The Staff and the Blade

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any threats?” she asked.

  “Uh… Should I have?”

  “You’re a seer.”

  “I’m not very good though.”

  Well, at least false pride wasn’t an issue.

  Bruno’s laugh was cut off by his mate.

  “No, really,” Ava continued. “You can ask your grandmother. I was trying to do… the thing I did the other night at the sing. And I couldn’t. So I don’t know if I’ll see any trouble coming. If there is any coming.”

  The girl didn’t know visions didn’t work like that.

  Not like that.

  “The house. The house, of course. I know where it is. The clothes are mine. I can see them there, but this time everything is silent.”

  I know where it is.

  The clothes are mine.

  Empty clothes. Tala foreseeing her own death, though she could have no idea what it would mean.

  The visions didn’t work like that.

  If only they did.

  Sari wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t. Tala couldn’t have known. And neither could Damien.

  Ava was still stuttering and confused. “Is there… some trouble coming?”

  Renata answered her. “Trouble is always coming. I’ll take care of it.”

  Sari warned her out of habit. “Don’t be too eager. We don’t want them to know they’re close to anything important. Draw them away from the city if you can.”

  “And try to find out who they belong to,” Damien added. “I know Grigori in the territory generally belong to Volund, but we had some surprises in Istanbul. Powers may be shifting.”

  Sari glanced at Renata. She hadn’t told Damien about Volund.

  “Powers are always shifting,” Sari said.

  “Change is constant.” Damien locked his eyes on her. “And healthy.”

  “According to you.”

  “You can’t stop this,” he said for her ears alone. “You never could.”

  No, she never could. Her need for him was an addiction. “I can try.”

  The problem was, she didn’t really want to succeed. And he knew it.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Ava wasn’t completely oblivious to the tension in the room. “Well, obviously we’re not talking about Grigori anymore.”

  No, they weren’t. Damien still stared at her and Sari couldn’t look away. This night would change everything. He’d shown her his scars. She’d never tried to hide hers. If she took him back tonight, it would be forever. She would allow nothing less than his complete loyalty. To her. To the Irina. And that might mean his precious council would have to go to hell.

  Renata said, “I want to take Ava to Bergen.”

  Was she crazy?

  “Absolutely not.” Sari was shocked when she heard Damien’s voice echoing her own. “You don’t think she should go?”

  “No.”

  Sari stood. She had to do something, and bolting from the room wasn’t an option. “But she’d be a tactical advantage. I’ve heard about her range.”

  “She’s too young. And untrained.”

  “She’d be with Renata.”

  As Tala was with you.

  “She would still be vulnerable.”

  Because she was not a warrior. Renata and Mala had both been in awe of the range from which the girl could hear Grigori, and Sari had considered taking over her training to make her more field ready, but she was still a long way from prepared.

  Once, Damien wouldn’t have cared about that. He would have been convinced he could protect her.

  As he’d been with Tala.

  “Wait, I’m confused.” Ava broke in. “Are you arguing for or against me going with Renata?”

  Everyone shushed the girl, but Sari couldn’t take her eyes off Damien. “Are you telling me it wouldn’t be worth the risk? To have an intelligence advantage like her skills in the field—protected and at a distance from combat—are you telling me you wouldn’t risk that?”

  His voice was quiet. For her ears. “I wouldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t risk her. Not anymore, Sari.”

  She knew he was telling the truth, but the tears came anyway. “But… it makes the most tactical sense.”

  “Milá, I learned the hard way. Not everything is about tactics.”

  Tala would have made the same argument Sari had. She was an asset in the field. She would be able to help in the battle. Damien could protect her because she wouldn’t put herself in danger. She was a tactical advantage.

  Her stubborn, infuriating, brilliant sister.

  You’re not really angry with him, Tala’s voice whispered to her. You’re angry with me.

  The next minute, Damien grabbed her arm, dragging her out of the house and into the cold night, leaving their audience behind before Sari broke down sobbing. Damien put his arm around her shoulders and hurried them into the trees.

  When they were surrounded by the forest, she shoved away from Damien and shouted, “I’m so angry with her!”

  Damien frowned, then his eyes lit with realization. “I know, Sari.”

  “She shouldn’t have gone to the city.”

  “And I shouldn’t have taken her.”

  “She shouldn’t have left me!” Sari’s chest felt as it were being ripped apart. “Everyone left me, and I wasn’t strong enough!”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Tears shone in his eyes.

  “I couldn’t protect them. I wasn’t fast enough.” She sobbed. “I heard the children screaming, and I didn’t know what to do!”

  “That’s not true.” He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “You killed at least a dozen Grigori that day. Maybe more. I talked to the survivors, Sari. Your protection let them escape. Children lived because of you. Families survived because of you.”

  “Not enough.” She broke against his chest. “None of it was enough.”

  He wrapped strong arms around her and held tight. “I know.”

  “And I blamed you.”

  “I deserved your blame. And Tala wasn’t here to take it.”

  “I’m sorry, Damien. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t.” He held her, his arms like iron bands around her. “I’m sorry I didn’t see the risk. I’m sorry I was so arrogant. So horribly, horribly wrong.”

  “I know Tala insisted.”

  “I should have sent her back. Should have hidden her at the house and made her stay there. I should have told Gabriel. Should have broken protocol, even if she reported me to the council. Sari, I should have—”

  “No more.” She pressed her tearstained face to his shoulder and put her arms around his waist. “No more, Damien.”

  They stood in the silence of the forest, clinging to each other. The night was cold and the wind was turning bitter, but Sari felt none of it. She only felt his arms around her. His cheek pressing against her brow. Her mate. Her warrior. Her Damien.

  “Our war is never over,” he said in her ear. “It never will be. But can we be at peace, milá? I think I could face a host of the Fallen if there was peace between us.”

  Reshon. Mate of my heart.

  I choose you.

  She raised her head and kissed him.

  I choose this scribe.

  “We go forward from here,” she said. “We forgive each other and ourselves. If we grieve, we grieve together. If we fight, we fight together. Yes?”

  “Yes.” He took her mouth and owned it.

  Sari sank into his kiss, which was laced with the taste of coffee and cinnamon and spice. He groaned and backed her against the trunk of a nearby tree, wedging his knee between her thighs. His mouth traced down her throat. She threw her head back and gripped two handfuls of his hair.

  “If I asked you to abandon your house”—she panted—“would you?”

  He bit her throat. “There will be another who can lead them.”

  “Defy the council?” She reached down and slid her hands over the strong plane of his back.

 
; “I think”—he palmed her backside and squeezed—“a little rebellion would be good for them.”

  She closed her eyes and gave in to the intoxication of his touch. “And if I asked you to run away with me?”

  Damien drew back and his grin lit the night. “Sari, my dove, you would never run away.”

  ※

  Sari took Damien back to her rooms with no intention of ever letting him go again. They would fight. They would argue. But as he watched her disrobe in the darkness, his clothes already abandoned on the floor, she knew she had come home.

  “I love the curve of your bottom,” he said, sliding his palm around from the front to the back. He curled his fingers into the hard muscle and pulled. “I love everything about you, but nothing in a dream walk can compare with your bottom in the flesh.” He gave it a sharp smack as a wicked grin crossed his face.

  She laughed. “You love everything, do you? Even my temper?”

  “Even that.” He slid his hand from her bottom up her back, pulling her over to straddle him. “Sing to me.”

  No sweeter magic. She felt her mating marks light. His glowed silver in reaction.

  “What do you want me to sing?”

  “My mating song.” Damien put her hand over his chest, over the mark he had scribed there with her words. “Once more, reshon.”

  She nodded and drew his mouth into a long kiss. He sat up and hugged her body to his, their flesh pressing together. He tasted her skin and teased her breasts, circling them with light touches until she was mad with want. Sari reached down and felt for him, guiding his length into her body as he groaned. His mouth became ravenous.

  “Sing to me.” He bit her shoulder. “Sari, sing.”

  “I choose you,” she began.

  “Through ages you have come to me,

  And I choose you.

  Because you wandered many roads alone

  And this body has bled and shed blood in honor,

  I choose you.”

  Damien braced his arms and powered into her, shoving away the bitter memories of the past. He loved her with a ruthless focus as she panted out the last verse of her vow.

  “The one who sees me and challenges me,

  My warrior, my lover. Friend, protector, helpmeet, mate.

  As iron sharpens iron, I will ever be your own.

  I choose you, my love.”

  When she came, it was with his name on her lips, crying her pleasure into his mouth, but he did not cease. He flipped her over and entered her again, one hand squeezing the bottom he loved so much as his lips pressed hungry kisses to her spine. Reaching up, he twisted her hair in his hand and pulled her mouth back to his.

  “Mine is the fire,” he whispered.

  “Mine is the blood.

  Mine, her soft touch and her sharp tongue.

  She that wields a strong hand

  And a gentle embrace

  Is my lover.

  My own.

  Mine is the need and the desire.

  My witness, her song.

  Daughter of heaven,

  Beloved of my heart.

  My Sari.

  My own.

  “I love you,” he panted as her body began to tighten again. “I love you more than my own life.”

  “I know.” Tears came to her eyes. “I know, reshon.”

  “You are everything that is heaven to me.”

  “I love you, Damien.”

  The tension exploded, and this time Damien followed her, groaning his pleasure into the curve of her neck, holding her to his chest as he collapsed and curled his body beside hers.

  “I never want to be parted from you again,” he said. “Not for a month. Not for a week, milá. Two hundred years has been more than enough.”

  “Then we won’t.” She kissed the fingers knitted between her own. “We won’t.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAMIEN woke in the middle of the night, his mate sleeping beside him. In the weeks since their reunion, they had not slept apart. Not even when Renata and Mala took Ava to Bergen. At the end of the day, the girl had wanted to go. Sari, much to Damien’s surprise, had given her permission.

  Sari was no elder scribe to lock a singer away from battle.

  They were not, nor had they ever been, a peaceable pair. Though flowers bloomed around the old farmhouse, Damien and Sari still fought. Her magic was running high, and the earth responded with profusions of wildflowers that sprang from her happiness. But it must have known them both, because nearly all the delicate blooms that emerged rested in a small nest of brambles.

  Mala and Ava had returned from Bergen, but Renata had made some excuse to go to Oslo. Something strange had happened, and the hunt had not gone as expected. Nevertheless, all three woman were unharmed.

  Yet Damien could not sleep.

  I’ve brought something dark here.

  Ava had warned him when she’d returned from Bergen, shaken and trying to hide it. He could not refute her fear. There was a shadow hovering over Sarihöfn. Whether it was the long northern nights or something else, he did not know. A darker shadow hung over Ava, and Damien didn’t know how to help his sister fight the darkness in her spirit that seemed to grow each passing night.

  Sari woke with a gasp beside him. “Ya kazar man.”

  The spell caught on the air and flew toward the window, cracked to let in the night air.

  “Sari?”

  “Someone has breached the perimeter. Someone with magic.”

  Leaping from bed, he had his shirt, boots, and knives ready before she was able to rise.

  “How many?”

  She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Not many. They’re resisting my wards and coming from the northwest.”

  “They’ll be in the forest. What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Where are your shoes?” It hadn’t rained yet, but the mud would be thick under the trees.

  “By the front door.” She pulled on her clothes and tied back her hair, reaching for the staff in the corner.

  “Should we wake the others?” he asked as they rushed down the stairs.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We wait until we see who is it. It could be harmless.”

  “They found us,” she muttered. “How did they find us?”

  Damien said, “If these are Grigori, we will find them and kill them.”

  “If these are Grigori, we will have to move the haven.”

  Because there would be no way of knowing who they could have told.

  “Hunt first,” she said. “They will be no match for both of us.”

  She slipped on her shoes and a dark cap before Damien could find a coat. It was too cold to fight in shirtsleeves, even for a northern native like Sari. Damien had fought in far colder, but he knew the risk of rushing into battle. When they left the house, they were warm and eager for the hunt.

  Despite the danger to the haven, his heart soared. Hunting at his mate’s side had ever been a thrill to him. He was proud to belong to a warrior, and her skills had only grown sharper with time. She was a shadow running over the land. The earth beneath her was steeped in her magic and her grandmother’s. No doubt, her mother’s had touched it as well. Ancient power tugged at him, recognizing her claim over his body.

  When they reached the trees, he pulled her back and held up a hand, tracing a finger over his talesm prim and activating his magic. Sari waited as his power rose. Spells for hearing and clarity. Spells to enhance his vision and increase his reaction time. And, finally, a spell to enhance his sense of smell. In the space of seconds, Damien’s magic roared to life, and he knew exactly who and where they were. The scent of sandalwood was unmistakable.

  They were Grigori. Damn.

  “This way.” He jogged carefully, knowing she would be behind him.

  He smelled them before he heard them. He heard them before he saw them.

  Two figures crouched in the shadows with long-range night vision goggles pointed at the training barn. These were no mere st
umblers. They were dressed in combat gear and carrying rifles. A sharp whistle let Damien know one of the Grigori had spotted them.

  “Damn,” Sari whispered. “They heard us.”

  The Grigori melted back into the trees. They were well trained, but they were not Irin.

  “One apiece?” he asked.

  She nodded, took off her gloves, and sank her hands into the ground. Whispering under her breath, she rose and ran into the darkness as Damien pulled out his hunting knife. He closed his eyes for a moment, aware that the shadows were deceiving. It was the worst kind of light for him to see in. The moon was full, so the shadows were sharp under the trees, making it easy for anyone dressed in black to conceal themselves. He used his nose and his ears to track the Grigori through the forest.

  The man knew he was being hunted. He darted in and out of the shadows, heading back toward the road. No doubt, if he reached it before his friend, the other man would be on his own. Information was more valuable than Grigori life.

  He heard the crack of Sari’s staff against a tree and forced himself not to turn. She could take care of herself and a single Grigori opponent. He came to a halt in a small clearing, confused by the scents.

  The snap of a twig had him looking up just as the Grigori dropped from the branch, knife aimed at Damien’s neck.

  He dropped and rolled to the side, coming to his feet just as the man came to his. They circled each other, waiting for a weakness. Damien could have charged him—his talesm would deflect almost any knife strike except from a heaven-forged blade—but he wanted to take stock of this monster. He was better trained than most.

  “Questions, bookkeeper?” the Grigori taunted. “We tracked them from Bergen. Your women are not as elusive as they think.”

  Mala had come from Bergen. They hadn’t found the haven through Mala.

  “Bookkeeper?” he said. “That’s a new one.”

  “That’s what you do,” he said. “Live in the pages of books, trying to resurrect your glorious past.”

  “Is that what your keeper told you?” Damien said, intrigued by how much the monster was talking. They usually didn’t say much. He kept circling the man. He had found the weakness in his stance, but he was curious how much the man would reveal.