Winter Warriors

by Denise A. Agnew

  Rhys tore his bun open, and started spreading butter. There is a council that oversees the general direction of our affairs, and they act as the adjudicating body, too.

  Over all? Over people like Hine, too?

  Only for us.

  The good guys? She mentally rolled her eyes.

  They are the only watchers who accept the binding principles and ethics.

  Then your enemies operate under no laws at all!

  The laws of physics limit them as they do any watcher. Rhys picked up his knife and cut into his steak with a sharp jab. They can be killed. Maimed.

  The woman on Jenna’s left leaned towards her. “You two are such a quiet couple! I hope this table of oldies hasn’t scared you into silence?”

  Jenna smiled and shook her head. “We’re just listening,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the rest of people at the table, all involved in conversations.

  “And watching,” Rhys added.

  * * * * *

  Just as she finished her meal, Jenna felt a mental jerk, something like a silent inarticulate shout. There was a quality of surprise and pain in it, but that was all she caught before it faded. And she knew something else from the contact: it wasn’t Rhys. The touch had been unmistakably feminine.

  She glanced around, looking for him. He stood at the bar getting more champagne for them both, and clearly he had felt it too, for his head was down as he concentrated, ‘listening’ with every fiber.

  Jenna stared at him. Had he not been able to distinguish where it came from? The direction had been unmistakable.

  For the first time she really appreciated that she had skills Rhys did not share with her. Her sensitivity seemed to be more acute than his.

  The shout had come from outside the function room, and the doors were a few short paces away from Jenna’s table. The bar was on the far side of the dance floor. She rose and picked up her new evening purse. It had been the only place she could hide her knife, for the tight velvet sheath barely gave her breathing room. The washroom facilities were outside the function room doors. There was a good chance most people would think she was simply heading there.

  She turned left instead of right once she was outside the doors, and hurried down the wide corridor. There were function rooms throughout this level of the hotel, and she paused at each door, mentally sampling the space beyond.

  Finally, she reached the door. She knew it was the one. The room beyond held the right space-shape and density. She couldn’t have explained it in words. It was just right. She pushed the swing door open enough to slip inside, and blinked in the thick darkness. Ahead lay a gleam of diffused light. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she realized she looked at a very low light gleaming on a polished wooden stage. She was in a theatrette.

  Twenty-five or so rows of plush red chairs marched towards the stage, all of them empty.

  She took a breath to calm herself. The tension curling through her she knew all too well, for she had been in these situations before. Keeping her breathing steady, she walked silently towards the stage.

  Halfway there she heard a soft whimper of pain, and froze. The sound had come from somewhere toward the back of the stage. She reached into her purse and pulled out the knife, but didn’t trigger the blade. Silently, she crept forward again, and climbed up the steps to the stage itself, using the edges where there was less chance of them creaking.

  Ahead, a blur of white lay on the stage close to the back wall. Jenna moved towards it and found a woman lying in a pool of blood. She bled from the nose and mouth, and her hand moved feebly against the floor, as if she tried to ward something off. Jenna mentally touched her, and felt an echo of something, enough to tell her this was the woman who had shouted.

  Suddenly, he came at her, and she triggered her knife, whirling to fend him off. He came out of the wings, and he raise a lethal-looking police baton, ready to bring it down on the back of her skull if she had not been hyper-alert and heard his approach.

  The fight was swift and ugly as only knife fights can be. Jenna dodged the falling baton, spinning aside like a bullfighter as he staggered past her. She kept turning so that she faced him again, and now his back was to her. She grabbed his hair, and yanked backwards, exposing his throat.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  Suddenly, she was pushed aside by an invisible force. She staggered sideways, off-balance, until she came up against a solid brick wall. She spun around and saw his features for the first time. It was the man with the crooked bowtie, who had been watching her. Jenna glanced at the woman lying very still on the floor a few paces away. Yes, it had been she who had given him the drink and sat down beside him.

  Jenna sampled him. She pressed back against the wall when she felt the roiling malevolence in the contact…directed at her. She felt a sick, dazed horror. “You did that to her. You killed her…just to bring me?”

  His mouth turned down. “They said you wouldn’t move from Avaon’s sphere, but I knew you couldn’t resist a bit of suffering. And here you are.” He threw his hand up towards her, and Jenna could almost feel the buffering wind of something passing her. Something invisible.

  “Fuck!” He screamed it like a thwarted schoolboy. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had stamped his foot. She realized that he had…what?…thrown something at her. A force. Power.

  And it had not touched her.

  From amongst the ferocious thoughts in his mind she had plucked his name. “Blennie.”

  He looked at her and she saw his fear grow. It took a few short seconds before it pushed him into physical action. He charged at her, screaming, his baton lifted high.

  She stepped forward to meet him, her hand catching his wrist as it began to descend, the other pushing the knife into his gut, and wrenching upwards. She pulled the knife out, and stepped away, feeling the sick sadness that always touched her at such times, now intensified.

  He fell to the floorboards with an impact that shuddered through the whole stage.

  Had he forgotten she held a knife? No. He had deliberately baited her into killing him.

  The theatrette doors flew open. “Jenna!” Rhys ran down the aisle, and jumped onto the stage, his tuxedo jacket flying aside. He cupped her face, then stepped back to check her quickly. He saw the knife, the telltale blood, and turned to look at the body of the woman, then walked over to Blennie. He pushed the baton with his toe.

  “Blennie.” He turned back to face her. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. I’m fine. He killed her, to get me to come.”

  “And it worked, didn’t it?” Rhys’ tone was dry.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You did exactly what I told you not to do. You moved away from me.”

  She stared at him, bewildered. “She called…”

  Rhys pulled the knife from her hand, and the kerchief from his pocket, and rubbed hard at the handle. He placed the knife in the woman’s outstretched hand, and curled her fingers around the handle. Blennie’s body he pushed closer to her, and extended the man’s arms out.

  He stepped back to study it. “He hit her, but she held on long enough to stab him. He died trying to reach her again. It’s rough, but it will have to do.”

  Then he caught her arm in his hand, and pulled her towards the back of the stage and the fire door there. He hit it with his hand, shoving it open, and pushed her through. “Move it. We can’t be caught up in this. I don’t know how long it will take for them to be discovered, and we can’t be found anywhere near here.”

  She hurried, picking up the hem of her dress, but Rhys was quicker, hauling her along so fast she was in danger of tripping. They were in a service passage with little light and no people. But at an intersection ahead, the connecting corridor blazed with light and she heard voices.

  Rhys shouldered open a door as he reached it, and pulled her into the room beyond with him. He pressed her up against a metal cabinet, his hand over her mouth.

  His fury was palpable. />
  She was in pain. She called! She pushed the thought at him quickly, defensively.

  Did you think she was one of us? Even his mental voice crackled with dry anger. When I had said that you and I were alone?

  Lights came on in the passage outside, shining through the wire reinforced glass panel on the door. Measured steps, many of them, headed down the corridor.

  Fright touched her. They’ve found them.

  There would be more panic, more speed, if they had.

  The even steps continued along the passage, fading. Rhys dropped his hand from her mouth. “Goddamn it, Jenna, I told you to stay by me at all times.”

  But Blennie’s actions still loomed large in her mind. They would do that to one of their own?

  Yes, dammit, don’t you get it yet? Don’t you understand? They will stop at nothing to halt us.

  You said we were safe in the hotel…

  If you stayed with me. How can I protect you if you go wandering off at the first crook of their finger?

  I took care of it. He couldn’t touch me.

  He shouldn’t have been given the opportunity! You’re too important, Jenna. You’re too valuable. You can’t put yourself in jeopardy like that.

  She felt a flare of irritation of her own. “This so-called fate of mine?” To use her powers would imply acceptance of her so-called destiny. Well, screw that. She could talk aloud long before she met Rhys and it had served her well enough.

  He slammed his hand into the cabinet beside her head, making her jump and the heavy cabinet rock a little. He gripped the top of it with both hands, shutting his eyes, his jaw tight, and shook the cabinet a little more.

  “Rhys…”

  He took her face in his hands, and they trembled. There was no gentleness in his hold. “It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? A silly masquerade.”

  “I don’t believe in fate.” She spoke the words evenly. Firmly. She knew the answer would act like fuel on a fire, but she would not lie.

  “And that is how they will defeat us. Because you will chose freedom over responsibility.”

  That stung. “How dare you!”

  “I dare, because I know you. I know you. This is who you are, who you have to be. And you’re true to yourself, god help us all.” He kissed her and it, too, held no trace of gentleness.

  She shoved him away. Hard. But it barely pushed him back a step. “You don’t know me at all.”

  He grabbed her wrists and pushed her back against the cabinet, pinning her with his own body. “I know that I love you.” He pulled her arms above her head and holding them out of harm’s reach. “I love your stubbornness and the way you crave freedom, even as I know they will spell doom for all of us.”

  “Shut up!” She tried to haul her hands out of his grip but he held her easily with one hand, while he kept her face steady with the other, and plundered her mouth with a kiss that stole as much as it gave.

  She struggled against it, struggled to pull free, even while she knew she was utterly helpless against his strength.

  You could use your other strength. Push me aside. His hand slid over the soft paisley covering her breast.

  Use the skills he had shown her against him? Become one like him? “No,” she muttered against his lips. She gasped as his hand pulled the bodice down, freeing her breasts. No, she repeated as his mouth closed around a nipple, and searing heat and moisture bathed the sensitive tip. Her arousal was as huge as her fury. It swelled and throbbed in her, making her frantic with need. When his lips touched hers again, she opened up to him, thrusting her tongue inside, dueling with his.

  His heavy body against hers was punctuated by his cock, hard and thick against her belly. She pressed her hips forward, the only freedom of movement she had.

  He groaned, and her hands came free as he bent down to sweep up the hem of her dress, gathering it around her waist. She was naked beneath, except for lace stockings, and the throbbing wetness between her legs. She was ready for him. Quickly she opened his trousers and released his pounding cock, and pulled it towards her. “Now.” She hungered for the first hard thrust.

  His hands slid around her ass, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, and closed her eyes as he pushed inside her. But there was no pause for appreciation…he thrust hard, fast, and each time he rammed into her, her swollen aching clit was kissed by the impact. The cold metal against her back grew slippery with sweat.

  Look at me, he commanded.

  She stared into his eyes, watching the half-closed slits, the glittering focus behind the lids. She could drown in that dark sea…swallowed whole by his will, his world.

  She let herself sink into the pool of pleasure, let her climax roll over her, and felt joy as Rhys’ gripped him, shattering his fury, sending his emotions scattering to the four winds, and leaving him weak and drained.

  Chapter Seven

  Jenna got them back to their suite unseen, checking ahead to make sure the way was clear, until they could slip out into the public corridors once more. Once inside, she helped Rhys undress and coaxed him to bed. She let him wrap himself around her once more.

  And even though they were tired, the urge to talk dominated. If they talked, they remained together. Jenna felt Rhys’ need to stay close and empathized, for she wanted him close by, too. It was the end of the evening. Tomorrow, after sleep, they would be facing the solstice. She wanted to put off sleep for as long as possible.

  “Tell me about Taliesin,” Jenna asked at last, when a silence grew too long.

  “Why?” His voice vibrated against her back, as well as caressing her ear.

  “I wanted to know how he died. I thought…it might explain you a little better.”

  She held her breath, aware of the huge tension that gripped him. After a long moment of rigid silence, he spoke. “He was betrayed by the woman he loved.”

  And, unasked, he gave her an image: a man, tall in stature, taller in deed, with dark hair and eyes just like Rhys’, watching a slender, beautiful woman with long black hair sing as she played a harp. Even then, he had known Mauren’s weakness, had known that her frailty would bring his death, but because he had loved her, he had accepted it.

  All this the small boy had absorbed and later, as a man, had grown to understand…

  Jenna sucked in a sharp breath. “You believe I am like Mauren, don’t you? That I will betray you in the end.”

  His answer took a long time to come. “It’s as true of temporals as it is of watchers. After binding, the only time a man is vulnerable is through love. A woman draws strength from it, but a man can be defeated because of it.” His lips touched her neck. “And I do love you, Jenny.”

  The question she most wanted to ask pressed at her. She hesitated because she wasn’t sure she really wanted the answer. There were some things better left alone, after all. But the need to know pushed her into nudging the thought his way. Taliesin was your father?

  She felt his hesitation, a long lifetime of caution kicking his resistance into high gear. It was all the answer she needed and her heart thudded painfully. But she received an answer, too:

  I knew I could not lie to you. Forgive me for trying. But it has been a long time since anyone but a few trusted watchers learned that truth.

  He was your father. It was more a mental sigh than a properly formed word-thought. Have you lived all these years, or did you jump time somehow?

  His answer came as a kaleidoscope jumble of images, a history book flickering across her consciousness in a blur of pages—wars, revolutions, suffering, the rise and fall of governments and civilizations—a cascade that left her breathless. This I have seen, he finished.

  She began to tremble. It was true. It was all true. The man who held her now had lived for centuries. She was caught up in something so large it spanned time itself. Who was she to refuse her role in this when Rhys had spent a lifetime—more than a lifetime—at this work?

  Rhys turned her over to face him, a
nd she sensed that he did it so that she could see him, see his human-ness.

  “I’m just a man, Jenny.”

  “Will I live as long as you?”

  “If an enemy does not end your life for you. As a watcher, this gift is yours, too.”

  Her trembling grew worse.

  “Then you can die?”

  “I can be killed.” Like my father. And she saw the moment of Taliesin’s death as Rhys had seen it: the final confrontation with the band of Celts whom Mauren had refused to believe could betray them, their new Saxon cohorts ranged behind them. And the blow with a Saxon war axe that had taken Taliesin’s life.

  Tears stung Jenna’s eyes, spilled down her cheeks.

  “Will I be the cause of your death?”

  He did not answer, but she could feel his troubled mind searching for words. I do not know, came the answer at last.

  * * * * *

  “It’s along here somewhere,” Rhys muttered. “Although it all looks different with so much snow.” He fought the steering wheel as the car lurched to one side a little, making Jenna’s stomach roll.

  It was 9:30 p.m., and the solstice began in just thirty minutes. Rhys had delayed arriving at the place of the binding until the last minute. “The longer we’re out there, the higher the risk. I’d rather fight my way to the circle than have to fight to stay there. At least we’ll have inertia on our side.”

  Jenna bit her lip, and went back to watching the snow clogged road and the wipers trying inadequately to keep the windshield clear. The snow seemed to be driving straight at them through the dark. It was still falling, as it had for three days, in thick, soft flakes that drifted to the ground, undisturbed by any errant breeze.

  The circle Rhys was trying to find didn’t actually exist—not as a physical circle on the ground, although the ancient Britons had marked theirs in that way. The little circles of power radiated out like sun flares along the power lines that ran across the globe.

  “The binding circle really just makes whole,” Rhys explained while coaching her that morning. “Anyone can bond—temporals do it all the time, and so do watchers. Fields mesh, grow together, become greater than the whole. But they can still be separated. That’s what happened with you and Kevin.”