The Christian & Brina Collection

by Judith Post

  “So every single one of you is strong.”

  “All but Caedmon. That’s why I paired him with Umfrey. He’d still be bound to his mistress if she hadn’t released him.”

  “And why would she do that?”

  “As a special favor to me.” Jarman didn’t explain, and Christian didn’t ask. Jarman turned to pace back to the guard tower when he jerked his head toward the forest. Loud enough for all to hear, he hissed, “They’re coming.”

  Christian planted his feet to take a stance. He stood on the high walkway above the heavy, wooden gates of the fortress. Not that vampires would use the gate, but at midcenter, his power could reach both ends of the wall. The pregnant witch kept watch to his left. He’d tried to place her on the back wall, hopefully far from action, but she’d have none of it.

  “I’m an air witch. I can blast a wind to slow down any enemy. I’ll do more good on the front lines.”

  He’d finally compromised by placing the young witch who shot sparks in her place. Brina stood to his right, another choice he chafed at. Cook hovered on the guard tower, close enough to keep an eye on her prodigy. The witch who could throw white balls of energy stood at the end of the walk. Earth, wind, and fire—as formidable a line-up as he could think of.

  A rush of sound roared from the trees in the distance. Shadows burst toward them, spurting through the air, like a flock of giant nighthawks with dagger fangs.

  Jarman and his pack readied their arrows, waited a moment, then let them loose. Vampires tumbled from the sky. Jarman’s pack reloaded and shot again, then again. Everything happened so fast, actions blurred, but row after row of vampires fell to the ground. Then the horde was almost upon them.

  When Jarman’s pack ran out of silver-tipped arrows, they started to shoot stakes. It was impossible to be accurate enough to kill with each shot, but the wooden stakes slowed down the onslaught. A few seconds more, and Christian raised his arms to shoot fire. Bodies briefly blazed until turning to ash. Before the vampires jumped them, the pregnant witch waved her hands. Winds blew, pushing the vampires back. They fought harder to make headway, and she waved once again. The winds held them in place as perfect targets for Jarman and his pack’s stakes. Like a blow torch, Christian’s fire raged with the winds, consuming anyone in its path.

  One vampire, obviously smarter than the rest, quit struggling against the winds and fought his way sideways out of their path, like a swimmer escaping a riptide. He hurled a branch at the pregnant witch. It slammed into her, and she yowled in pain. Her arm dropped, limp, to her side. The winds died, and the warlord and his troops sprang toward them.

  Cook stepped forward. She chanted a spell and a wall of earth jutted upward so suddenly, vampires slammed into it—some with such force, their heads split open. Bursts of ashes erupted and fell. For those who escaped, Cook raised her palms. Rocks floated skyward. She whooshed her hands, and the rocks sped like rockets. More heads cracked. More vampires fell.

  The witch on the far tower let loose volleys of white, hot energy. Her powers had been weak before. No longer. They slammed through one vampire after another. Christian shot more flames, Cook more rocks. Jarman and his men fired stakes. The vampires retreated.

  The pregnant witch took advantage of the short lull. “Tie my arm!”

  Christian sliced off his shirt sleeve to drape a sling around her neck. He wrapped her arm in it, so that her hand pointed outward. “If we survive this, Mother can heal you.”

  The witch laughed. “If we survive this, I can heal myself. But first things first.”

  The new attack came quietly. Four groups of vampires shot out of the trees, all going in different directions.

  “There!” The young witch on the back tower pointed. Two of Jarman’s vampires, assigned to her side, shot every stake they had, then braced themselves for hand to hand combat. She stepped in front of them and said, “Keep me on my feet.” She let loose such a fury of sparks, she almost lost her footing. The sparks were so powerful, they drilled holes in the vampires’ heads. When her power fizzled to a stop, more than half of that group was dead.

  “Our turn,” one of the vampires told her and shoved her aside. He and his friend flew to the soldiers who remained. Fangs sprang past their lips. Claws shot from their fingertips. They whirled into the newly changed troops, slashing and biting. When they finished, no one remained.

  Jarman nodded at Christian. “I told you. Older than dirt and strong as hell.”

  The second batch of vampires attacked the left, back tower. Christian fired, but from his spot above the front gates, his magic couldn’t reach that far. The witch on guard was the woman who could make herself invisible—a clever trick, but not overly valuable in war. At least, that’s what Christian thought until the enemy all floundered before passing the walls. They struggled and strained, as though mired in mud. Jarman’s two, old vampires positioned there finished them off. When the last enemy crumbled to dust, the witch showed herself, releasing her grip on a rope net the vampires had helped stretch from one tower to the next.

  She grinned and waved to Christian. “We spent all night weaving this. I added just enough silver strands to make it hold. As long as I touch it, it becomes invisible like me.”

  Christian raised his fist toward her in a sign of victory. He’d greatly underestimated the power of his witches.

  The third phalanx sped toward the left tower. The pregnant witch straightened her shoulders and gripped her broken arm. Words flew from her lips, and a wind so strong hit them, that it hurled them into trees. Heads smashed. Bodies broke in half. When the winds died, the vampires by her side finished off any survivors.

  A wave of triumph surged through Christian. Short-lived. Vampires plummeted into the courtyard from the dark skies. While the three sets of troops were harrying them, a fourth had streaked overhead to invade them from above.

  The enemy raced toward the fortress.

  “No!” Christian blasted fire before the heavy doors. The first onslaught of vampires burned in the flames. A second group rushed toward a side window, larger than the rest. Cook spoke and earth lunged upward to cover it. Another group settled on the rooftop and scrabbled down the stone walls to try other windows. No luck. They were all too narrow. The witch who shot energy zapped them there.

  Christian glanced at the sky, searching for the sliver of moon. Surely, it would be sunrise soon. How long could he and his men hold off the warlord’s army? Could they gain victory before dawn? Sweat drenched his skin. His shoulders ached.

  A roar came from behind Christian, and an ax buried itself in his back. Pain exploded up and down his spine. The blow nearly knocked him off the high walkway, but Jarman grabbed him before he could fall. Brina’s face burned with a fearsome anger, and she laid a hand on Christian’s shoulder. The pain shifted to a heat that was almost too intense to endure. He gritted his teeth and knotted his fingers into fists. He shut his eyes against the agony.

  A horde of the warlord’s soldiers rushed toward them as Jarman yanked the ax out of Christian’s flesh. The pregnant witch called for her winds, but her energy was spent. The air rush was powerful enough to hold them in place, but it was fading.

  “Raise your arms!” Brina snapped.

  Christian grimaced, tried, and failed. Jarman held them for him. Brina placed a hand on each of Christian’s shoulders. “Trust me,” she said. To the others, she cried, “Stay out of my path!”

  A cold raced through his veins so frigid that Christian’s teeth chattered. She moved his body slowly, from left to right, and the cold spewed out of him, freezing anyone and anything in its path. Leaves fell from trees. Grasses grew brittle and broke.

  The warlord jammed a soldier before him, and the vampire froze. When he pushed him aside, he broke into pieces and fell to earth, splintering to shards.

  Christian gave a convulsive shiver, numb with cold, and Brina released him. She stood on tiptoe and kissed warmth back into his body. When he blinked to full consciousness, few of t
he enemy remained.

  The warlord motioned for retreat and turned to flee. Too late. Aldith and her partner were upon them.

  “This is for Cedany!” Aldith spat. She raked sharp nails across the warlord’s eyes. “This is for the blood you made her drink!” A claw ripped across his jugular, nearly removing his head. “And this is for….” The threat was futile. The warlord crumpled to dust and sifted through her fingers. She turned to her handsome, young friend. He’d finished the rest.

  The battle was over.

  It took Christian a moment to realize they were safe. He kept expecting someone to zip from a tree line or drop from the air. But the warlord was destroyed—the progenitor of his troops, their master. If any had escaped, his death meant their demise.

  Jarman stayed a fair distance from Brina. “How did you do that?” he asked her.

  “I can’t on my own.” She glanced at Christian, a flush rising to her cheeks. “I need a conductor. Not many will do. But when I touched him before, I knew. We act as one. My power flows through him.”

  Jarman gave a slow smile. “Ice and fire. A heady combination. Who’s the stronger of the two?”

  Brina licked her lips, embarrassed. “We’re equally matched. We seem to complement one another.”

  “So you can’t destroy him, and he can’t destroy you?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Why would we want to?”

  “Love spats perhaps?”

  She raised an eyebrow, and he changed the subject. Turning to Christian, he grew suddenly serious. “What now, my lord? Now that the danger’s past.”

  Christian rubbed his arms, still cold. “What are you asking? I don’t know the meaning of your question.”

  “We’ve won this war. You and your people have survived. What of witches and vampires now?”

  Christian stared. “Do I strike you as someone who’d turn on my allies after they served us so well?”

  “We had no choice,” the pregnant witch told him in her usual blunt manner. “We couldn’t survive on our own.”

  “What’s your name?” Christian was tired of thinking of her as the pregnant witch. She deserved more than that.

  “Sabina,” she told him. “A witch.”

  “My point exactly,” Christian stated. “We united our strengths to work together. Our differences made us strong.”

  Jarman’s hands went to his hips. “You saw our powers. Would you trust us to dwell among you?”

  “I did see your powers, which made me wonder. Why didn’t you attack fortresses before the warlord thought of it? With surprise on your side, who could defeat you?”

  Aldith came to stand beside him. “The smell and taste of humans disgusts us.”

  “I see.” Christian gave Jarman a level look. “But we have a vast forest between my fortress and the next. That lord was saved by our combined forces. No one would argue if you chose to make those forests your home.”

  Jarman smiled. “No one would come hunting us during the day?”

  “Not if I could stop it.”

  Aldith held out her hand. “For a mortal, you’re a decent sort. We thank you.”

  Christian shrugged. “I doubt any rogues will wander this way again.”

  “Fear of you would stop that,” Jarman said. “But fear of us will ensure it.”

  Caedmon went to join his friends. “Will I be able to visit my daughter?”

  “I see no reason why not. And she can visit you.” He quirked a brow at Jarman. “If you swear not to drain her.”

  Sabina interrupted. “And witches? What about us?”

  “You’ve never harmed me, and I see no reason why that would change.”

  Cook glanced at Jarman. “And the forest? At one time, we celebrated the solstices there.”

  “Pick a spot, and we’ll leave you in peace,” Jarman assured her.

  “And our sister witches? Will you honor them, too?” Sabina asked Christian.

  “Their only peril will be their own villages if someone finds out they’ve joined you at the solstice.”

  Cook nodded. “And her? What will become of Brina?”

  “I have plans for her.”

  Cook’s shoulders straightened. “Young man….”

  Christian laughed. “Mother says it’s time I choose a wife. Mortals don’t interest me. Brina does.”

  “And you?” Cook turned to Brina.

  This time, Brina stepped into Christian’s arms. “I’ve hidden in the kitchens a long time. I think I’ve finally met my match.”

  The fortress doors opened, and Lady Enid stepped out, along with everyone else. Christian’s mother took one look at her son and smiled. She glanced at the heavens.

  “It’s on to the next journey,” she said.

  That journey could wait. Christian believed in celebrating each and every victory, whether large or small. And for him, this one was life changing.

  Keeper of Dragons

  The Second Christian & Brina Novella

  A Lunch Hour Read

  by

  Judith Post

  Special thanks to M L Rigdon, my friend and a fabulous writer, for critiquing my latest four novellas. She knows her medieval history and tried to catch my mistakes. If some still exist, she warned me, but I'm stubborn.

  The wedding was fast approaching. Christian couldn't tie the knot with Brina fast enough. No one in his serfdom had a quibble about their lord marrying a commoner. Most knew and loved Brina, nearly as much as they loved his mother, Lady Enid. He'd heard that neighboring lands, however, gossiped incessantly about the crazy lord and his soon-to-be, peasant bride. If he'd had his way, the deed would be done, and they'd be husband and wife, but his mother, Lady Enid, had teamed up with Cook to plan the preparations. Feasts and celebrations obviously took time. Too much time.

  "You know she once worked in his kitchens, baking his bread," the lord in the next manor was happy to tell anyone and everyone.

  Christian rankled at that. He and Brina had rescued Lucan and his lady, along with their children and any servants who lived, from the vampire warlord who'd drained almost everyone in Lucan's serfdom. Then Christian housed them in his fortress until he and his fellow witches—along with a band of renegade vampires—defeated the army. And what good had come of it? Once Lucan realized Christian allowed magic among his people, he couldn't hurry home fast enough.

  Stupid man! He wouldn't even allow Christian to use his fire magic to burn the rotting corpses that littered his villages. Lucan's wife and children died from disease a short time after they returned.

  Could Lucan be the cause of Christian's new problem? Christian weighed the pros and cons of that on his way to the Great Room to meet Brom. He and his general had agreed to a tete-a-tete at dusk with Jarman, their vampire friend.

  Christian opened the huge, wooden doors of his castle, an invitation for Jarman to enter when he arrived, before he strode to the massive, oak table where Brom waited.

  "Do you know what this is about?" Christian asked. "Did Jarman give you any details?"

  Brom shook his dark head. "Just that it was a matter of life and death."

  "For us? Or for his vampires?"

  Brom shrugged broad shoulders. "I woke before he could tell me. I'm not fond of having a vampire invade my dreams. It was rather unsettling."

  Unsettling was the least of it. "Why didn't he come to me?" Christian asked.

  Brom's lips curved in a teasing smile. "He said that your head was filled with thoughts of Brina and there was no room for him."

  "What? The man can enter my thoughts?"

  A chuckle came from the doorway. Jarman entered and walked toward them. "Not really, but I can guess."

  Christian stared, taken aback for a minute by his friend's appearance. "What did you do? You look different."

  The vampire gave a quick bow. "I shaved my beard. Cut my hair. All to appear more presentable to the opposite sex. I'm courting."

  "Courting?"

  "A fetching witch who visited ou
r forest for the solstice."

  Brom waved a dismissive hand. "Your kind can use glamour, if you have to, but I doubt that will be necessary. I've never met a vampire who wasn't pretty. You're one of the fairest."

  At Jarman's scowl, Christian laughed. Brom loved to tease, and his taunt had hit its mark, but he spoke the truth. There were very few vampires who weren't exceptionally attractive, and Jarman's wavy, dark hair and brilliant, green eyes made him more memorable than most.

  "No one can glamour a witch," Jarman grumbled.

  "Then turn on your charm and stun her with your style." Brom made it sound easy. It was easy for him. Tall, dark, and brooding, Brom ignored more female attention than most men could hope for, but Christian knew from experience that winning a witch was no easy matter. Brina would have happily rejected him if he hadn't proved himself to her.

  Jarman didn't consider his courtship a laughing matter. He snapped, "How did you and Christian become friends? When you met at a beauty pageant?"

  Brom pushed to his feet, blue eyes flashing. His sense of humor didn't always extend to jabs aimed at him.

  Christian stepped between the two men. Time to intervene and change the topic. He kept his tone light. "Even though the three of us are rather ravishing, we're also good with swords and fists. We're facing a problem. What is it, and how do we deal with it?"

  Jarman's expression turned instantly serious. "Something's prowling in the forest. I've lost three of my pack. They went hunting and never returned."

  "Do they ever wander farther afield, to other serfdoms?" Brom asked.

  "There's no need. We find an abundance of food here."

  After Jarman's renegade group of vampires stayed to help fight the vampire army, Christian invited them to live in his forest. Humans needn't fear them. They drank from animals, refused mortal's blood, and kept the rat and mice population in check.

  "Man doesn't live by bread alone," Christian quoted, "and I'm guessing vampires don't either." He sent a meaningful look Jarman's way. "Do they ever slip into a village to meet a fetching witch or wench?"