by Frost Kay
“Ribs, but there are other wounds. I’ve lost blood,” Garreth gasped.
He winced. That didn’t sound good. “I’m sorry, old friend, but this will hurt.” He grabbed the Elite’s arm and slid it round his neck, maneuvering Garreth until he was draped over Sam’s back and shoulders. Sam shifted until he had a good grasp on Garreth’s arm and leg hanging over each shoulder. “I’m gonna try to lift you. Be ready,” Sam warned, before he pushed up from the blood-smeared ground. Both men bellowed, one from pain, the other from strain. Garreth’s body trembled hard against Sam’s back.
“Just hold on. We’ll get you some help. Maybe even from sweet Mira. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at her.”
“She wouldn’t have me,” Garreth tried to shake his head and wheezed. “I’m too bitter for the likes of her.”
“She said that?”
“No, but I’ve known women like her.”
Sam just nodded and slowly trudged up the stairs, his muscles protesting. He stumbled near the top when Garreth’s body suddenly went completely slack. “You better have passed out and not died on me, you bastard!”
At long last, he came to the secret door and crashed through it, catching his boot on the rug. The motion had him crashing to his knees in the royal wing hallway. An Elite standing outside his brother’s door only gaped a moment before moving into action and pulling Garreth from his shoulders.
“Get him medical attention,” Sam gasped. The door to Tehl’s suite opened, his brother’s dark head poking out. Spotting him, he immediately rushed over.
“That better not be your blood,” Tehl growled.
“No,” Sam said as he stood, willing his legs to keep him up. He closed his eyes, gathering the strength to tell his brother the bad news. When he opened them, he met eyes which perfectly mirrored his own and forced himself to just say it. “She’s gone.”
His brother’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why? I thought we worked everything out last night. Why would Sage leave? She makes me so insane. Why can she say what—?”
“No,” Sam interrupted, “She was taken, Tehl.”
Tehl’s features hardened. “What do you mean taken? Where is she? Where is my wife?”
The menace in his voice gave even Sam a twinge of fear. He held his hands up. “I don’t know, Tehl. I found Garreth in—”
Tehl moved around him and powered down the hallway, no doubt to find out for himself. Sam groaned and spun around, sprinting after his brother. He caught up as they ran down the stairs and toward the infirmary, startling the staff. He touched Tehl’s shoulder, but he was shaken off as Tehl crashed through the infirmary door, where he skidded to a stop, causing Sam to plow right into him.
He watched over Tehl’s shoulders as the healers buzzed around the bloody, unconscious Garreth. His gaze moved to his brother’s profile, attempting to gauge his reaction. Only horror and rage were readily apparent.
“Will he live?” Tehl asked Mira.
The healer glanced up from her work, her face pinched. “He’ll live, but only time will tell if his mind is still stable. He’s taken a terrible blow to the head.”
His brother nodded and pushed past him back into the hallway. Sam kept quiet, merely observing his brother as he paced the hall, tugging on his hair the way he did when he was thinking. Finally, Tehl paused to look at him. “What information do you have?”
Frustration bubbled up inside him. “Just what I told you. I took a walk along the beach to think…” Sam lowered his voice, “and entered through the cave to the stairs.” He placed a hand over his mouth and focused on remembering each the detail. “There were sea trinkets scattered everywhere, and blood. That’s when I found Garreth. If I hadn’t taken that route, he would have died.”
Tehl placed his head in his hands. “So, no sign of Sage?”
“I didn’t examine the hallway, but most of the blood seemed to come from Garreth.”
“Whoever came for them knew when to strike. She doesn’t go for a walk every morning, she trains. Someone was watching her.”
His stomach soured, and he had to force the words out. “I know who it was.”
“Who?”
“Rhys.”
Tehl stared at him blankly, then shouted a black oath. “How?” he demanded. “How did he get into my home? How did he take my wife? I promised Sage I would protect her! I looked her father in the eye and swore she would never have anything to fear.” His fists clenched and his whole body shook. “Damn it!” He darted a look to the floor and back to Sam’s face. “Why couldn’t you find him? You swore to me you would do so!”
Although Sam knew in his head that Tehl was merely reacting to the situation and lashing out because he was worried, it still hurt to hear his brother hold him responsible. “I just couldn’t,” he replied, trying to keep calm. “I used every asset at my disposal … and nothing. It is like the man’s a ghost. I’m sorry.”
His brother shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not blaming you. I just—when I think of her in his hands, it…” Tehl shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thought. “It makes me want to retch and strangle him at the same time. But blame and pity won’t find her. Send the Elite into the city. Make sure they leave no stone unturned,” he commanded. “Also, call the council together, and retrieve Lilja. We’ll need her. Sage has been missing for far too long already. We need to find her. Now.”
Four
Sage
Everything bloody hurt.
Munching on a stale cracker, Sage eyed the surrounding jungle, attempting to ignore the pain in her feet. Four days in the jungle of Scythia had taught her this: touch nothing.
That first day, Sage hadn’t questioned why Rhys and the other Scythian warriors had left her and the other woman untied. She and Jasmine coordinated an escape, but they only made it thirty paces before stumbling upon a black feline creature that had been feeding. The creature had what looked to be human remains strewn across the ground. Golden eyes had clashed with green, and in that moment, she’d welcomed death. If the beast had attacked her, at least that way it would have been her choice and saved her from the horrors to come. But that was snatched out of her hands by an arrow. She had glared at the dying creature, feeling absurdly jealous.
A shudder moved through her body as she noted movement at the base of a nearby tree. She shuffled carefully forward, her eyes never leaving the enormous snake coiled around its trunk, the reptile’s beady, black eyes observing her quietly. Sage hadn’t been afraid of snakes until very recently, when one tried to make off with a horse two nights ago.
The rope which bound her wrists was suddenly yanked taut. It bit into her already tender skin and sent her cracker to the forest floor. She bent down, attempting to retrieve it, only to be pulled off her feet. She crashed into the foliage and cried out when the horse, to which the tether was attached, just kept moving forward, dragging her behind it.
“Sage, must you keep slowing us down? It’s a wonder I even keep you around.”
She scrambled to her feet and limped after the horse, ignoring the surrounding sniggers. Bastards. All of them. The warriors were as cruel as they were cold. She glared up at the monster on the other end of her leash.
Rhys.
Everything inside her rebelled at being near him. Her skin hadn’t stopped crawling since he’d first kidnapped her, nor had she been able to sleep. Each time her eyes finally closed, before she could drift off, a sensation of being watched would creep along her skin, jerking her into awareness. And she knew it was his dark eyes that roved over her. This was the only reason she was actually grateful for the other warriors. Without them around, he would no doubt have already tortured and raped her.
“Come now. Surely, you want to end your punishment?”
Sage clenched her teeth together to keep her scathing retort in her throat. Perhaps if she’d had only herself to think of, she would have spouted off, heedless of the consequences, but her actions wouldn’t hurt just her. Each
time she misbehaved, it was Jasmine who suffered the punishment. She craned her neck to check on the woman and grimaced. She looked as bad as Sage felt. The young woman’s brown hair hung in limp strands, and every inch of Jasmine’s skin was covered in bruises, even her face, a result of the fight left in her friend.
“Admiring your handy work? It’s your little rebellions which created her pain, you know.”
Sage pulled her eyes from Jasmine to stare straight ahead, forcing herself to look calm. Men like Rhys thrived off their victims’ reactions and enjoyed blaming others for his cruelty. But no matter how hard it was, she would not allow him to gain any sick pleasure from seeing her react. It was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done.
She tensed when his horse slowed, and he moved right next to her. Her hands trembled slightly and sweat pooled between her shoulder blades as she forced herself not to move away.
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”
Bile burned the back of her throat. She had no desire to look upon the face which still featured in her nightmares. But for Jasmine, she had to. Slowly, she pulled her eyes from the forest and up to his face. The satisfaction she saw in Rhys’ eyes was enough to make her want to stab him, repeatedly. Her eyes dipped briefly to the dagger sheathed at his chest before quickly moving back to his chin.
Rhys’ lips formed a smirk. “I can read you. You think you’re hiding your thoughts, but they’re written on your face for all to see. Take it, Sage. I know you want to.”
Her gaze didn’t waver from his chin. She wouldn’t play his games. The last time she’d grabbed a weapon and attacked Rhys, he’d batted it away like it was a child’s toy. He moved faster than anyone she’d ever seen, and her entire world had shifted in that moment. The Scythians were something unusual. Something unnatural. Something that, unfortunately, she couldn’t outrun.
From that point on, she’d watched the warriors under the guise of examining the jungle. They all looked eerily similar, and they prowled in the same dangerous way she’d seen the large black felines move. One time, a warrior seemed to disappear, only to emerge a few feet from her. The Scythians also heard and smelled things she couldn’t. She shivered. What sort of creatures were they?
“Given up already? I thought you had more fight in you.”
She did, but fighting just excited him. So, she did the opposite; she didn’t react at all. Not until a calloused fingertip caressed the shell of her ear did she flinch and jerk away, losing all composure. The rope jerked again, pulling her closer to the monster. Panic seized her body and tugged back, but she wasn’t strong enough. Soon, she found herself leaning against the horse with her arms held painfully above her head.
Rhys leaned down until the tip of his nose brushed hers, as if they were lovers. Fear paralyzed her as she stared into the mud-brown of his eyes.
“If you weren’t property, I would’ve torn you apart already.” His eyes ran over her face, an unholy glee plain on his face. “Maybe I already did.”
It disgusted her that he was right, but she couldn’t let him see that. Pushing through the fear, she whispered, “Filth like you won’t ever break me.” She regretted the words before the blow even came.
Pain radiated from her face, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She blinked several times. Stupid. That wasn’t brave, it was just plain stupid. It was good, though, that he took it out on her and not Jasmine. Before she collected herself, Rhys grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. His eyes were lit with a demented kind of excitement, and beneath that, lust. The latter was more disturbing than the former. “You always thought yourself so much better than everyone else, so righteous, so honorable. But where’s your honor gotten you?” He grabbed her hair and hauled her up higher. She sucked in a deep breath as the pain had tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
“When the warlord has had his fun—”
“Watch yourself, Rhys. She does not belong to you,” a deep voice called from behind, moving closer.
Rhys’ expression morphed into a sneer; he released her roughly and straightened in his saddle. Sage dropped to the ground in a heap, breathing hard through the pain, the damp dirt soaking through her pants.
“You don’t command me, Blair. My uncle would hate to hear of your disobedience.”
Uncle? Sage stared at the crushed plants beneath her knees, listening. Was Rhys’ uncle someone important to the Scythians?
Cautiously, she picked herself up, standing on shaky legs. She peeked at the warrior from beneath her lashes. Blair. He was a huge man with broad shoulders and a wide, muscled chest. Sage had named him the leader in her mind, for all the warriors followed his lead. What he said went. He wasn’t as cruel as others, but he wasn’t a saint, either; both she and Jasmine had received a cuff or two from him. But overall, from what she’d observed with his men, he was fair. And Rhys hated him, which made Sage inclined to tolerate him slightly more than the others.
He spared her a glance through his long black braids before looking back to Rhys and bowing his head. “You’re right,” he rumbled. “Your uncle does hate to hear of disobedience.”
Sage dropped her eyes to the forest floor. That was a threat if she’d ever heard one.
She snuck a glance at the two men as they stared each other down. Rhys with anger, the leader with tolerance. Rhys cracked first, shifting his eyes to the surrounding men, his feelings flitting across his face: embarrassment, no doubt that he’d been chastised, anger, from humiliation, and finally, hatred. She took a small step back, the wet earth and leaves squishing through her toes. She had been on the other side of his hatred. It wasn’t a place anyone wanted to be, yet the leader didn’t even blink.
“We camp here tonight,” Rhys barked as he swung off his horse, clipping her in the ear with his boot in the process.
The blow disoriented her, and she stumbled into a warm, muscled chest. Horror dawned as two large hands curled around her biceps. Sage jerked from his grasp and put as much distance between herself and him as possible. She eyed the leader’s blank face and rubbed her throbbing head. He was dangerous. His beauty couldn’t hide what lurked beneath the surface. Beneath the skin of his perfectly symmetrical face was a killer. He was just humane enough for her to give him a little trust.
Rhys yanked on her bonds, knocking her off balance, and threw the rope at the leader. “It’s your turn. I tire of her.” He stormed off through the camp, yelling at a warrior about a tent.
Tension in her body eased as he moved farther away. She watched the exchange between Rhys and the other warriors, once again noting the differences between them. All of the men were extremely tall, but that was where the similarities ended. The warriors were flawless, like they were sculpted from stone. High cheekbones, cut jawlines, coal-black hair, smooth olive skin, and deep brown eyes. She’d always thought Rhys unremarkable, but here among the flawless warriors, he was downright ugly. A perverse sense of delight bubbled up in her. He was the damaged one here.
“Stop smiling or someone will notice your disrespect, woman.”
Sage cleared all expression from her face and blankly stared at the bone and feathers woven into Blair’s raven-colored braids.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to survive us, woman. You need to have self-control.”
Self-control? Anger pushed through the icy fear still gripping her. If she didn’t have self-control, she and Jasmine would have been dead already. A grunt left his lips when she didn’t answer, and he stepped closer to her, cupping her chin. Her body froze when he tipped his head forward, his braids falling around their faces like black silken curtains.
“Look at me, Sage.”
She met his deep brown eyes at the soft tone. It unnerved her that, up close, he didn’t appear so harsh.
“Stop baiting him,” he breathed. “You’re owned by the warlord. You’re his possession.”
“Possession?”
“All women are possessions of the warlord.” The leader sh
ook his head. “If you keep baiting Rhys, he will lose control of his berserker rage. He’ll kill you before he knows what he did. You’re putting all of us in danger.”
Sage mulled over the information. Rhys was on the edge of losing it. She could see it and so could his warriors. “What do you want for that little bit of information?” she whispered back, just as softly. No one gave information away for free. It was every bit a currency as gold.
His eyes ran over her face, softening a little, almost friendly. If possible, her body stiffened even more. He was not her ally, and she was not a woman to be passed around. “No. My body is not payment.” She’d die before she let them use her like that.
“It’s not what you think.”
A snort escaped her. “Then what? Are you my friend now?” she asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. The last thing she needed was another beating. She was sure there had to be something wrong with her mind from all the blows to the head she’d recently received.
“I’m not your friend, and never will be. I’m just trying to save my men.”
That was truthful. He may have been the enemy, but he did care for his men.
He leaned back and gestured to the men setting up camp. “They die if you die.”
That disturbed her. “Why?”
To her surprise, he answered her: “Because we would have failed to complete our task. The warlord does not have time for things that are not useful.”
Disgusted, she grimaced. No one should use a person like that, but in the back of her mind, an idea took root. If she died, they died. It was simple.
“I know what you’re thinking.” He shook his head. “You’re not selfish enough to do it.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’ve known people like you. Despite what you know of us, you wouldn’t sacrifice all these men. It wouldn’t be something you could shoulder. It would destroy you.”
“Perhaps, but none of you are men.” His eyes narrowed, but she hurt too much to care. Maybe if he hit her, she would black out for a bit and find some relief.