At first, he ran fast. Eventually, so that he did not drain his energy and put them both at risk, Lucien slowed down and paced himself. He took a moment to adjust Aislan more comfortably. She shifted and slid an arm about his neck, bracing herself when he ran again. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she hung onto him limply. When he had to stop again, she pulled back, almost too feeble to look at him, but Lucien could not give her his attention right now while he replenished his own energy.
His strength had ebbed. The wolves had torn at his legs and arms. He needed to find somewhere to regenerate properly, but he had to put distance between them and the wolves. The three he spared could regenerate and recover, although it would be difficult for them to go after him now. He knew the one he killed was a Tracker like himself, who led the pack to find him and Aislan. Unlikely there would be another Tracker or Swift in the group, so they would not be able to catch up. Lucien also suspected, except for Colen, the other two shape-shifters could not fight in human form. Sorcery was highly specialized, and half of the sorcerers Lucien knew did not have combative skills. However, he knew better than to underestimate them. The Sorsverein trained only the best sorcerers with either unique or highly diversified abilities. Lucien did not want to take a chance by staying put for too long.
When he could not run any longer, Lucien stopped. Aislan had passed out, no doubt from the shock and from loss of blood. He paused in front of one of the many caves that cut into the side of the mountainous Balican forest. His energy had drained considerably from his own loss of blood, and his senses had become fuzzy, but he forced himself to focus as he looked for a cave. Aislan slumped against his body, weighing nothing. Righting her, he bent to hoist her over his left shoulder, letting her drape face down, her head dangling against his back. Keeping an arm behind her knees to anchor her in place, he unsheathed his dagger and made his way into one of the caves.
The silver blade glowed faintly, not enough to see details, but enough for him to make out the outline of where he stepped without running into walls or stepping off ledges. Bats flew about. Most bats were not bloodsuckers, as commonly believed, but he and Aislan would be tempting morsels, with both of them bloodied. Better bats than larger cave dwellers like bears, which he could not tussle with right now. Some of the bats flew overhead, snapping up insects.
The damp cave dripped from the underground spring. Lucien did not venture too deep, finding a cove to serve as temporary haven. Squinting in the semi-darkness, he located a patch of dry ground and laid Aislan down. She did not stir. Lucien touched her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the warm softness of her skin, a sharp contrast to the coldness of the cave. She lay as still as death, which concerned him greatly, but he could feel her steady breathing against his fingers. He checked her torn hands. The shape-shifter Daman had shown no mercy trying to kill such a gentle, fragile woman.
Lucien's sense of justice surfaced again. He had chosen to save her even though he had to commit murder to do so, and it was murder. He could not justify it as self-defense. The wolves, as the norm with all sorsvasus, would not have killed him. They would have preferred to drag him back to the Circle to have him face punishment for defying the king and the Sorsverein. Obeying mandate, they had only wanted Aislan.
There was no going back for him now. He had murdered a sorsvasus brother, a crime punishable by death.
Doffing his baldric, Lucien went down on his knees and pulled Aislan upright. He loosened the cloak and unfastened the top of her tunic, squinting to see in the near darkness. The wolf had missed her slender throat but managed to sink its fangs into her shoulder, but not deep. Where he had assumed docility, the waiflike Aislan had fought fiercely for her life, but it had been a losing proposition for her. If he could have incapacitated Daman any other way, he would have done it. Lucien's other choice had been to go for the heart. Stabbing the powerful wolf through any other part of the body would not have stopped it. Even then, Lucien had faltered at the last moment, unable to bring himself to run his sword completely through even though Daman was already dead.
Turning Aislan's inert body around, Lucien sat crossed-legged behind her and placed both of his hands below her shoulder blades. He concentrated on channeling his inner energy, transferring his power through the points of his fingers as he focused on healing her hands first.
He gauged her ability to absorb the energy flowing from him through her. She adjusted to his invasion easily, reaching out like faint tendrils to grasp at his inner energy and drawing on it. He fought the temptation to pull free from her predatory intent. Lucien did not have the option to stop because he had to heal her. If he did not tend to her now, she would bleed to death or lose the use of one or both of her mangled hands. He could always regenerate and recover his power, but to heal her, then him, and then having to regenerate to restore his power, all came with high risks in an unprotected environment, leaving him completely vulnerable while he regenerated.
Pushing the dire consequences aside, he concentrated on arteries and muscles, little by little, as he closed her wounds. He steered clear of applying energy below Aislan's heart. Lucien knew nothing about pregnant women, and what he did not know, he would not tamper. It took him the rest of the night, alternating between healing her and stopping to regenerate himself just enough to go on. Frequently, he checked her pulse for a steady beat. Having drained most of his energy because he had never healed another person before, he did not know how long he could keep it up.
When morning came, Lucien turned Aislan around and into his arms. Brushing her flaxen hair from her face, he bent to listen to her breathing. He pressed his cheek against hers briefly, marveling at her bravery. Her fierce tussling with Daman instead of merely accepting her fate had given him the time needed to save her. She also showed remarkable recuperative power. Pulling back, he touched her injured shoulder, bringing the dagger close, working his energy so it glowed enough for him to look at her wounds. Her slender fingers remained intact and still perfect. Even though she could use a little more healing, he had to regenerate. Barely staying conscious, Lucien pulled her tunic back in place and wrapped his cloak about her to keep her warm, and then gently laid her on her back on the cold, hard floor of the cave. Placing the dagger on top of her body, he wrapped her fingers about the hilt. She held onto it even in her unconscious state.
Sitting next to her, he pressed his palms against the center of his chest, one on top of the other, and focused on regaining his strength and restoring his power. Once he recovered his energy, he would heal his open wounds.
The day passed by slowly. By late noon, Aislan stirred. Lucien could not open his eyes immediately. He calmed his raging energy until he could interrupt safely. He looked at her, but he could do nothing beyond that. If she awoke, she could do whatever she wanted, and he would not be able to lift a finger to stop her.
Lucien waited until he had recovered enough before he checked on her. Feeling along her slender throat, he pinched a few of her nerves, but when he applied energy strategically to calm her down, her inner force grasped his hungrily. He pulled his fingers free, cutting the energy flow from being absorbed by the suction force inside her. She continued to sleep, but because he had not been able to apply enough pressure on her, she stirred several times, as if dreaming. Disconcerted with her restless energy, he tried to understand the kind of sorcery she possessed.
Aislan had a rare ability he had never encountered before, one much feared but highly coveted in the Circle. She might be a predator based on how quickly she had absorbed his sorcery power. Lucien had to struggle to free himself from the intensity of the menacing hunger.
* * * *
Aislan dreamed, a dream with a familiar presence, but this time it took on another dimension. She ran on foot through the forest from an ominous, all-powerful phantom, but she could not run fast enough. Looking behind her, she expected the Dark Lord, but a faceless old man with long gray hair and dark voids for eyes chased her. He looked as old as time and
as solid as a boulder. Aislan had never seen him before, and yet she sensed he had always been there, waiting, watching.
The old man overtook her easily on his huge black horse. He jumped off his horse. Despite his size, he moved as agile as a pouncing tiger as he flew at her with his long sword in hand. She tried to fend off his fierce strength and powerful sorcery. Aislan held in her hand a familiar one-foot silver dagger, which danced with life and obeyed her every thought. Fire sparked with each impact of his sword against her dagger. As the man raised his sword for the final strike, a figure dove out of the darkness and deflected the long blade with another sword.
As her defender parried every downward blow and vicious thrust aimed her way, the old man appeared even more infuriated. Then her rescuer grabbed her hand and they both ran, running as fast as the wind, leaving the enraged old man far behind. They dropped into a void together. As they fell, Aislan held fast onto her dagger with one hand while she kept a tight hold onto her savior with her other hand. He turned, his dark hair flying back from around his head, and she saw his face.
"Lucien.” She reached for him.
* * * *
Aislan woke to the faint morning light that made its way into the cave. She lay barely a few feet from Lucien, his profile turned to her in the semi-darkness, his eyes closed. He sat in a cross-legged position, his hands one on top of the other over his chest, not reacting to her. Despite his unmoving posture that made him appear to be sleeping, she felt energy shifting within him.
She remembered faintly him carrying her, running fast. Something had exchanged between them. Even now, she could feel his touch, his warm fingers gentle against her throat, her temples, her shoulder blades. Her body felt different. Reaching over, Aislan touched his knee. He stiffened as her fingers pressed into the solid, muscular thigh. She felt wetness, his blood. His clothes were torn, and she saw open wounds on his leg and arm. As she sat up, everything came back in full force. Aislan felt the hilt of the dagger in her hand.
Scooting away from him, Aislan stared at him in the semi-darkness. She could barely make out his features, but she saw his eyelids flicker. Even while inactive, he remained dynamically vibrant. She knew then he could not break his concentration. Her pulse raced in nervous uncertainty as she got to her feet. He remained unmoving, but she sensed his tenseness and just a tinge of anger.
Aislan looked at the dagger on the ground. Even though it could protect her on her journey, she knew it would also provide a means for him to track her. He had protected her, but when it came down to it, she was his prisoner. Aislan had no other choice because staying meant the inevitability. She had to take the opportunity to escape, to maintain the last shred of dignity. Her nature dictated that she run for freedom. She would no longer allow any man to own her. Aislan headed for the entrance of the cave and began walking as fast as she could, heading for Victania, the only place she belonged. Her vision had told her so.
When Aislan was about eleven, she had learned about Victania, an all-female sorcery clan, from one of the troubadours. Her father had not wanted to talk about her abduction by Narisse, so Aislan had painted Victania as a school for girls. She begged and pleaded with him to pay for her education with them, but he had balked at the suggestion, refusing to spend his limited coffers on the education of any of his five daughters.
Aislan had run away many times in search of Victania, and her father caught her every single time before she got very far, beating her for her constant defiance, and eventually, locking her up for fearing she would succeed. Soon, she found out why he would not let her go. A few months before she turned sixteen, he had sold her to Hayton Temple, who had been waiting for her to grow old enough to wed. At every opportunity, she would run away, causing Hayton to lock her up in a tower or keep her under guard. Confined since she was twelve by her father, Aislan continued her life as a virtual prisoner at Templeton Castle these past four years. It took Hayton's death to gain her freedom, but she did not feel responsible. Aislan absolved herself of all responsibility and guilt because his activities leading to his execution had nothing to do with her.
As she walked, Aislan sensed a change within herself. Something was different, but she could not determine what. She felt more energetic and alert. Her vision had always been good but now had become sharper. Her senses had heightened. It had rained slightly, and she smelled the dew on the passing leaves and saw sprinkles of water dripping from tree limbs. If she stopped to look, she could see each drop.
What had happened? She could not recall much of anything after the wolf bit her. Bit her! Aislan looked at her hands and rubbed the flaky, dry blood off her skin. Her hands felt tender, but no broken skin, no pain. Lucien had healed her. She knew that without a doubt and faltered for one moment. He had saved her, and she had walked away.
No, she was his prisoner, and she must not forget. Why had he saved her—because he wanted her? She had no need for any man's attention. She could not bear the thought of being bound to another man.
Aislan stopped by the river for a drink of water. Starving, she dug around for roots to eat, staying hidden in the forest to keep out of sight. She did not even know how to find Victania. Given time, she would go into town and ask questions. Meanwhile, she had to put distance between Lucien and herself. By early evening, Aislan began to tire because she had walked nearly the entire day. She ventured back to the river, knowing the risk of being in the open, but she was thirsty. After drinking her fill, Aislan sat on the riverbank and took off her cloth boots, then walked into the river to wash. After this, she planned to head towards the cliff to figure out where she needed to go to find the nearest town.
The boy's braes had gotten quite filthy, so she tried to wash some of the mud off. Having no monetary means to purchase new clothes, she would have to take better care of her clothes. Splashing water over her face and her body the best she could, Aislan rubbed off the dry blood and sweat until she ended up with her clothes all wet. She hesitated, then shrugged and waded further in until she could wash herself more thoroughly while still fully clothed. Used to be on the run, it would be foolish to be caught bathing in the nude.
Once satisfied, Aislan waded back onto the bank, wringing the water out of her clothes. She debated taking off her clothes and wearing only the cloak until she could find a way to dry her clothes. A few years back, she had gotten sick for staying in wet clothes too long. She did not want to lie in another cold cave running a fever.
Picking up her boots, she shook out the small stones, and her attention strayed to her left hand and the marriage band she wore. She had thrown the first few bands out the window into the moat, to Hayton's rage. Because nearly half a dozen priests blessed the latest band, Aislan had dared not risk their wrath when one of them came by to visit, mainly to reprimand her for her unrelenting demeanor towards her long-suffering husband. No priest could lecture her now.
Aislan tossed her boots aside and pulled at the ring. Hayton had deliberately made the band too small. She had to spit to loosen it and had to use grunt force to pry it off her finger. Once free, she pitched it into the river with the same consideration she had given the filigree discarded earlier. The ring landed further than she expected.
"Good riddance,” she whispered and turned to pick up her boots. She stopped abruptly.
Lucien leaned against a tree, watching her.
Aislan knew he would find her. She had run out of sheer habit, always running away from anyone or anything trying to hold onto her. Yet, during her journey, she had expected Lucien to find her. She had hoped he would find her and had stopped often to let him catch up.
Looking at him made her nipples tingle and her body quiver to life. She knew lust for what it was. It consumed her with the intense desire to mate with him. She did not have to answer to anyone, no husband, no priests, and she hurt no one with what she wanted. Victania could wait a few more days. Aislan had to know why this man was so familiar to her before she even met him.
There was no escap
ing fate, and at this moment, Aislan did not want to anymore.
Chapter 7
Gentle Seduction
Lucien's anger faded as soon as he saw Aislan.
He had been sick with fear when she walked out of the cave, and he had to force himself to finish regenerating another day. The hell she put him through almost meant nothing once he saw her splashing in the water. Anger would not solve anything. Having seen him kill twice, she did only what he expected of someone who considered herself a captive, associating him with bloodshed, violence, and death. She only rebelled against captivity even though what she did was pure foolishness, putting both of them in great jeopardy.
Any form of rebellion and defiance had always been dealt with harshly in his life. Like all humans, anyone could be broken. Lucien's sorcery master had broken him when he was a boy, which effectively altered some of his basic beliefs, but he had no interest in breaking Aislan. He had to adjust to her peculiar behavior because they had to exist harmoniously for an extended time.
Aislan stood there before him. Damn it all, the way her gaze locked on his face with an absorbing intensity matched the raging fire that churned in him. Lucien strode towards her. She took the final few steps to meet him until they stood barely an arm's length from each other. He stared at her uplifted face.
"You should not have run away, Aislan. Had they found you, they would have killed you.” He tried not to scold her too hard. If he frightened her further, she would only run again. She had to understand he was on her side. “You must stay with me, like it or not. You are fortunate I found you first. Do you understand the danger you are in?"
Vision of Light [The Renegades 1] Page 6
