’d given him on, raising his hand, and the hammer literally curved to go to him. As soon as the handle was in his grip, Mark swung it around, knocking the heads off of the three enchanted guards. Lightning burned around the metal, zapping to pieces the one guard that had been trying to sneak up behind him.

  Wide eyed, Mark gave me a thumb up before returning to his task.

  Examining the other side of the room I watched as Tristan dropkicked an arm, apparently having resorted to dismembering anything he could grab to stay alive.

  A crumbling sound drew my attention back to Randall, the dust of the skull he’d just crushed drifting down from his fingers. “Give me that glove,” he growled, heading for me with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes.

  In that instant, I realized he did want some of the other treasures that were here. Mark had told me the crew wasn’t happy he’d lost the shield with Medusa’s head on it before. Now he had a whole room of things to pick from, items that would secure his leadership position among the Black Knights, despite the fact that most everyone who followed him ended up dead.

  Holding my sword up, I glared. “No. You can’t have it.”

  Roaring, he charged me, swinging his blade like a madman at anything that got in his way. Nimbly jumping around, I did my best to stay away from him, not even bothering to retaliate.

  Suddenly, a bullet shot past me, striking him in the shoulder and I glanced back, surprised that either of my companions had managed to load a gun and fire it under their current circumstances.

  Captain Lomas stood at the entrance of the room, covered in bruises and bleeding from his hairline, the liquid running down his scarred face. His pistol was aimed right at Randall, a grim look of satisfaction on his face. He was soon blocked by a skeleton figure, which he immediately began dueling with. Another Templar slid into the space behind him, pulling one of the guards away from the group Tristan was grappling with.