Halfway to his target, the bearded bastard moved. Xavian clenched his teeth, praying that the slaver was dead. Logic told him he was—that his dagger had flown straight and true—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t. What if he’d missed...been an inch off target? A man could live with a spike through his neck, at least for a while.
What if the bastard had his hands wrapped around Afina’s throat?
Rahat. Let her be alive.
He fought harder. Spun with dizzying speed. Taking enemy heads and limbs without mercy or regret. He needed to reach her—had given his word to protect her, and he would keep it, even if it killed him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sabine was screaming; a terror-filled wail that left tiny pieces of Afina’s heart scattered inside her rib cage. The shards jabbed, sharp edges digging into flesh until all she wanted to do was give agony a voice and scream herself. She planted her hands and pushed instead, fingers tearing at the tunic of the bastard bleeding all over her.
The goddess help her, she needed to get out from under him. Bruno had a knife. He was hurting her cherub and she couldn’t get free to stop him.
“Please, help me.” The prayer was more sob than plea. Twisting her hands in the linen at the dead man shoulders, she closed her eyes, reaching deep to find a faith long forgotten. “Great goddess of the moon, of shadow and light, hear me now. Help me.”
The amulet pulsed, sending shockwaves arcing before it started to sing. The trill tripped into sorrowfulness as though adding its appeal to Afina’s, and heat pooled in her fingertips.
Afina shoved again. The corpse rolled, spinning with astonishing speed in the opposite direction. She stared at it a moment, surprise an empty echo in her mind.
The amulet hummed, and a voice whispered, “Welcome, daughter.”
She barely registered the soft words. And didn’t have time to wonder. Her daughter was—
Sabine stopped screaming.
The silence sliced, cutting Afina wide open, shattering her ability to move. One moment ticked into another before she shook herself, fighting through fear to grab the edge of the wagon bed. She needed to make sure her baby was still there...still whole and breathing. The air felt flat, too thin to breathe as she hauled hard, pulling to her feet. Her ankle gave out, and pain shot in a blistering streak up her leg only to slam into her hipbone. She fell sideways, a strangled cry in her throat as her knee folded.
A man shouted, his voice carrying over the clash of steel. Another answered.
Through the blur, Afina recognized the voices. Andrei? Xavian? Did they have Sabine?
Dear goddess, please...please, please, please.
On her knees in the dirt, she tried to focus...to hear over the screaming horses and cursing men. A black flash brought her head around. Andrei. Sword raised, he sprinted toward the edge of the forest, a golden-haired bundle in his arms.
“Run!” The force of Afina’s scream came out whisper-thin. The sounds of death and the smell of blood swallowed it whole, but she didn’t care. Her baby was safe, each of Andrei’s long strides taking her farther from the heart-wrenching violence.
A tear rolled over her bottom lash. Even knowing he couldn’t hear her, she rasped, “Run.”
“Afina!” Xavian’s snarl snapped her attention left.
Twin swords flashing, he spun, severing a slaver’s head with the ease of scissors on thread. Blood flew, splattering the man beside the dead one with crimson. With a bellow, the thug turned, eyes wild, retreat in the lines of his face, searching for the quickest escape. His hunted look turned to one of determination when it landed on her.
Her heart went loose inside her chest.
“Retreat,” the strange voice said. “Retreat to safety, child.”
Xavian echoed the sentiment and, slashing another slaver, roared, “Move!”
Damp earth pushing between her fingers, Afina scuttled backward. Under the wagon now, she pivoted on her knees and crawled toward the opposite side. The horses reared. The cart lurched and went sideways. Old leaves hit her in the face as the wheels bit, mounding dirt against the rounded wells. The one next to her dug a trench, sliding closer as the horses bucked against the wedge locking them in place.
The beasts protested, high-pitched shrieks snaking through the air. Blood rushed in her ears and into her muscles, giving her the strength to keep moving. She was almost there. Just a little farther, and—
Someone grabbed her from behind.
She yanked on her skirt. The bastard’s grip held then tugged, trying to drag her from beneath the cart. Her teeth clenched, Afina flipped onto her back, planted the heel of her uninjured foot in the ground, and kicked with the other. She bashed the back of the slaver’s hand. His curse echoed her own as pain shot up from her ankle.
His arm arched, swiping at her. Musty leaves and the scent of fear all around her, Afina scurried for the other side. She could hear him behind her, felt his breath on her neck as he pursued her farther under the wagon. Panting with exertion, she whispered Xavian’s name over and over to borrow his strength. She could do it, escape the man after her. Xavian was fighting his way toward her. All he needed was time...just moments more.
Rolling free of the wheels, she crawled over a dead man. She tried not to look at his wide, blank eyes, too intent on the wicked-looking hatchet in his limp hand. A weapon. She needed one, something sharp to hold the bastard slithering behind her at bay.
Concentration set on the handle, she reached, stretching hard to gain it. Just as she grasped the leather-wrapped hilt, a big hand seized her thigh. He laughed, hot breath puffing out like a call to victory. With a hiss, Afina turned, hatchet raised high, and swung, aiming for his wrist. The razor-sharp blade bit, slicing through flesh to find the bone. The slaver jerked, a horrific howl in his throat, and flailed backward.
Afina lost her grip.
The weapon went skyward. She watched it spin, head over handle, until it landed with a thud six feet away. Glancing from it to the slaver, now clutching his arm in white-faced disbelief, Afina experienced the same bewilderment. Had she done that? It didn’t seem real, but the blood running from his almost-severed wrist told a different tale. No matter how much he deserved it, she couldn’t...
Dear goddess. The urge to apologize, to find her satchel and tend the wound hit her full force.
Cristobal rounded the end of the wagon, the tips of both swords running red. “Afina, are you—”
A woman’s scream split the air.
Afina’s head whipped around so fast it nearly fell off her shoulders. Oh, no...Maiya.
A knife in each hand, the man in purple held a blade to the girl’s throat. Pressing another against her abdomen, he backed them toward a roped enclosure. Horses paced inside, the scent of blood whipping them into a frenzy. The goddess preserve her, the bastard was getting away.
“Ma rahat.”
The curse told Afina all she needed to know. Cristobal was too far away to stop the slaver’s flight. And Xavian...where the devil was he? Was he...had they—
“No,” Afina said, voice soft with gathering fury. “No.”
She couldn’t allow it. He was the cause of it all. Had the bastard left them alone, Sabine would never have been in danger. Maiya would not have been brutalized. And Xavian wouldn’t be...he wouldn’t be...dead.
Red mist washed in behind her eyes. Afina glanced toward the hatchet. She needed to reach it and stop the slaver’s escape. If only she could...
Her vision dimmed, narrowing on the back of his tunic.
An echo in her mind, the voice murmured, “Concentrate, child. See it, and so it shall be.”
She painted a picture in her mind’s eye. Envisioned her hand around the handle. Felt its weight and her strength as she threw it. Oh, if only she had the strength to throw it.
One moment the image was nothing more than a thought, and the next? The hatchet was flying end over end through the air. It struck with a thunk, dead center, cutting through flesh and
bone to split the slaver’s head in two. Blood spilled in a river, flowing down the back of his head as he fell.
The amulet chirped as though it approved.
Belly down in the dirt, Afina stared, teetering on the rim of coherence.
What was happening to her? The red mist and headaches, the swirling heat in her fingertips and strange voice...none of it made sense or felt familiar. That ill-advised moment with Xavian had fractured more than her maidenhead. It had somehow touched her soul. Now she lay broken, perched on the edge of a chasm into the unknown.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Afina couldn’t take another moment. She was going to be sick. The motion of the horse beneath her—the blur of tree limbs and the cruel slap of frosty air—turned her inside out, sending her stomach into a freefall. She gagged and clung to the saddle horn to keep her perch.
Xavian was inhuman. How could he travel at such an unrelenting pace?
They’d been riding for over an hour: on narrow trails, up hills, around twists and turns, cutting through a forest no sane person would ever have entered. Were she brave enough, she would throw something at the back of his head, rein in, and rail at him until her throat hurt. The problem? She couldn’t find the courage. Was too afraid he would yell back.
She didn’t want his fury, even though she deserved it. Her escape had put them all at risk. Sabine could have been killed, along with his men, and Afina knew they would never forgive her.
Such foolishness. She hadn’t gained a thing. Except mayhap Xavian’s disgust.
He hated her now, couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Even without him saying so, she knew what he planned. He was riding hell-bent to Castle Raul, intent on dumping her in Vladimir’s lap. It was the only explanation—particularly since he’d tossed her in the saddle and ordered Cristobal to take Maiya in a different direction.
Two years spent running...for what? To end up back where she started? Only this time she didn’t have her sister to shield her. Bianca was dead, and how was Afina going to honor her memory? By breaking her vow and leaving Sabine to grow up without a mother’s love to hold her.
Goddess forgive her, she’d failed them all.
Afina closed her eyes to hold the tears at bay. The slow swing of inevitability pulled her off balance, making her head spin and stomach churn. One hand pressed over her mouth, she swallowed the burn, determined to stay on the horse and keep what little remained of her pride. The beast had other ideas and, tossing its head, sidestepped. She lost her grip and slid in the opposite direction. The ground rose to meet her, and she landed with a bone-jarring thump.
Dead leaves and dirt flew up, surrounding her in a cloud of dust. She ignored her aches and pains, more concerned with her stomach as she crawled toward the edge of the trail. Unable to control it, she heaved, bringing up nothing but air and bile.
“Rahat.”
Horse’s hooves pivoted then galloped back toward her. On her knees amid small bushes and damp turf, Afina threw up again. Xavian’s boots touched down a few feet away. Flicking the reins over his horse’s neck, he knelt, coming to his haunches at her side.
“Afina,” he said, his voice sounding far away.
“Go...away.”
“Nay.” With gentle hands, he drew her back until she sat on one hip, both legs curled beneath her. Her ankle throbbed in time with her heart as he looped her hair around one hand and brought a flask to her mouth with the other. “Drink.”
She jerked and turned her face away.
“Easy, draga...be easy.” He released her hair to cup the nape of her neck. His fingers shifting through her hair, he stroked at her sore muscles.
Better than a soothing balm, his touch unlocked the tension. With a sigh, Afina curled into him, needing his warmth more than the water. His arms tightening around her, he murmured and tucked her head beneath his chin. The red mist receded, sweeping aside the jumbled mess inside her head along with the nausea.
“Apologies, love. Had I realized how bad—”
“My fault...not yours.” She snuggled closer, searching for his scent beneath the smell of blood and death. “I shouldn’t have run. Should have known I’d never make it, but I had to try.”
He coaxed her to take a sip. Cool liquid trickled down her throat, soothing the soreness as he asked, “Why then?”
She shook her head. “How much longer do I have?”
Xavian drew away to look at her, a clear question in his eyes.
“Before you deliver me to Vladimir.”
“Afina, I’m not—”
“Promise me you’ll look after her.” Afina clutched at his arm, fear for her daughter binding her heart. Sabine’s future was more important than hers. Despite what he intended, she knew if Xavian gave his word he would keep it. “Promise me.”
“Who, love?”
“Sabine.” Tears filled her eyes then spilled over her lashes to nest in her hairline. “Please...she cannot come with me. He’ll hurt her. Please, keep her safe. Give her a good home after I’m gone.”
“Jesu, Afina.” Expression set, he scooped her off the ground and stood. Strides long and even, he crossed the trail toward a huge beech tree. Spread like a fan above them, the canopy swayed, pushed by the soundless rhythm of the wind. Afina swallowed as he set her down on a moss-covered log. His knees hit the ground on either side of her, caging her with his strong thighs and big body.
She shivered. “I don’t blame you.”
“For what?”
“For needing the coin,” she said, her voice so soft she barely heard it. Pressing her hands between her knees, she tried to chase the chill in her blood—in her heart—away. “Vladimir is wealthy and willing to pay, but—”
“Stop.” He framed her face with his hands and, wiping at her tears, forced her to meet his gaze. “I’m not taking you to the bastard.”
“I don’t understand. I thought...you said...how...”
“Vladimir approached me...offered me coin to track you.”
“But you don’t intend to—”
“I told him I would find you. I never said I’d bring you back.”
She frowned, confusion warring with relief. “But you sent Cristobal away. If you aren’t taking me to...where are we going?”
“The hot springs. You need a bath, and the warm water will help with the pain.” He brushed another tear away and released her. Settling back on his heels, he cupped her calf and set her injured foot on the top of his thigh.
Agony came calling, licking up her leg like fire. Afina bit down on a whimper and tried to keep her bottom from walking along the log.
“Hurts?”
Unable to answer through clenched teeth, she nodded then squirmed when he flipped her skirt above her knee.
“Relax, draga,” he murmured, sweeping gentle circles up the back of her calf.
Magic in his fingertips, he increased the pressure, massaging to ease the muscle. Each stroke lessened the pain, drew comfort a little closer, and slowed her heartbeat until her eyelids felt too heavy. Eyes drifting closed, Afina fell into his rhythm, let the heat in his hands lull her into relaxation.
Cool air touched her thigh. Afina twitched then sighed when Xavian’s hands followed. Calloused and warm, one circled her knee while the other traveled, cupping the back of her thigh. He stayed there a moment then shifted to massage the top of her leg on an upward glide. Alarm bells sounded somewhere inside her head. Afina ignored them. The stroke and release of his hands felt too good to stop. The terrible throb was almost gone.
A warm rush of air brushed her before Xavian’s mouth touched down. His whiskers pricked her skin as he drew a heated trail down the top of her thigh. Afina opened her eyes. Xavian nuzzled the inside of her knee and raised his head.
“Better?”
“Ah-huh.”
“Good.” A wicked gleam in his eyes, his hands continued to play, massaging in wide circles as he dipped his head again. Afina held her breath as he planted a gentle kiss on her knee. “Now tell me. Why
is Vladimir after you?”
His tone was quiet, the question delivered with an innocent lilt designed to coax an answer. Still Afina hesitated. Could she trust him with her secret? It was the ultimate question, one she had struggled with since he’d taken her from Severin. A number of things stood in his favor—the fact he didn’t intend to give her to Vladimir chief among them. But in the end, it all came down to one thing. Anyone who helped her would always be in danger.
If she told him the truth of her heritage—all the awful things that always happened because of it—she put him in jeopardy. Drachaven wouldn’t be safe from Vladimir. The swine would lay siege to Xavian’s home and kill everyone in it. The only chance she held was to hide, to stay one step ahead of him.
“You need to let me go,” she said, hearing the panic in her voice. “He won’t stop. Ever. He’ll—”
“Stop protecting everyone but yourself and tell me.”
Afina chewed on her bottom lip. He held her gaze, hands skimming her skin, waiting for her to obey. A new plan took shape. Mayhap the truth was the only way. If he knew her history—the terrible legacy given to her at birth—he would turn away.
Between one heartbeat and the next, she told him...everything. She didn’t make it look pretty. Didn’t cover up her mother’s viciousness or gloss over Bianca’s death. Even went so far and told him what he had unleashed by his possession in the stables. No, she didn’t understand it—wasn’t sure what it meant or even what she was now capable of—but she refused to tell him that. She wanted him to run...for him to take her to Sabine and let them both go.
“A high priestess,” he said, so low Afina barely heard him.
“Yes,” she whispered back, accepting her legacy even as she wished to erase it.
“He will hunt me to the ends of this world to take the throne.” Afina gripped his forearms, willing him to understand. “It would be safer...better for you and Drachaven...if you let me go.”
Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) Page 14
