Resolved, Alexia turned to go home.
An inky haze sucked away, disappearing behind jagged branches.
Twenty-One
Disappointment
Ulric pushed the shutters open to spill daylight on his little prisoner. The mini captive. His progeny and most profitable venture to date, even if the child was somewhat repulsive.
She lifted a tiny, grayed hand to shield her eyes, jingling her chains with the movement. “Mommy?” she asked.
He ground his teeth. The voice was the epitome of innocence and childhood, but its source didn’t reflect any such beauty. “Is it not enough that I have come?”
She lowered her gaze—a good little girl who knew when to hold her tongue. Her shoulders shook once, twice. “I want Mommy.”
“As do I, poppet.” He smiled. He’d been told his smile was more menacing than comforting, but his little doll seemed to find comfort in it. At least she rubbed at her eyes and sat very, very still. It was unnatural the way she held herself, unflinching even at the loudness of his steps in the stone tower. That unnaturalness kept her from being loved or embraced as she clearly desired. It made his skin crawl. He sat next to her on the thin mattress. “I had rather hoped opening this window would encourage Mommy’s appearance, but it looks like she will not see you today.”
The child sniffled. Her blonde tresses bobbed and she curled inward. It wasn’t that he enjoyed injuring the child, but there was a slight sense of satisfaction in watching her cringe. Pain was a part of life. It was the best education. If her frail body could withstand the lash, he’d teach her by other means (and had on occasion), but for now, words would do. Only after her mother arrived would he break this child’s little body to teach both mother and child the consequence of disobedience. For now, listening to the imp sniffle and stifle her emotions would have to suffice.
He waited until she calmed. Until she held unnaturally still once more.
Finally, he rose. “Mommy is not coming today. Maybe she will come tomorrow.”
The child huddled in on herself.
“Well, until tomorrow, poppet.”
“Bye-bye, Papa.”
Twenty-Two
Decided
All night long Alexia relived the moment, the feeling, the silence brought on by…whatever it was. She’d glimpsed darkness—a cloud of darkness. Like the murk Amos created.
“Did you have any strange or restless dreams last night?” she asked their leader. It was possible he could use his gift while slumbering, even without knowing.
Amos waved Alexia off. “None for me.”
She explained her experience, asking again if it was possible he might have brought the haze.
He rubbed his chin. “I suppose it might be possible, but I have never done anything like that before.”
They left it at that.
But Alexia wasn’t alone. Others started reporting the strange feeling, the stillness, and when they turned at the movement, they blacked out. She asked Amos again if it might be a result of his dreams, and he suggested, “Perhaps this is another of the Passionate reaching out to us.”
Twelve. There had been twelve reports now. In the last sighting, little Filia had been found screaming, cringing against a boulder. Alexia thought that warranted some kind of action, though she had no idea what.
“What would you have us do?” Amos waved a hand at his hut’s new, wooden door. “Hunt this thing? It harms no one.”
“It scares children.”
He nodded and clasped a hand over his forehead. “We are building something here. In three weeks no one has been injured, so we leave it alone, it leaves us alone. Perhaps it is even a protection. Keeps others away.”
She drew a finger across the wooden table in his hut. He wasn’t the only one who’d begun filling his space with permanent furniture. People had started believing this could be a home—that running away to a new land wasn’t necessary. Routines had begun to manifest—harvest twice a week, duties fulfilled, new clothing produced and mended… Even Velia enjoyed time away. Alexia didn’t want to take that from them any more than Amos did, so perhaps it was a benign thing that prowled the night. Considering how settled they were, birthing a child in this environment might be ideal.
At least Kiren was still present.
She left Amos and went about her duties, delivering mended clothing and gathering the torn, or taking orders for necessities. She was grateful Ethel had taught her the important skill of sewing. Especially since she could contribute without risking her child.
Mist curled across the ground. Velia stepped out of the fog with two others, having just returned from the lush fields they farmed on the other side of the world. Alexia waved, grateful for their buckets full of berries, greens, wheat, and turnips. They would be eating well tonight.
She pulled a curtain door aside and stepped into a hut to return Ilberd’s mended tunic. They were slowly replacing curtains with doors, children and women first.
She froze.
Kiren knelt beside Ilberd on his mattress. The mattress was Oriel’s handiwork. Oriel and little Filia had been gathering straw, down, wool, and whatever else they could to fill the mattresses while Alexia and Silivia sewed.
Kiren gently squeezed Ilberd’s forearm. “And the weakness continues?”
“It was better yesterday, but I swear it don’t heal right.”
Kiren grinned. “It would if you’d keep it in the sling I made for you.”
“How’s an able bodied man to chop lumber if he’s got use of but one arm?” He leaned around his medic. “Ho there, Alexia. Thank ye much for the mending!”
“Glad to assist.” She set his tunic on the single stool in the room. When she looked up, Kiren was watching her, a blank expression on his face. Her cheeks burned.
Every time she caught a glimpse of him her heart leapt into her throat, her belly filling with longing so potent it drowned out even the need to eat. The torture was divine. Each morning he crossed paths with her by the pool, and she looked forward to it. They would speak, sometimes briefly, but once for half the morning. He’d always inquire after her health, then subtly dig for more information about his future. She liked making him dig. She’d let little bits of truth drop: her father’s dislike of Kiren, aspects of the house he’d built that she admired, how much she missed Sarah. He lapped every confession up like a thirsting dog.
She didn’t know if he stayed because he wanted to, or because she insisted that they needed him. He had healed so many ailments and saved lives. The others saw it too. Despite a rocky start in this mountain, attitudes were changing. She saw in him a determination to make it so and that pleased her. He had become a favorite with the children.
And with her.
Still, no matter how amiably they talked, every morning their discussions devolved into a fight. This morning it had been a disagreement about the permanence of this community. Kiren didn’t think it would last. She insisted it was an attitude like that which would end up costing them their peaceful abode.
“Alexia,” he greeted and got quickly to his feet. He snatched up her basket of repaired clothing. “Where are you off to next?”
“Oh, um, Mae’s new hut.”
“Oye! What about me?” Ilberd asked.
“Sling,” Kiren commanded and pushed a curtain aside for Alexia. “One arm until I say otherwise.”
The curtain dropped behind them, and she waddled self-consciously in front of him. He leveled next to her, eyes fixed ahead. “Seen any monsters in the night recently?”
She prickled. “Tease all you like, but you will not when you see it.”
He chuckled.
They arrived at the center of their budding township. Huts formed a circle around the well Willem had tunneled the first week. Each building had begun to take on a unique look thanks to Oluchi’s brilliant paints. Crimsons, vibrant blues, yellows, greens, and oranges. The variety filled Alexia with joy. It was like spring every time she walked by.
“I can take that.” She reached for her basket.
Kiren lifted it away. “You should not be carrying heavy things, not at this late stage.”
“I have been carrying heavy things every day of my life. Doing so now will not change my fate. My basket?” She swiped for it, and he lifted it away again, laughing. “You are being ridiculous.”
“I am sorry. That is a woman’s job, is it not?”
She gasped indignantly and jabbed a finger at his ribs. He dodged most of the blow, backing up a step, as she lunged for her basket. Alexia’s balance was off. She landed against his chest, struck by the scent of his honeyed-oak and the firmness of his body. His smile faded as he studied her face.
The stars shifted in his all-encompassing sea, not merely a projection from a distant sky, but an embracing light that reached for her own. Something clicked into place. He was no longer looking at her like a challenge, but a part of himself he couldn’t lose.
His gaze bounced quickly away and back, and he leaned in. His lips pressed to her cheek in a tender caress.
This was what she’d been waiting for. At last a touch that said, I adore you with all my heart. Please be mine.
He pulled back, and Alexia remembered where they stood. In the center of the township. With several people watching. He may as well have just declared his feelings for all to see.
She backed away.
They were supposed to keep a distance. She could not endanger her husband’s life. Her cheeks warmed. “What are you doing?”
“I thought that was clear.” His gaze lingered on her, filled with such warmth that she may never need the sun again. He lifted her basket. “I am taking care of you.”
A flurry of movement caught her periphery. She turned as Deamus hurried away.
Kiren threaded her arm through his and smiled at her, just for her. In her heart, she felt as though a great battle had come to an end, one she didn’t wish to fight anyway. Perhaps they had finally reached that magical place: not enemies, not allies, but something dear.
***
Kiren stared into her eyes and it hit him. He cared about her. Too much. Every morning he looked forward to verbally sparring with her near the pond. It was the best part of his day. The part that kept him fighting. If she could care for him, it didn’t matter how many of his people held grudges. She was the heart of the Lost Ones. She represented all that was good about them, and he could thrive no matter what came, so long as he had her.
But he didn’t have her. Not really.
Kiren caught a glimpse of Deamus over her shoulder. The lanky giant lifted a hand and approached, as if to whisk Alexia from him.
There would be no whisking. Not now, not ever. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Not just a kiss, a declaration. He had been dancing around it long enough. If he adored her, and he did, it was time to make his claim.
She’d said she wouldn’t live through her child’s birth. He was determined that she would. He would make sure of it. And then he would take her delicate, determined hand into his own and never let go.
Kiren pulled back and she blushed. He loved watching the flush of realization and embarrassment stain her cheeks. It made him want to kiss her again, more intimately, enough to make everyone else blush. Would she let him?
Perhaps being bonded might not be so awful. It may actually prove to be the most amazing experience of his life.
Deep breath.
Yes, he’d thought it, and he believed it. No backing down now.
She put space between them.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I thought that was clear.” He lifted her basket, filled with a sudden warmth that exhilarated and terrified. “I am taking care of you.”
Deamus fled, and Kiren grinned. That’s right. She is mine.
***
Deamus burst into the clearing, flexing and loosening his hands. She was slipping away from him. The one thing he thought he had, and here an enemy poached his prize. She would be his if he could just open that gateway!
He plowed through a depressed haze, dropping to his knees.
So be it. There was only one course of action to take. He lifted both hands above his head and recited the incantation from memory. Wind swirled around him. It tore at his cloak and funneled into the sky. He focused on the energy stored within, the energy stored without, the passion of the community only a short distance away. All this he directed upward into the gathering storm.
A seam ripped through the clouds, revealing midnight pitch beyond. A crack. Just enough for someone to slip through. Already the draw of power was too much. It would kill them all.
He grated his teeth and pounded his fists into the earth, severing the connection.
The sky healed. Birds cawed in the distance.
It was no use. He was never going home.
Twenty-Three
The Traitor
A trap for someone who could turn to mist?
Leofrik straightened the chainmail net and backed away. He’d been observant and invisible, and now his efforts would pay out. Metal links spanned the spot she always appeared, suspended between a tree and the burned out house.
A chilly breeze washed over him. He grinned, poised to pounce. Success was about to be delivered.
Wind rattled the chainmail and a shriek rent the air. Nothing but mist one second, woman the next. She hit the metal links with the force of a horse-drawn carriage, and the mail caught around her, torn loose from the tree and building. It tangled over her. Leofrik rushed in as she ripped at the metal. He hugged it tightly about her, securing it like a blanket around her torso and knocking her to the ground.
She jerked, arms secured in the web. She kicked at him, but he crushed her legs beneath his own. Her teeth snapped at him. He leaned away, one arm pressed against her collarbone.
Silver eyes glared death at him through a mess of snowy-blonde hair with a hint of sunshine. Cautiously, he brushed the strands back from her face. Thin brows crushed down over upturned eyes. The pink of rose petals warmed her cheeks, and berry wine lips pursed, twitching in rage. She smelled of lilac and a hint of rain—such an intriguing mixture.
Lovely. Beyond lovely. She belonged in men’s dreams, not the light of day.
Her chest heaved beneath him, and he became aware of her form, a shape quite pleasingly proportioned from what he could feel.
Head out of the bedsheets. To your duty, man.
She twisted again, a futile attempt to break free. She slammed the back of her head into the ground with a growl. The sound startled him. Had it come from a wolf or lion it wouldn’t have surprised him, but from a young woman who fit the image of an angel? He couldn’t reconcile the two. Except that she was a witch. And dangerous.
“Hello, lovely,” he greeted.
She twitched beneath him, attempting to shake him off again, grunting with the effort.
“I am twice your heft.” He pressed down harder. “Save your strength for a battle you can win.”
Her head tilted, bottom eyelids squeezing upward. The silver of her stare cut through him like a blade, and he swore it sliced into his very soul. She exhaled and turned her head away.
Good. The fight was gone. Now he could get down to business.
“How is it he trapped me?” he mimicked what he thought her voice might sound like. After a week of plotting, he needed to explain his genius. “Every morning she comes with first light—like a feather on the breeze. I hide in the burned out house, watching as she takes her turns about the field, checking crops and tasting them for ripeness. Cannot see her face. It is like fog. Most of her is. I wonder if she is actually here, somewhere else, or both.”
He snatched the rope dangling off the metal net and looped it around her chest, tugging it tight.
She grunted, nose flaring.
He gave the rope a single knot and looped it around her waist. “Nothin’ can catch the wind, but I have it from good authority that metal can trap her kind. So I recon
struct my chainmail, turning it into a net, and stretch it out in the night—right at the spot she appears every sunrise. And here she is.” He finished securing the rope around her knees. Peculiar that she wore no shoes. Not much by way of clothing either—only a flimsy shift, as if the weather didn’t affect her. Curious. The thin fabric did little to hide her enticing curves. “And now she is wondering what it is I want with her?”
Her chin lifted stubbornly away, mouth clamped tight.
“Well, lady,” he said mockingly, “it is probably not what you expect.” He sat back and examined his handiwork. The rope cut deep, securing the metal right against her skin. The tiniest bit of him twinged against what he’d done. His mother would roll in her grave if she could see this, but he reminded himself that this woman would just as happily kill him as listen to his request. “I want you to take me to your people.”
She choked and shook with silent laughter.
As expected. “And why should you do that?” He rose to his feet, adjusting the sword at his hip. “Because I can be terribly persuasive when I choose.”
She closed her eyes and her face relaxed as if to say, Do anything to me you want.
“My lord has bid me capture and enslave the demons who plague his land. Are you demons then?”
The woman scoffed.
“You have my ear, maiden, but my patience thins, and with it my empathy.”
She glared at him.
He exhaled. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. He had to find the right trigger.
Twenty-Four
Love and Blood
Zeph threw an empty coconut shell at Kiren. He ducked, and it hit his shoulder before bouncing off the stone wall of their hut.
“Brain boiled,” Zeph laughed. “I thought I was too close to the rift, but you, you jumped over the edge, head first.”
Timeless (Maiden Of Time Book 3) Page 10
