Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1)

by Coreene Callahan

  Grey cloak swirling behind him, the dark-haired lad paused at the tree line to glance over his shoulder. Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. It didn’t take a genius to know the boy was important. His garments were well made, his leather boots too expensive to be anyone other than one of Ramir’s brats. Aye, he’d heard the rumors—knew the assassin raised a tribe of boys no one else wanted. Now, it seemed, he would get to put that knowledge to work...along with the screams of one very unlucky lad.

  Lips curved, Vladimir veered away from Drachaven’s wall and went after the boy...the bait to set his trap.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  They stood in the center of the inner bailey, shifting from ordinary men into organized killers. The sight sent a shiver down Afina’s spine. Her gaze moved from the guards’ faces to Hamund’s broad back. A piece of parchment in one hand, a fletched arrow in the other, the captain curled his fingers into a fist. Vellum crinkled, giving way beneath the force of white-knuckled fury.

  Message delivered by arrow. Never a good thing. But today its delivery might mean terrible rather than just plain bad.

  Dax was still missing. She couldn’t find him anywhere. A chill sank deep, making her bones ache. Her gaze drifted around the semicircle again, taking in each man’s war-honed expression. Whatever the message in that note, it wasn’t friendly. An enemy with an ultimatum. A threat to give fair warning. Either was a possibility, but the first made more sense.

  The morning sun spilled over the walls. The other children were breaking their fast, and Dax never missed a meal. He’d gone hungry too often before finding a home at Drachaven to take Cook’s fare for granted...no matter how fearsome his dreams. Afina rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. The soft wool absorbed the sweat, soothing her skin but not her mind. She went over the list again in her head. Drachaven held a number of good hiding spots. She’d checked them all, starting with Dax’s hidey-holes. He wasn’t in the keep, which left one possibility. He was outside the walls, no doubt headed for his favorite place.

  The swings. The ones she’d insisted be hung a fortnight ago.

  Afina squeezed her eyes closed and cursed herself. Goddess be merciful, what had she done? Had she not demanded a play area—a place away from the constant clash of swords and threat of violence—Dax would never have ventured out to the great oak. Swinging soothed him, the rocking rhythm draining the angst that so often gripped him. Afina couldn’t blame him for needing it. Xavian’s departure had hit him harder than the rest. Something about her mate calmed Dax, made him less restless, more confident, better able to cope with all he had suffered.

  But Xavian wasn’t here to bring him home...to keep him from danger. That duty now fell to her.

  Her eyes on the crumpled parchment in Hamund’s hand, Afina forced her feet to move. Dread made the short trip across the inner courtyard seem like a trek into the mountains. Everything felt heavy, as though the earth bore down, yoking her shoulders, pulling on her legs, dragging her heart into her stomach. Even the air smelled thick, damp with the scent of wood smoke and evergreens, clogging her lungs until she found it difficult to breathe.

  Keeping to Hamund’s back, she approached the men, footfalls silent on frosted cobblestones, ears attuned to the low masculine rumble. Armed to the teeth, focus trained on their captain, each man leaned in, listening intently as Hamund laid out the ground rules. Afina caught the tail end of Hamund’s instructions as he said, “Quill, Monk...circle round behind the bastards and report back. I want to know what we’re into before we go after the lad.”

  Dark eyes set in identical faces, the twins nodded. Quill checked his throwing knives. Monk scowled so fiercely Afina’s knees knocked together. Merciful goddess. Dax was in trouble.

  “Bear...find Afina.” The captain tipped his chin to the man on his immediate right. “Make sure she stays in the nursery.”

  “At what cost?”

  “Lock her in if you have to, but keep her contained.”

  Afina curled her hands into fists, fingertips prickling as magic begged for release. She kept it contained, allowing the power to swirl in the center of her palms. The big dolt. What did he think he was doing? Lock her in, indeed. There wasn’t a prison—never mind a chamber—in all of Transylvania strong enough to hold her. Not when Dax needed her.

  Bear grumbled, a look of distaste on his face.

  Afina pursed her lips. Well, at least one of them possessed a modicum of wit. Bear might have found himself smacked upside the head had he looked pleased about following his captain’s orders. Hamund, however, was fair game. The captain was perilously close to being bashed from behind.

  “Too late.” Afina heard the snap in her voice but didn’t care. If the captain thought for one instant she would stand by—sit sewing or something—while someone threatened her family, he was in for a nasty surprise. “I am already out.”

  Hamund tensed and pivoted to face her, eyes grave, expression wiped clean. “My lady, go back to the keep.”

  “Do not even try it, Hamund.” She leveled him with a lethal look then dropped her gaze to the note. “What’s happened? Where is Dax?”

  His lips set in a grim line, he crossed his arms, hiding the missive under an elbow. Afina scowled. The captain’s eyes narrowed, and silent as a stone, he stared at her, no doubt expecting her to scamper back to her chamber like a good girl. Well, she wasn’t scampering anywhere and good didn’t begin to describe her. Not now...not when worry outweighed caution.

  “Tell me, Hamund. If Dax is in trouble, I need to know.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What you need to do is go back to the keep.”

  No chance of that. Afina held out her hand. “Let me see the missive.”

  His brows collided and his eyes went dark. Afina bit the inside of her cheek, withdrew her hand, and shuffled back a half step. Mayhap demanding wasn’t the soundest approach. Hamund, for all his gentleness, was a warrior with a warrior’s way. Strong-arming him wouldn’t work. He was too controlled, too stubborn, too set on shielding her from the truth. She could see it in his expression, his desire to protect her from something awful.

  “Please, Hamund,” she whispered, rubbing her palms together.

  “Do not worry, my lady,” he said, his tone full of understanding even as he established boundaries. “I will handle this.”

  “I know you will. Xavian trusts you and so do I, but...” she trailed off, hating to follow the statement of faith with a “but.” It wasn’t about trust, it was about sanity. Hers. She would go stark raving mad if the men rode out without telling her who held Dax and why. The thought made her throat go tight. Goddess help her, he was just a little boy. Only ten years old, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise.

  “Whatever it is, please tell me. He is my child, Hamund...my son, no matter who birthed him. I need to know what is happening...if he is all right. It is my right as a mother and the Lady of Drachaven.” Hamund’s face went tight as she pulled rank. Afina hated to do it, but reminding him of her station was necessary to make him see reason. She held out her hand for the second time. “May I see it...please.”

  His knuckles went white around the parchment. “I will have a promise from you first.”

  Afina squirmed, knowing she would never give her word. She knew what he wanted—her safety above all else. Even over a little boy’s life. “What?”

  “You will stay inside Drachaven...tend the other children, mix your healing potions, pace the halls...whatever. But you will not involve yourself in this.” He brought his hand forward, missive clutched in his fist, leaving no doubt what “this” meant. “You will allow me to do my duty without worrying you’ll do something foolish.”

  “Hamund—”

  “Otherwise I will lock you away...in the dungeon, if necessary.” He gave her a savage look, one meant to frighten her enough to listen. “Xavian will kill me, Afina. One bruise on you and he’ll kill me. If you have any liking for me at all, you will do as I say.”

  “You
fight dirty.”

  “Only when I have to.”

  Afina sucked a breath in through her nose, blew it out her mouth. Hamund held a special place in her heart. He was her friend, and she hated cornering him. She didn’t want him hurt anymore than she did Dax. If she believed for one moment Xavian would touch him, she would have listened. But she didn’t. Her mate would no sooner kill the captain than he would put a bruise on her. Meeting his gaze head-on, she tucked the promise he wanted inside her cheek and held out her hand.

  “Christ.”

  Palm up, her hand bounced in midair, asking without demanding. With a growl, Hamund placed the ball of parchment in her hand. Her fingers trembled as she pulled at the vellum, unrolling the corners before smoothing her thumbs down the center of the small sheet.

  Her knees nearly gave out. “Goddess help us.”

  She read the note again, all the fear she’d carried for two years culminating in a giant ball in the center of her chest.

  Assassin,

  I have your brat. The Dower cliffs before noonday. Send Afina. Alone. Or I deliver Dax to Drachaven’s gates, one piece at a time. I’ll be kind and start with his fingers.

  Vladimir, Voivode of Transylvania

  The captain grabbed her elbow to keep her on her feet as she swayed, listing backward. “My lady?”

  Hamund’s voice came from far away, through a tunnel with fuzzy edges. Afina closed her eyes, a picture of Dax in her mind’s eye. Dear goddess, his hands...his small, little-boy hands. The swine would take pleasure in putting a razor-sharp blade to Dax’s fingers and...

  Afina gagged, fighting to keep her breakfast down. Her nails bit into her palms and she took a shaky breath to settle her stomach. “I am going with you.”

  “No chance in hell. Goddamn it, Afina—”

  “He’ll do it, Hamund. If I don’t go...if he doesn’t see me, he will slice Dax to ribbons.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “You know the bastard?”

  “I ran from him two years ago.” The memories stirred, stripping the scab from the festering wound deep inside her. Guilt and sorrow flowed like the finest poison, leaching into her mind. If only she had stayed and faced him then, Dax and the people of Drachaven would be safe now. “I am so sorry. I brought him to your gates.”

  “Your gates now too.” Hamund gave her a meaningful look, one that said—don’t be foolish, find your courage. “Do not forget who you belong to, my lady.”

  Xavian. I belong to Xavian.

  The thought gave Afina strength, allowing her to see past her fear. She smiled a little, grateful for Hamund and the reminder. “We need a plan.”

  “No shit.” Eyes steady on her, Quill scraped a whetstone along one of his dagger blades.

  The motion should have scared her, but somehow Afina drew comfort from the sound of steel on stone. It gave her hope, reminded her of Drachaven’s strength and each man’s skill. If Xavian’s warriors couldn’t pry her lad from Vladimir’s grip, no one could.

  The quiet threatened to swallow him whole. Xavian reveled in the soundlessness, the absolute certainty he would find a fight here, amid narrow dirt paths and jagged stone teeth. ’Twas his kind of terrain, the sharp edges and violent cliff angles companions to the predator inside him. Caged most of the time, the killer stirred, looked out through prison bars waiting for the moment Xavian swung the door wide and allowed his counterpart out into the light of day.

  The hunt. His beast loved it...yearned for it the way a child did sweet cakes and honey.

  Xavian understood the restlessness, the need. Had lived with it most of his life. Today, though, it felt different...tempered by another craving of equal value. He wanted to go home...missed Afina so much he ached inside. Christ, he’d only been gone a day—one day!—yet the compulsion to see her face, hear her voice, wrap himself up in her threatened his control. Xavian clenched his teeth. When had he become so weak? He frowned. Nay, ’twasn’t weakness, but love.

  He loved her.

  Even now, after a full day of knowing the truth, it still held the power to send him back a step. Xavian swallowed. He’d never imagined someone might love him. Dreamed of it, aye, but hope was a nasty beast. It made great promises that rarely, if ever, came true. But Afina was real...what she felt for him was real.

  She wanted him. Needed him. Loved him for who he was, despite the ugliness and all his flaws.

  He took a deep breath, combating the sudden tightness in his chest. Hell. No wonder he didn’t want to stay away from her. Why would he? He’d been spared, saved from a lonely life and empty future. Only an idiot wouldn’t cherish a gift such as that.

  But he couldn’t return to Drachaven. Not today. His heart could play tug-of-war with his mind all it wanted. He refused to forsake his mission. The lads he sought to rescue deserved his full attention and Afina, no matter how lovely a distraction, was one he couldn’t afford. Later, only when the assassins he hunted lay dead, would he allow his thoughts to wander home, toward his mate and her needs.

  Balanced on the balls of his feet, perched in a crevice between two rock faces, Xavian scanned the trail below. Pebbles, worn by time and effort, kept their secrets, hiding tracks, both human and animal alike. Such a good place for an ambush. Al Pacii knew it, and so did he.

  His lips curved. Soon. Very soon, he would have some small measure of revenge. Not much of one by any stretch, but enough to hammer his intentions home yet again. He would take all comers...wouldn’t stop until Halál was destroyed and the boys the bastards preyed upon were safe. Grim determination settled him as he backed out of his hidey-hole and made for the edge of the ridge. His men were in position, but a new plan needed to be made. The silence told him more than the hoofprints Cristobal had tracked through the forest and into the foothills.

  The bastards wanted to be found...were leaving just enough for him to follow. Their intention? To draw him out into the open, into a well-laid trap.

  Xavian shook his head, finding humor in the game, and skirted a boulder. Footfalls silent, he dodged the limb of a lone tree on the narrow lane. Roots spread like tentacles, the evergreen clung to a crevice in the rock, twisting at odd angles to reach the awakening sun. A small hawk sat in its arms, half asleep, enjoying the soft breeze ruffling its feathers.

  Placing his hand flat on the hump of stone beside the tree, Xavian leapt, soaring until his feet landed on the flat plane below. Poised above the North Trail, Cristobal glanced at him from his periphery, acknowledged him with a nod before returning his attention to the pathway below.

  Xavian rotated into a crouch beside his friend. “Anything?”

  “Not yet. But the bastards are around.” Cristobal stroked the hilt of one of his daggers still safely sheathed. “’Tis too quiet.”

  “A good sign.”

  Cristobal rolled one shoulder then the other, alleviating the stiffness that always came with staying still so long. “If Valmont leads them, they’ll come looking for us soon. The bastard was never patient enough to play hide-and-seek.”

  “Pray it’s Valmont.” Xavian’s gaze swept the tumble of rocks on the other side of the North Trail and forced his muscles to relax. One by one, they unlocked, keeping him calm on the outside while he seethed inside. Valmont, that sick bastard. Just the sound of his name made him want to stab something. “’Twould be a gift.”

  “Michaelmas comes early.” Cristobal’s dark eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Have you been a good lad this year?”

  Xavian’s mind skipped from now to then—landing one short day ago when he’d held Afina in his arms. He heard her moan his name, gasp with pleasure, telling him without words how good she found him. His body picked up the thread, and he went hard behind his laces. “I have been very good.”

  His friend chuckled, the sound quiet and low. “I’m going to tell her you said—”

  The womp-womp of heavy wings sounded overhead.

  Cristobal looked to the sky. So did Xavian, searching for the beast that had become his frien
d. A large shadow slithered over rock, spreading over the cliff face like a stain. A rush of air followed, stirring the hair at his nape before dark scales flashed blue in the sunlight. Light as an angel dove, the dragon’s clawed feet touched down on the ridge above them.

  “What have you found?”

  “Twenty-eight Al Pacii. Heavily armed. Hunkered down beyond the foothills.” Garren settled, shifting his weight from one claw to the other before folding his wings. “No boys.”

  Henrik appeared on the ridge. Laying his hand against Garren’s scaled shoulder, he said, “An ambush...twenty-plus assassins strong. Hell, Ram, you must be doing something right. Halál’s pissed off enough to put a big price on your head.”

  Xavian performed a mock bow. “I live to please.”

  Garren snorted. Twin tendrils curled from his nostrils, sending a cloud of smoke and the smell of sulfur tumbling over the rock face.

  With a grin, Henrik left his perch, jumping to join them on the narrow ledge. Vestiges of dragon smoke swirled around his boots as he sank to his haunches beside them. “Just as well. Wipe out many with one blow. Better than chasing one or two around the countryside.”

  “Glad you approve, H,” Cristobal murmured, his mouth tipped up at the corners. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the landscape spread out in front of them. “Don’t know about you two, but I don’t feel much like hiding anymore.”

  “Seek and destroy.” Henrik settled his elbows on his knees, solidifying the crouch. “A much more enjoyable game.”

  Xavian raised a brow. “Want to even the odds a little, H?”

  “Got a method in mind?”

  “How many can you get with your bow before we go in...three?”

  Henrik fingered the tip of an arrowhead. “Four minimum...before they take cover.”

  “Good.” Xavian glanced over his shoulder at Garren. “The others?”

  “Tareek keeps watch in human form from the trees.” The dragon dipped his head, bringing his gaze level with theirs. “Cruz watches from on high, hidden in a mountain crevice.”