“Always...protect you,” he gasped. “Always.”
“Don’t try to talk,” she said, immediately changing her tone. Was she worried about him? “Save your energy. Maybe you can heal yourself in a couple of days if you conserve your strength.” Had this been a different situation, he might have smiled. Maybe he was making as big an impact on Miranda’s life as she was on his.
As they stumbled forward, Aya ran to meet them. A faint glow emanated from the interior of the temple. Apparently, they were only minutes away from leaving this hell.
“Quickly!” she shouted as she approached them. “We have to open the gate! Zev’s dying!”
“Brand's injured,” Miranda answered. “Help me!”
Immediately, the other woman went to Brandwulfr’s other side and gasped when she saw his ravaged back. “By the gods,” she whispered. “Are we too late?”
“Miranda,” he said, taking her hand and putting the crystal in it. “Go open the gate. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said, her chin going up a notch. “We go together.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Aya interjected. “Just go open that gate so they can get Zev back to our homeland!”
“Will that help you heal?” she asked Brandwulfr. “Getting to your own world?”
“The sun gives us strength and power. If we’re injured, it speeds the healing process.”
“Then I have to get you there as well.”
“Human—” Aya began in a threatening voice.
“Look, you want to save your man. I get that. But I want to save mine as well! Now either help me or get the fuck out of my way!”
Again, Brandwulfr had the urge to smile. So much for his meek little Miranda. He rather liked this side of her. He only wished he could appreciate it more. As it was, when the two women looped their arms around his back, he nearly howled in pain.
At the portal, several shifters were gathered. Some were burned, others merely dazed. All of them looked at Miranda with malevolence, as if all of this was her fault. If he ever needed to show strength, now was the time. With great effort, Brandwulfr drew himself up to his full height even as Miranda knelt before the portal, thrusting the crystal into the ground at the base. Instantly, light began to pulse, beams of it radiating out from the event horizon.
“That’s it,” Brandwulfr said. “The portal’s active. I can actually smell the flora of home.” Every single shifter lifted his nose toward the gateway, inhaling deeply. Apparently satisfied, they filed through the opening, carrying an unconscious Zev with them. Aya followed closely behind her lover.
When only the two of them remained, Brandwulfr took her hand. “Come with me, Miranda. Please.”
“You’re too injured to return here. It’s a one-way ticket.”
“I want you to stay with me. I can’t promise you it will be easy. Every single one of those men who just went through that gate will report to our king what your father did to us. But I swear I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.”
She looked at him for long moments before sighing. “It’s not like there’s anything left here for me anyway.” Taking his hand, she let him lead her through the portal and away from everything she’d ever known.
Straight into an entire world that was her enemy.
Chapter Ten
The second she entered the strange but intensely beautiful world on the other side of the portal, Brand collapsed at her feet. Miranda dropped down beside him, her heart pounding, as she assessed him.
“Somebody help me!” she screamed. Immediately, several men rushed to her side, shoving her out of the way as they laid a wet sheet over Brandwulfr, lifting so that he was face down as they carried him away. When she rose to run back to his side, a hand tightened painfully on her upper arm. “Let me go!”
“She’s one of them,” the big, burly man said. Miranda recognized him from the catacombs. He’d been one of the men to assault her. She flinched back, but realized there was nowhere to run. No one to save her now that Brand was unconscious. Aya was busy with Zev, and there was no one else she could possibly turn to. Seeing the malicious gleam in the big man’s eyes, she sized him up, trying to determine if he had any weaknesses she could exploit. As if someone her size could possibly take on a man of his size. He stood head and shoulders above her and probably outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds.
“Little bitch likely stabbed him as he entered the gate,” he said with a sneer. “She’s one of the masters,” he spat after the last word, as if merely speaking it left a bad taste in his mouth. “She deserves as cruel a death as our brothers met.”
Miranda struggled wildly, needing to get to Brandwulfr, to stay by his side. Kicking out, she nailed the bastard in the balls twice before he let her go to clutch his privates. With a desperate cry, she sprinted toward Brandwulfr, the man who had come to mean so much to her she ached with it. Until this very moment, she’d had no idea. In the temple, when she’d realized he’d shielded her body with his own, taking wounds that could very well kill him, she’d realized his attitude toward her really had changed. He still wanted something from her, but she no longer thought he was using her as payment for her father’s misdeeds. She had nearly reached his side when another big arm snaked around her, pulling her away once more.
Kicking out did no good. She tried to slam the back of her head into the guy’s face, but only connected with his sternum. Another man approached, a furious expression on his face. Without pause, he backhanded her, making her ears ring and her vision waver. Apparently, it had the desired effect, because when she went limp, he walked away from her and back to Brandwulfr, obviously consulting with the men checking over his wounds.
Miranda nearly sobbed in pain and frustration. Tears streamed down her face from the shock of the hit. When she shook her head to clear it, she saw Brandwulfr, his dark hair hanging over his face unheeded as men dressed in the same uniform as the others tended his back. These uniforms were white, and Miranda began to realize the color of the material signified a caste of some sort. Obviously, those men were healers.
Two men who’d been on this side of the tunnel, dressed in black, approached her, cuffing her hands behind her and strapping a leather collar around her neck. They hooked a chain to a loop in the center at her throat.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “I’m a healer! Let me help Brandwulfr!”
“We’re doing everything that can be done,” one answered, dispassionately but not unkindly.
“But he’s unconscious! He needs me!”
“He’s unconscious because the sun is healing him,” the other guard said. “Once he entered this realm, our sun started the process. Its cosmic radiation works with our body’s chemistry to allow us to absorb energy from light. Any light will do, but sunlight is better. Our sun is best. His body needs to rest in order for it to mend, which is what he’s doing.”
The first guard secured her chain to the back of a massive covered wagon of sorts. The thing looked to be made of intricately carved wood draped with a canopy that allowed sunlight in but offered protection from the weather. It was pulled by several men in uniforms cut similarly to those of the guards, though where the guards wore mostly black or dark gray, these men wore a light brown.
She was about to protest their treatment of her when a gut-wrenching scream of grief pierced the day. Miranda looked up at one of the guards, who had gone completely still. “Zev?”
“Burned. Much like the Guardian. His woman mourns his passing.”
“Oh, God,” Miranda whispered. Tears formed in her eyes. Aya and Zev had helped her and Brandwulfr. Sure, they’d needed to secure a way back home, but they’d still been companions. Miranda felt like she’d lost a friend. When she tried to go to Aya, the chain attached to her collar prevented it. The men around her just looked at her. In that moment she truly comprehended the situation she was in. Every single one of them looked at her with undisguised hatred.
“Because
of you, I lost two years of my life in that hell hole,” the big guy who’d first pointed her out when she’d entered this world accused. “We all did. Most of my brethren died there along with countless others of our kind. You’ll pay for every single drop of blood spilled in that arena.”
The man lunged for her then, would have struck her, but one of the guards stepped in front of him. “She also came through with the Guardian. We will wait until he regains consciousness before judgment is passed.”
“And if Brandwulfr dies?”
The guard raised his eyebrow. “Were you so close, then, that you can address the Guardian as an equal?”
The man had the good grace to blush, looking away from the guard before answering. “It was different. We were all equals.”
“That’s not true,” Miranda interjected. “Brandwulfr was always better than any of you. Most of you lived in fear you’d have to fight him, even though he steadfastly refused to kill his own kind.” Why she was provoking him she had no idea. It was like the only thing she could do in her present situation. She resented him for making sure she was a prisoner, resented his implication that she should die a horrible death. But mostly because they kept her from Brand. She knew nothing about this culture. It was quite possible she would die a horrible death in retaliation for all their people had suffered. Helplessness. That’s what she felt. Was this how they’d all felt? The realization nearly brought the tears she tried so hard to hide. She’d known they all had it hard, but if she’d known the depth of their suffering—that it was even more mental than physical—maybe she’d have fought her father harder.
“Filthy bitch!” Again, he lunged for her, this time reaching around the guard to try to get to her. Miranda couldn’t move away because of the chain at her neck, and he managed to claw her face. Shallow gashes made her flinch, but she didn’t cry out. Blood trickled hotly down her cheek to splash onto her chest.
“If he dies, the king will determine her fate.”
“Commander Jorak, the Jaguar wishes to leave, to return to her own people.” One of the younger soldiers approached the group, his message delivered with respect and reverence.
“She won’t stay to give her account of the human’s involvement?” This Jorak was clearly in charge. He looked as if he might order them to detain Aya to secure her account of what had happened.
“No, sir. She’s adamant she leave. In fact, I wouldn’t count on her being where I left her when I get back. I asked her to at least let us get her collar off, but she insisted she’d be fine.” Miranda knew why. If these people were separated by species—and it was likely they were—she’d want to get her unborn child back to her own people. But she wasn’t about to offer that information in case they saw the child as belonging with them. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause Aya more pain.
“Can we get the collars off?”
“Should be able to. Just need a strong set of cutters. They don’t appear to have any technological properties. They just have a very strong, permanent locking mechanism that prevents removal.”
“Do we have anything we can use?” Jorak frowned, clearly not liking that he might have to wait to remove the collars.
“No, sir.”
“And we’re a two day march from home,” he said, almost to himself. “I hate leaving our people with those filthy collars, but with the bandits in the area I dare not send a man alone.”
“The end is in sight,” the junior soldier said. “Surely they can tolerate it for a couple more nights.”
“Looks like they’ll have to.” Jorak turned to Miranda. “Until your role in the abuse of our people can be determined, I have to keep you chained. Normally we wouldn’t go to such extreme measures as this.” He fingered the chain at her collar. “But the nature of what these men have accused you of is too great to ignore.”
“I cared for them,” she insisted, knowing no one would believe her. “I cared for the wounded and tried to get my father to see reason.” Knowing she was wasting her breath didn’t stop her from trying. A feeling of helplessness seemed to overwhelm her sense of loyalty. Of pride.
“Your father caused their suffering?”
Even after all she’d learned, after how disillusioned she’d become with her father, she still found it hard to actually place all the blame on him. “I…don’t know what to tell you.”
“Just the truth, human.”
“My father put them in the arena to fight. It’s how he made money. I tried to get him to see how wrong it was but he…” She trailed off, looking down at the ground. “Anyway, I was approached by the father of one of the gladiators. His son had been injured so I tried to help him and all the other men and women who’d been hurt.” She met his gaze then. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“That will do for now,” Jorak said. “You’ll still have to be tied, but I’ll do my best to keep the others away from you.”
She nodded, wondering how long he’d be able to keep that promise. Why he’d have to make that promise was obvious. If she hadn’t already had the protection of the guards in this world, she was certain she’d already be dead.
“Can you at least put me near Brandwulfr? When he wakes he’ll expect me near.”
Jorak leveled his gaze on her, not saying anything for long moments. Miranda found she couldn’t hold his gaze and dropped her head to look at her feet. “You’re new to this place, to the rules and formalities that govern our society, so I’ll forgive this slight. But not again. You will address him as Guardian. I don’t know the nature of your relationship with him, but be assured that, for your role in the imprisonment of our people and the Guardian, anything you once had with him will never be tolerated among our kind.”
The news hit Miranda like a punch to the gut and she nearly bent double. This time, tears did well in her eyes, spilling down her ash-streaked face, but she couldn’t stop them. Had Brand known when he took her to his world that his people would feel this way? Was he still bent on revenge against her?
The pain slicing through Miranda was more than she thought she could bear. It wasn’t until now that she realized how much she’d grown to care for the proud gladiator. She’d only known him a few days, and for most of that time he’d been scornful toward her. Yes, she realized he’d changed his attitude toward her, but how could she live like this? If everyone saw her like this, even her feelings for him wouldn’t ease her existence here. No one would accept her. No matter how much she loved him, she would always be a prisoner here.
Just like the slaves her father had kept.
Her shock from this realization was so great, she was yanked to her knees when the big boxed-in wagon she was chained to started moving. Miranda found herself face down in the mud, being dragged behind the contraption. Howls of laughter echoed around her, humiliating her as she scrambled to get to her feet. With the wagon still moving, the chain hooked around her neck, and her hands cuffed behind her back, there was little hope of her struggling to her feet on her own. After several minutes of futile effort, someone took pity on her, helping her to her feet. Mud obscured her vision but helping her up seemed to be her savior’s limit. She did her best to wipe her eyes on her shoulder.
They marched on until the sun disappeared behind a tall mountain range in the distance. When Jorak stopped them before dusk to make camp, Miranda collapsed behind the wagon she was chained to. Her arms ached viciously in their cramped position behind her back, and her hands had long since gone numb. Her body ached from the trauma of their escape from her world as well as everything she was currently enduring. At this point, she wasn’t sure she could take even one more step.
Drifting in and out of sleep, Miranda was unable to do anything other than lean against the muddy wheel where she’d fallen. She was startled awake when one of the healers shook her, offering her water.
“Drink,” he said. “You need to stay hydrated. There is at least another day’s march until we reach the city.” When he held the cup to her lips, she drank
greedily. The healer was patient, refilling her cup twice before leaving her. Even still, she wanted more. But he left her—still cuffed—leaning against the wheel.
“What’s the matter, little human? Can take it but can’t dish it out?” The man who had become her personal tormenter taunted her as he leaned against her wheel, eating some kind of rich-smelling meat sandwich. As if on cue, Miranda’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since before her and Brand’s incredible evening together. Just the thought of the tender way he’d effortlessly taught her more about her body than any other man ever had brought tears to her eyes. She had no idea if he was alive or dead, or if he even cared how she fared, but she clung to the hope that he’d come for her. It was the only thing she had left.
“I’m not your enemy,” she whispered, her voice scratchy. “I never was.”
As if her words enraged him, he threw his meal across the camp, growling with rage. “Bitch! Act all innocent if you want, but we both know you’re guilty as sin! You all profited from our deaths! Bought us for your pleasure! Can you even imagine the indignity? The shame?”
She met his gaze as steadily as she could. “I’m learning.”
That seemed to enrage him even more. Unable to defend herself, she took his hand squarely across her face when he backhanded her. Miranda’s head whacked the wheel of the wagon hard. She lay there, crumpled in the grass and mud, unable to do anything but breathe for several moments. When she opened her eyes, the brute was standing over her, a malicious gleam in his eye. Determined not to pass out and show further weakness, she stared at him, focusing on his hate-filled face to keep her centered. Would he kill her?
When he just stood there, she struggled to sit up, using the wheel as a prop to support her upper arms. “Feel better?”
“Not nearly as good as I’ll feel when your neck snaps in my grasp.”
Gladiator Wolf (Gladiators Book 1) Page 14
