She was unafraid. In fact, Damien would recognize the look on her face anywhere. It was the expression of a woman who’d been frightened and angry at the same time, the familiar look of a parent who couldn't find her child.
She bent down and took the little boy by the shoulders. It was then that Damien saw she wore long, opera-style gloves. They went over her elbow and disappeared beneath the light summer robe.
“Sari.” He handed her the scope. “You have to see this.”
She watched silently for a few minutes. Damien couldn’t see well, but it appeared that the figures were retreating.
“She’s wearing gloves,” Sari said. “Did you see how she touched him? She knows what the children are.”
“The boy,” Bruno said. “He was the image of her.”
“Do you think he belongs to her?” Leo asked. “Grigori mothers rarely survive their children. And she’s pregnant.”
Damien sat back and looked at the house. It was more than a house. It was a compound. A dozen guards that they had seen. More that he knew were unseen. Staff to clean the buildings. Gardeners to tend the immaculate landscaping.
“Other Grigori are here,” Damien said. “Females maybe? Who can help the mothers…?”
“What are you muttering about, old man?” Sari asked him.
“This is more than an angel with a few mistresses,” Damien said. “He has apartments for them. Staff to help care for the children, I am guessing. The guard was taking care of the child. Then he stepped back immediately for the mother when she called him.”
Leo asked, “What are you saying? This Aurel is one of the Fallen. He sends his sons into the city and surrounding villages to feed from the women there. That mother was dying. You could see it on her face. She—”
“We’re not changing the mission. Aurel must die,” Damien said. “However… this operation just became much more complicated.”
※
MILENA
MILENA WATCHED the lights of the boat as it turned and putted downstream. It was a fishing boat, one of the many that made their way up and down the river every morning and evening.
But she’d seen no lines dropping in the water and more than one quick flash of a lens pointed toward Aurel’s house.
“Milena?” Tomik had picked up Vaclav and was carrying him back to the children’s house. “Is everything all right?”
She felt the baby in her belly kick at his brother’s voice. She had just found out that morning. A boy, Aurel had told her with a smirk. She was going to have a boy for the monster. Just like her sister, Stefana, mother to the little boy Tomik carried in his arms.
“I thought I saw something on the river.”
“William and Benes are watching tonight. Nothing will come ashore. It’s probably just a fisherman. Maybe a curious tourist. It’s not as if Aurel’s house blends into the landscape.”
“You’re probably right.” She reached up and rubbed Vaclav’s little back, sliding her glove-covered hand under his sleep shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. It was the closest she could get without harm.
When she’d come in search of her sister, she’d had no idea she’d find an irrational shadow of the bubbly former athlete. They looked and acted nothing alike. Milena was the serious daughter. Stefana, the fun party girl. But they had always been close. Fun or not, Milena knew her sister would never be out of contact for so long unless something was wrong. Curious snooping had brought her to Aurel’s attention. The rest was unpleasant history she tried not to think about.
She chose to focus on the children.
Stefana was gone, her vibrant beauty fading like a withered rose in winter. She’d lost her grip on the last threads of her life only weeks after Vaclav had been born, all the while worshiping the monster who had killed her. Vaclav and the other little ones were all Milena had left. She trusted Tomik’s care for the children, but Milena was only another human, one of the nine who had come and gone in the five years she’d been with Aurel. Come and gone, usually because they’d given birth to children and could not bear to part with them. Those who had girls survived to bear another child, usually a son who slowly killed them.
Milena couldn’t explain it. But then there was much she’d stopped trying to explain. She only knew that the opera gloves Tomik had secretly bought for her were not a fashion accessory. They were the only thing that allowed her contact with the children who’d come to see her as a mother when most of theirs were gone.
“Milena?”
She turned toward William’s voice. “Is everything all right?”
She knew by the look on his face why he’d called her.
“Still?” She curled her lip in disgust and put a hand on her belly.
“There’s already a girl up there,” William said. “He may just want… an audience.”
Milena fought back the urge to vomit. She’d thought becoming pregnant with the monster’s child would stop his interest, but sadly she’d made herself too annoying to Aurel.
She’d managed to satisfy him without becoming pregnant for three years until finally her luck ran out. Her body’s stubborn refusal to get pregnant had made her noticeable to the man, and his triumph when she’d finally gotten with child was matched only by his smug satisfaction. He called her several times a week. At first it was to rape her again. Then to make her watch him rape others.
Oh, Aurel wouldn’t call it rape, and neither would most of the women. But Milena had seen through whatever strange spell he used. Her mind had never been under his power, not even when her body couldn’t escape.
Her baby—Milena refused to give him any ownership over her or her child—was due in another month, and she was almost as thin as Stefana had been when she’d had Vaclav. If she managed to survive her child’s birth, caring for him, even with Tomik’s covert help, would be impossible.
Milena had no joy in motherhood, only desperation. She loved her son. She adored her precious nephew. She loved all of them. But a clock was ticking inside her. She had to escape or she would die.
Then all of them would be at the mercy of the monster.
CHAPTER FIVE
SARI watched her sister spar with Katalin, staffs crashing together as the two women fought. Mala shifted to the right and paused, her feet dancing lightly over the packed earth. Katalin was a patient opponent, the stillness of her stance concealing lightning-fast reflexes. Both women had stripped down to undershirts, and their arms were red with welts and scrapes. Sweat dripped off Mala’s face, and Katalin wiped her brow.
The feral expression on both their faces belied the friendly challenge the praetora had offered. “Sparring” might have been the intention, but the result was a pitched battle of staffs that had drawn the attention of the entire training courtyard.
Sari leaned against the wall and watched. Mala was the only one of her warriors who could occasionally best her with a staff, and that wasn’t often. Mala also appeared to have a slight upper hand in the match.
Was it smug to enjoy knowing she’d be able to beat Katalin? Probably, but she was fine with it. Especially since the thinly veiled barbs had not ceased since their arrival. Sari did her best to ignore Damien’s mother, but it was difficult at times, especially when the subject came to children.
The finest of Mikael’s line. The legacy of his forefathers. That was how Katalin referred to her son. Like one of the Arabian horses she bred, Katalin expected Damien to continue the legacy to which she’d dedicated her own life. And that legacy included children.
“There are some magics that only belong to our line.”
She was talking about the magic that allowed Damien to command a heaven-forged weapon, but the implication was clear.
Sari was not of Mikael’s blood. She was a mutt. Her father, a blend of Chamuel and Mikael’s magic. Her mother of Ariel’s line. Sari took a bit of her magic from both, nothing like the centuries-driven breeding of Damien’s family.
And yet, looking around, Sari had to admit that Katali
n’s methods were effective. Barbaric, but effective. The warriors she’d seen training were skilled, quick, and disciplined. They were trained and drilled in not only the ancient martial arts but also modern disciplines from all over the world. Sari saw krav maga and Brazilian jiujitsu. Judo, dagger fighting, and tahtib.
Mala and Katalin continued to beat each other, each gaining taps on the other, though the “taps” often drew blood. After twenty straight minutes of fighting, Katalin finally raised a hand.
“Draw.” She grinned and reached her arm for Mala’s, who grasped the offered forearm. Both singers bowed over their clasped arms before they released. “Well met and challenged, Mala.”
Mala signed and Katalin looked for Sari.
“She said thank you for the match,” Sari translated. “She has only had clumsy scribes to duel with since I’ve been gone.”
Katalin laughed and spread out a welcoming arm. “Please. Make use of the facilities here as you like and work with my warriors. They would do well to learn from you.”
As I can learn from them, she signed. Perhaps one of them can teach me a trick to best Sari, as she’s the only singer who can beat me senseless.
Katalin’s smile did not falter, but Sari was fairly sure her eye twitched.
“You have no mate?” Katalin asked.
Mala shook her head and signed, I lost my Alexander during the Rending. He was in the same order as your son. Most of my blade training is from him.
Katalin nodded as Sari translated.
“An old discipline, but a thorough one. I can see the Egyptian influence in your staff fighting though. Your mother?”
And my father.
“You are of Uriel’s line, correct?”
Mala lifted her chin and nodded.
“If you have the desire to mate again,” Katalin said, “let me know. I have numerous warriors who are looking for mates. Your children would be magnificent.”
And with that, Katalin walked off and the crowd dispersed, not a one even blinking at Katalin’s statement, though Sari could see more than one of the males glancing at Mala with clear interest.
Mala’s eyes were saucers. Did she just say that?
“Yes, she did.” Sari couldn’t decide if Mala looked more surprised or offended.
I am not a breeding mare. I don’t even know if I want children.
“If it helps, she sees everyone that way. I suppose you should be flattered to even be in the running for one of ‘her warriors.’ Especially without a drop of Mikael’s blood in your clan.”
Mala curled her lip.
“It’s a compliment, sister.” Sari couldn’t stifle the laugh any longer. Luckily, Mala began to smile.
She’s something else. I think she’s trapped in the thirteenth century.
“You think she’s that modern?” Sari asked. “You might be giving her too much credit.”
Can you imagine being her child?
“No. I’ve never been able to imagine it. The concept of reshon is foreign here. All marriages among Mikael’s house are arranged.”
No wonder Damien ran to you.
“He ran away.” She smiled. “He didn’t run to me.”
Of course he did. Mala winked and walked away.
※
She stared at him as he readied for bed. It was, Sari realized, the little things she had missed the most during their separation. The feel of his body next to hers in bed at night. The sound of him humming as he readied in the mornings. So much of their lives were lived for other people, but in their quiet moments, he belonged to her.
His broad shoulders stretched. He’d spent most of the day in the library with Leo, poring over the pictures they’d taken of Aurel’s compound and diagrams Rhys had secretly procured from the architectural firm that designed the house.
“Do you want me to rub your back?”
He let out a low, rumbling sigh. “Please.”
Scooting back in the giant bed, she made room for him between her legs. Damien crawled toward her naked, leaned back, and kissed her jaw before he sat up.
“Thank you, milá.”
She put her hands on the ink-marked shoulders. “You’re tense.”
“The compound is well designed. Leo and I agree that we’ll need at least a dozen men to breach the defenses if we’re to retrieve the women and children safely. I’d like you and Mala to go over the rough plan we made if you have time in the morning.”
“We do.” She dug her fingers in and felt him tense a moment before his muscles gave way under her hands. “Mala sparred with your mother today.”
“Who won?”
“Neither.”
Damien laughed.
Sari continued, “Then Mala told Katalin that I was the only one who could best her. The praetora developed a sudden twitch under her left eye.”
“I’m familiar with that twitch. It’s the same one she’s had since I was a child who didn’t obey.”
She stroked her hands along the ridges of muscle that lined his spine. “Was she a firm disciplinarian?”
“Yes.” He cocked his head. “But she never struck me. It wasn’t done in my family. It was seen as a sign of temper, and temper was to be controlled.”
“Always?”
“Always. Rage could be let loose in battle, but even then, it could not interfere with clear thinking.”
“No wonder you found my family so unruly.”
He chuckled quietly. “If I did something to displease her, Katalin made me muck the stables, which was not one of my jobs. The groomsmen knew me well by my tenth year. I became good friends with a few of them.”
Sari smiled. “I like this little rebellious boy you speak of. And your father?”
“If I disobeyed him, he laughed. Then he made me polish the armory.”
“The whole of it?”
“I didn’t disobey him very often.”
Sari smiled. “I think your father knew how to discipline you more wisely.”
“Yes, but Katalin got more labor out of me. So who had the better strategy, hmm?”
She kissed his shoulder and leaned forward, working strong hands down his muscled arms.
Damien took a deep breath but didn’t speak.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Do you want a child?”
Sari froze, her hands on the sensitive skin inside his elbow. Before she could pull away, Damien crossed his arms and grabbed her hands with both of his.
“I need to know,” he whispered. “I need… If you don’t, you don’t. But I need to know.”
Your children would be magnificent.
Sari banished the thought of Katalin’s voice from her mind. “I don’t know.”
The tension in his shoulders did not ease.
“I avoid thinking about children,” she confessed. “You know why.”
“I do.”
“But here… in this place, surrounded by your history and the legacy of your family, I know—”
“My desire for a child has nothing to do with legacy or history”—his voice was harsh—“or bloodlines or any other nonsense my mother is obsessed with. I want a child. Our child. But if you cannot—”
“I can have children,” Sari said. “According to Astrid, there was no permanent damage.”
“You interrupted me,” he chastised gently. “If you cannot bear the idea of having more children, I do understand. But it is something that I want. Maybe… I need it.”
Sari closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, her hands still clasped in his.
“You need it,” she whispered.
Because the man in front of her, the mate she adored, was built to be a protector. Built to guide and teach and love. He had never sought the power that had been offered to him. Never taken the mantle of leadership his family had demanded.
“You are my home, Sari. I can wander the world for the rest of my life. The only home I need is you.”
Not a castle or a territory. People were his home. Th
e lives and loves he protected, his legacy.
Her heart seized in fear. The thought of bearing another child, of allowing her heart and her body to be so vulnerable again, almost undid her.
“Sari.” He let go of her hands and turned into her arms. “Sari, speak to me. Was it too soon? Whatever you decide—”
“I’ll try.” Had her voice ever been so small? She hated the sound of it.
“No.” He wiped a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m impatient and—”
She cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Who has ever accused you of impatience?”
Damien said nothing, but he wrapped his arms around her and eased them down to lie in the bed. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “It was too soon.”
“Damien”—she sniffed—“it was always going to be too soon.”
He said nothing.
“I’m never going to be…” She took a deep breath. “I’m never going to be an easy mate. I’m never going to be the woman who dotes on her mate and her home. I thought once that I could be content in domesticity, but I wasn’t. I was miserable at the retreat. Miserable out of the fight. I didn’t want to admit that for the longest time because it felt disloyal to all who had died there, but it was not my home.”
“I know.”
“And even now, I feel as if I’d be giving up a part of myself to bear a child and raise it. But I do not want to deny you something that is so important to you. You’d be a wonderful father, but I don’t know if I would be a very good mother.”
“Sari, in what house do you think I was raised?” he asked, shaking her a little. “If you are not healed enough to bear the thought of a child, then I can accept this. Some wounds leave scars that last forever. But what do you think I expect of you as a mother? Baking and mending? Who do you think raised me?”
The Staff and the Blade Page 36
