Rapture

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “I didn’t want it,” Henry kept saying fiercely as he clung to her. “I didn’t like it! I didn’t!”

  “No, Henry, you didn’t,” Sagan assured him, his fist clenching tightly in his anger as he repressed it for later. “Nicoya brought you to the edge, and what happened with Shiloh was a matter of physiology alone. Do not be ashamed for coming to climax. It’s almost impossible for a male to maintain control when the prostate gland is stimulated in that way. Physiology, Henry. Nothing more.”

  Daenaira blinked quickly to hold back sympathetic tears. Thank the gods Sagan understood what had happened. Her sexual ignorance couldn’t help poor Henry, and she felt stupid and inadequate for that. It made her more determined than ever to learn everything she could. Next time someone needed her, she wanted to know how to help them.

  “K’yan,” Sagan said quietly. “I will stay with Henry. I need you to go find Magnus.”

  Dae looked at Sagan in surprise. She understood instantly that he meant to give up the opportunity to hunt Shiloh and Nicoya to Magnus, in order to stay and comfort a boy in desperate need of a man’s reassurances. It was a sacrifice she wouldn’t have expected from a man who seemed to eat, sleep, and breathe the art of battle. It reminded her that Sagan was, after all, a priest as well as a dealer of penance. In that moment, she saw what Magnus must have seen in the quiet, stoic minister. She saw why he trusted the other male, even if it was only subconsciously.

  Daenaira stood up and left Henry after giving him a reassuring squeeze of his hand. He looked like he had been burning in Light for an hour, but she had faith that Sagan would be able to help him. She left the room, and though she knew time was of the essence, she also knew Magnus would hunt his criminals down just as efficiently now as five minutes from now. She wanted to check on Tiana. She didn’t understand why the handmaiden hadn’t done something to help Henry. Had she simply stood there and watched the boy be violated? Dae quickly entered the hidden tunnel and worked her way cautiously, expecting the worst because she wanted to believe her friend was better than that. She came around to the room with Sagan and Henry in it, but Tiana was gone. She could see Sagan talking softly to Henry, the boy nodding with vehemence. He was clearly reiterating all of the things he had said to assure the boy that he was the victim and not the criminal in this situation.

  She was so disappointed in Tiana that she surprised herself. Since when, she wondered, had she started expecting better things of people? After only ten days in Sanctuary, was she so quickly willing to forget what she knew of human nature? It made no sense. She knew better than this.

  That was when she looked down and saw the brown stain on the stone by her feet. Daenaira cautiously kept her eyes on the tunnels as she knelt to touch the spot. It was still wet, and when she turned her finger over, the brown became redder and the scent of blood reached out to tickle her keen sense of smell.

  “Oh gods,” she whispered.

  Had she left Tiana to be hurt, afraid, and alone? Where was she? Dae hadn’t taken the time to explore the rest of the tunnels, having assumed it ran the entire length of the tutoring rooms, almost the entire corridor on both sides. She hurried into the as-yet unplumbed depths of the tunnel, drawing her wrist blade from the left sheath. The glave, collapsed and left hanging from her waistband like a pair of handcuffs, wouldn’t work in such narrow confines. She needed something for close quarters. She wished to Drenna that she had those sai Magnus had promised her. She was good with the small dagger, but against a man like Shiloh it would take a precision hit to do any damage to him.

  She eased carefully into each alcove, her stomach sickened as she interrupted privacy in some and met with empty rooms in others. Worse still, she found more brown droplets on the ground, the increase in amount and grouping mystifying and disturbing.

  Then, as she rounded the bend to the other side of the corridor of rooms, the droplets suddenly became a foot-wide smeared path that led her eyes in a direct track to the slumped body of her unfortunate friend in the next alcove.

  “Ti!” she cried softly, watching her back as she hurriedly knelt to check Tiana’s pulse. To her horror, her fingers sank into the sliced-open flesh that was still dripping blood in spite of there no longer being any heartbeat to propel what remained inside her into the outside world. Tiana was dead, bled out like an animal in a slaughterhouse. And for what? Daenaira wanted to know with anger. What had she ever done to hurt anyone? Someone must have seen them enter the tunnels…or they had been there with them the entire time when they’d entered and they’d never realized it! Gods! Maybe if she hadn’t left, she’d have been able to defend her friend. But clearly whoever it was had purposely waited until Tiana was most vulnerable. It also meant that with Shiloh and Nicoya occupied with Henry at the time, yet another suspect was on the loose. This didn’t surprise her, though. It made no sense that Shiloh and his handmaiden would openly expose themselves if they had known they could be watched, unless it was part of the thrill for them. In fact, it made a great deal of sense that they might orchestrate Henry’s manipulation for an audience.

  That meant the watcher had been there when she and Tiana had arrived, hiding when they’d entered and then…waiting. Daenaira felt sick all over again, as well as sensing how much danger she was now in. She wanted out of the enclosed tunnel more than anything, desperate to find Magnus and begin to search for vengeance for the victims of these cold, heartless betrayers of trust and faith. It enraged her to even think of it. She had lived a life without either one; and here, where trust and faith were supposed to be safe, cultivated, and enriched, they were being abused and destroyed.

  Worse, she could already feel the pain this was going to cause one proud priest in particular, and it only incited her fury further.

  Dae hurried away from the body of her friend and broke free of the tunnels, running to find her priest.

  Magnus was stopped in the streets frequently as he moved through the city and back toward Sanctuary. He remained patient and dutiful to all who required something from him, but there was no denying the urgent need growing inside him at the thought of returning to Daenaira’s soft and heated embrace. He could still smell her on himself, and he had to carefully avoid thinking about that lest he end up physically reacting to the memory of her while in public. Hunger was all well and good, and certainly to be expected in his case of famished lifestyle, but it couldn’t interfere with his daily routines as a priest for the people who needed him.

  Still, even Drenna had to cut him some slack. After all, She was the one who had designed this whole situation to be as powerful and humbling to him as it had been. Admittedly, he had needed it. He could already sense how it would affect his work in the future. His goddess had realized how out of touch he was with certain elements of the condition of relationships, and She had forced resolution on him. It was a penance he accepted happily.

  He had to remind himself to slow down a little as his heart began to race in anticipation of potentially getting to see Dae before his scheduled lectures began. She had shed virgin blood for him only hours earlier. He had to have a care that he didn’t hurt her in any way. At least, no more than he’d already been forced to do to get her past that point. He’d already shown a remarkable lack of control when it came to her, and he realized it wasn’t just about sex and sexual deprivation. There were certain cravings that overcame him that had nothing to do with satiating his body—at least, not in that way. While he had craved the feel of holding her warm skin against his as they lay replete the second time around in the tutoring room, it had been satisfying a completely different kind of need. The need for contentment, the scent of himself on her body beneath his nose, the scent of her on his; all possessive and territorial urges, all very out of character for him.

  And then there had been the inexplicable need to touch her constantly, as if to make quite certain she was real and not some figment of a sexually starved imagination. He had provoked her temper, just to see the flash of her eyes and to hear h
er acerbic retort, taking such pleasure in it that he had smiled and given himself away for baiting her. Her hard street philosophy complemented his sometimes overly idealistic one. She was grounding him. As things around him shook on increasingly rocky ground, he realized just how important that was going to be if he were going to regain control over his flailing house. The temple was Drenna’s and M’gnone’s, but Sanctuary was his. He would be thrice damned to Light before he would allow it to be torn apart without a vicious fight to regain its glory.

  Magnus stopped still suddenly as a cavern breeze swept the frigid cold of the winter outside over him. More importantly, it brought him a gift of a scent of sweet cream and fresh strawberry shampoo.

  And blood.

  Magnus felt cold sink like lead into his soul as he jerkily swept his eyes over the passersby in the street. When he saw her hurrying toward him, he had a ridiculous urge to crumble to his knees with relief so he could pray his thanks to his gods for seeing her brought safely to him. However, the urge was swept away by another wash of dread when he saw the raw distress in her expression and the blood staining her sari and her hands.

  “What?” he demanded, grabbing hold of her the instant they came together. “Are you harmed? Did someone hurt you?” She wasn’t speaking fast enough, damn it!

  “No! Tiana is dead. And Henry—oh, Magnus, I think Shiloh raped Henry. With Nicoya’s help. I could tell you for certain if I wasn’t so stupid about these things,” she said with fierce frustration sparking hard tears in her eyes. “Sagan is with Henry, but the priest and handmaiden have escaped. I saw for myself what they were planning to do to him. I should have stayed and done something! Now Tiana is dead and Henry is devastated! I could have done something!”

  Daenaira so rarely cried. She might feel the urge, but she had only ever done so once that he knew of, though she’d more than had cause on several occasions. So for her to spill tears where others could see her told him just how distraught and guilty she felt in that moment. He realized she was too upset to help him understand clearly what had happened, but she had made the important things known to him.

  There were Sinners on the loose. Tiana was dead. One of his students had been violated.

  It was the end of it all for him. The end of all further denial. The end of inaction and trying to play by the proper rules. It was the end of playing games of trust, and by the gods, it was the very end of his patience.

  “Come with me, K’yindara. It is time we struck a match to your kindling.”

  Daenaira was puzzled by the reference as he took her elbow in his hand and tucked her tightly to his side. It felt protective and safe, feelings she wasn’t used to at all, never mind finding them from an outside source. But she was too upset to lecture herself against depending on others to shield her from the harms of the world, and she simply allowed it to happen. It was likely he might fail her one day in some way, but she was willing to bet a little of her sanity that today would not be that day. As they walked quickly back to Sanctuary, she calmed down enough to explain in great detail everything that had happened since he had left her.

  “Well, I think this gives a whole new perspective to phrases like ‘I can’t leave you alone for two seconds,’ hmm?”

  “I suppose so,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug and drawing his attention to her blooded hands.

  “Is that from Tiana?”

  “Yes. Whoever did it, they were brutal. And they waited for me to leave.”

  “Thank the gods,” he muttered. She gave him a sharp look but he was unapologetic. “I’m sorry. I know she was your friend, but it would have done no good if you had been there, Dae. Whoever this is, they are cunning and deadly, and given a choice I would not wish you alone face-to-face with them. If that makes me selfish, then so be it. I am tired of watching the people I care about get destroyed by this poison, and I am going to put a stop to it once and for all.”

  Daenaira could hear and feel how utterly furious he truly was, but it was in such contradiction to the softness of his fingers against the side of her face that she didn’t know what to think in that moment. She remained quiet and uneasy. She didn’t know exactly why, but considering all she’d been through in a single night, she was entitled to a little unease.

  She also began to get the feeling that his familiar way of holding her wasn’t necessarily something that was expected to be seen. People kept staring at them and then halting to whisper and sometimes shake their heads in obvious disapproval. Not that she ever gave a damn what people thought of her, but it disturbed her to think of what influence her presence could have on Magnus’s reputation. It made her feel a little soiled and a little inadequate in his shadow, and the sensation made her throat ache. As his handmaiden, she was supposed to help and support him, make his job and his existence easier in the world so he could do the most good as often as possible. If she cast a poor light on him in some way, would it scald his effectiveness?

  Daenaira would have shrugged out of his hold had they not reached Sanctuary just then. Once inside the building, Magnus took her hand and the lead, hurrying her forward and down the next levels until they entered the forge. Black fire burned hot at the many pits where metal smiths and blacksmiths were working their trades. There was one forge where black fire smoldered, the chemically treated combustibles used to make the lightless fire giving off black and clear flames that burned longer and stronger than human fire did. It did not, however, burn as hot, and so it made metalwork very difficult. It made tempering steel and the like into a careful art form consisting of perfect timing and flawless molds. She admired the jewelry makers for their patience, but it was weapons smiths like Magnus who truly earned her awe and her respect. Of course, she recognized that she was biased. Jewelry couldn’t hold a candle to a beautifully crafted blade.

  The forge he led her to was his own. No one but Magnus used it, and it was kept ready for use at all times unless he ordered it cold. Walking past so much burning heat, she was perspiring by the time they stopped. Magnus went to a small rack and drew back the tarp thrown over it.

  Daenaira gasped so loudly, she could be heard over the roar of the other forges and the banging and sizzling of metal.

  “Magnus!” she all but squealed.

  Sai. Beautiful, unbelievable, breathtaking sai. Two pairs of them! She covered her mouth with both hands, moving only a step closer and bending to peer at the gorgeous metallic creations. It was instantly obvious the kind of time and effort that had gone into them. The most amazing detail. The smooth matte of utter blackness. These were no ordinary sai. The sai in his room were steel, the metal gleaming to a silvered shine. But these—these were pure black. Assassins’ weapons, meant to keep a killer hidden in her natural habitat of the shadows without the flash of metal to give her away. The advantage was critical and thoughtful, and something she hadn’t even considered for herself. In the seat of the pommels were onyx gems, the facets cut perfectly around the only bit of color he had allowed on the entire project. Etched in the stones, with pearlized midnight blue paint to fill it in, was her initial. Along the length of the long center prongs of all four sai, he had etched flames rushing from hilt to tip. K’yindara. Wildfire.

  Unique to these sai, though, was the right-handed twist to the smaller prongs, which were also thicker than seemed right for the balance of the weapon. Daenaira felt his fingertips touch her upper arm closest to him, rubbing her gently through her blouse.

  “Pick one up,” he encouraged her for what she did not realize was the third time. She was so shocked and so enthralled it made him ridiculously pleased and proud. That he had made her so obviously happy seemed to mean everything to him in that moment. Magnus watched her reach out for a sai with shaking hands, and her reverence was painfully beautiful. She had tears in her eyes again, though he couldn’t fathom why. She had known he was making them for her. Why was she so blown away by the gift, as if it were completely unexpected?

  “I didn’t think you would
really make them,” she answered him as if she had heard his query. “I’m sorry, but I guess I thought…”

  “You thought I was shining you on.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Or that you wouldn’t do it because I wouldn’t…because I was being so cold to you.”

  Magnus tried not to be insulted by what she had truly meant by that. She had thought that he wouldn’t keep his promise so long as she refused his advances physically or as a friend. But that was the life she knew from before, and he had to remember it was up to him to show her a new life. He was glad their fight had actually allowed him the extra time and energy he had needed to craft these for her. His frustration and even his temper had been a strong impetus to working them so quickly and going to the extreme of his skills in creating the lovely weapons. After all, they were going to be protecting her life. He couldn’t afford to give her second best, and that was why he had refused to allow her to carry the heavier sai. Yes, she could handle the damn things frighteningly well, but they were not designed for a woman, and that made for executable flaws and weaknesses. He didn’t want her depending on imperfect weapons.

  He wanted her to depend on these. He knew they were as close to flawless as was possible. His added touches, too, would only solidify that. She still hadn’t touched them, so he reached out to pick one up where it lay next to its sheath. He turned it nimbly so the hilt faced her fingers and touched it encouragingly into the seat of her palm. She closed her fingers around it and he smiled when her eyes went wide with surprise and delight. The weight, he knew, was perfect for her. He had paid close attention in their classes, even taking note of the way she tended to hold the sai at a quarter turn inward so the steel and her forearm aligned to make a more powerful brace against the strike of an opponent who was stronger and heavier than she was. The twist on the lower tines allowed for a better purchase when she hooked an enemy weapon. She used the trick often, and he had seen her snap two blades this week alone. Not his blades, of course, but nothing too shabby either.