by Tj Shaw
She couldn’t find Marek but smiled at the sight of FireStrike near a small tree. Saddled and waiting, his crimson wings folded against his body glittered in the sunlight. Where FireStrike stood Marek would soon follow, and with nowhere else to go the Criton was the best place to be.
Although weak, walking forced stagnant blood to pump through her veins, revitalizing her. She inhaled the cool air deep into her lungs, enjoying the sweet smell of pine and wildflowers. Her shoulder throbbed softly as a reminder of the past few days, but other than that, a sense of peace settled over her for what she had done to stay alive and to protect those she cared about.
Her path toward FireStrike was leading her into a group of soldiers, many with bandaged wounds. They stopped talking and stared at her. She hesitated, wondering if she should give them a wider berth. Even though Marek held her blameless for the attack, she couldn’t ignore the heavy hand of guilt as it crept up and squeezed her shoulder.
Misplacing her courage, she decided to alter her course until Damon broke away from the other men and headed her way. A white dressing covered his right bicep. Unable to meet his gaze, she waited to hear what he had to say, expecting the worst.
“Carina,” he mumbled in a gruff voice filled with emotion. “One of your arrows protected my back. For that, I owe you a life.”
Stunned, she gazed at this grizzled warrior who had just offered her a great gift. Restraining unexpected tears, she spoke quietly. “But, I’m the reason for the ambush.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “Not true,” he countered. “The Tiwans attacked because someone wanted you dead. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
Overwhelmed by Damon’s acceptance of her, she could only manage a small smile.
“And now that we know you’ve been targeted, we’ll be ready.”
Her brow creased. “I don’t want any of you to put yourselves in danger because of me.”
Damon’s voice hardened. “That’s not your decision to make. Our king has chosen you as his mistress. We’re honor bound to protect you with our lives.”
Humbled by his words, she hoped this hardened soldier didn’t notice the quaver in her voice. “Thank you for this honor. I’ll strive to prove myself worthy.”
Damon stared at her for a long moment. “You’re special Carina McKay. Our king saw it and I see it. As for being worthy, you’ve already proven your worth.”
Damon palmed the hilt of his broadsword in a loving way. “I look forward to traveling beside you as your future unfolds, and for the blood we’ll spill as a result.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling.
Carina smiled back, although she found the thought of someone’s blood spilling on her behalf troubling. “Thank you, Master Finn.”
“No, ‘tis I who thanks you,” he declared with a low bow.
To her surprise the other soldiers standing nearby also bowed. A rush of blood raced up her neck and slammed into her cheeks. Not sure what to do, she peered at her feet and mumbled, “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course, my lady.” Damon chuckled, moving out of the way.
Suddenly self-conscious, her heightened awareness now noticed the eyes of the soldiers following her through camp like stalwart beacons, assessing her movements and judging her with newfound respect. Many stopped to stare, or if she met their eyes, nod their heads in greeting as she walked the remaining distance to FireStrike.
The unexpected attention liberated old insecurities she kept locked away in the recesses of her mind. A mixed blood didn’t deserve their respect, especially since she was the reason for the assault. If anything, the men should loathe her.
She sighed in relief when FireStrike welcomed her with a small snort. Critons always calmed her troubled heart. They didn’t judge or care about her heritage. Their pure souls and steadfast loyalty washed away negative thoughts and left her thankful for being in their presence.
She stroked FireStrike’s neck. He lowered his head and bumped her hand with his nose. She knew what he wanted and scratched behind an ear. Her lips curved upward when he grunted in contentment.
“Some big, tough Criton you are,” she whispered when his head dropped against her chest.
“Are you making fun of my Criton?”
Her heart skipped beats as Marek’s intoxicating voice poured over her in a warm caress. She gazed into his face, her smile wavering. The grey flecks in his eyes sparkled. Dressed in black riding leathers with his moniker emblazoned on his right shoulder, he dominated her vision. He exuded confidence and power, tempered with enough compassion to avoid arrogance, which only made him stronger. No wonder his men were immensely loyal.
“I would never make fun of one so noble,” she replied in her most solemn tone.
“Good,” he answered with mock sternness, stepping up beside her. He brushed her hair off her shoulder before sliding his hand down her arm to pause at her elbow. She impressed herself by remaining composed on the outside while every facet inside her quaked.
His lips pressed in a line as worry replaced his amazing smile. “How do you feel?”
“Better, but you should have woken me,” she chided. “Now everyone is waiting.”
Marek shrugged, indifferent to her concern. “You needed the rest, the men could wait. We have a long journey ahead and I want you as strong as possible.”
The sincerity in his voice for her wellbeing opened a door in her heart that had always remained locked and filled the emptiness with a light that cast rays of tenderness throughout her. She could only stare at him with an odd sense of fascination. A bemused smile played across his lips causing her to wonder what lay hidden within the emerald depths of his animated eyes. They were like hypnotic twin pools and if she relinquished control, succumbing to their spell, she’d lose herself inside them forever.
“Then we should go,” she whispered a little breathlessly.
Marek’s face lit up with a child’s delight, but the man who captivated her interest had stopped being a boy a long time ago.
“Aye, Carina, let’s go.” His lopsided grin lightened her heart. He stepped into the stirrup and swung onto FireStrike with a grace perfected by years of practice, then slid behind the saddle and extended his hand.
She faltered and hoped the shock didn’t show on her face. Marek offering her the saddle was more than a simple gesture of kindness. It marked a change in their relationship, both for them, as well as for Marek’s men and any other man. Marek had just staked an official claim, his claim on her. She was off limits to anyone else. He would protect and defend her with his life, exposing his back to enemy arrows by shielding her with his body.
Her jittery stomach marched in rhythm with her shaking hands. She didn’t deserve such distinction. Her mixed blood destined her to a life as either a servant or a mistress of a lesser noble, not fit for a king. She still couldn’t fathom why he wanted her. Really, what was he thinking? She dropped her head to hide her eyes and glanced left and right to see if anyone had witnessed his act.
“Carina,” he whispered, drawing her attention back to the man sitting astride an amazing red Criton. Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze while the timbre of his voice rolled over her like a wave. When she remained flat-footed, his body shifted and uncertainty crept into his face. Did he mistake her hesitancy as a refusal of what he offered?
Warmth spread through her as Marek leaned forward in the saddle with his hand outstretched, waiting for her. His leather gleamed in the sunlight transforming him into a shining vision of masculine dominance. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and whispered in her ear, encouraging her to accept his hand. She smiled as an unshakable pride for this man who would claim her and whose simple gift of the saddle would elevate her to a position of dignity, stunned and embarrassed her. After spending her entire life yearning for acceptance and a small measure of respect, his simple act meant more than he’d ever know.
Marek wiggled his fingers. “Come with me,” he murmured.
She couldn’t ignor
e the slight undercurrent of disquiet threaded within his voice. Not wishing to cause him discomfort, she raised her hand and welcomed his fingers enclosing around her. She glanced up into his ruggedly handsome face and his dazzling smile stopped her heart—her warrior, her king, the man who would be…hers. Unable to resist, she smiled in return.
FireStrike was taller than Mira so she struggled to get her foot into the stirrup, but once secured, Marek pulled her up with ease. Grateful for his help, she tried to relax, but every nerve in her body flared to life in acknowledgment of the man whose legs now straddled hers. Although careful not to touch her, his strong arms cradled her as one hand held the reins and the other rested on the saddle horn. They’d broken almost every rule regarding decorum, yet years of training kept her back stiff to avoid any further appearance of impropriety.
Sampson on Reeza loped up from behind. Although he covered it well, his eyes narrowed at her new position.
“Sire, the men are ready. We just need to deal with Caden. Should we dispatch him now?”
The gasp slipped out of her mouth before she could swallow it, and Marek’s sudden rigid posture confirmed he’d heard it. Although Caden’s arrow had almost killed her, in the end Caden did save her and killing him now after they’d been through so much seemed like such a waste. She wanted to ask Marek for leniency, but didn’t have the courage to speak on the Tiwan’s behalf.
Instead she gripped the pommel with both hands, anticipating Marek’s answer. FireStrike shifted beneath her, sensing the unease twisting a knot in her stomach. Marek flexed his fingers and inhaled a deep breath. She knew he had the safety of his men to think about. Caden might have supplied the antidote, but the Tiwan Tribe had killed several of his men. Marek had every right to order Caden’s execution, yet she prayed he’d show mercy.
She gazed into the clearing surrounded by tall pines that had served as their home for the last few days. Except for the fire pits, all evidence of their stay would soon disappear as the Mother Source reabsorbed the meadow back into her care.
The sun had just topped the trees spilling light onto the Critons and riders who waited for the order to finish their journey home. White seed pods from the lion’s tooth flower floated in the air giving the clearing a fairytale quality as the puffs played in the breeze, a final dance around the animals and men before settling into the soil and going dormant until the season of rebirth.
Mira disturbed the tranquility of their secluded spot by landing with a thud amidst several Critons. Using her head as a battering ram, she bumped DarkStar in the shoulder trying to get him to chase her. He snorted and whipped his head sideways to nip at her, but she skittered out of reach. Carina smiled at her young friend until Marek’s commanding voice reminded her of Caden’s pending fate.
“Bind him. Have him ride another Criton while his follows.”
She noticed the almost imperceptible rise in Sampson’s eyebrows, but any reservations remained unvoiced. Sampson nodded and retreated to follow orders.
Her heart fluttered in happiness for her king who would show an adversary kindness. She tilted her head to look into his face. His lips were clamped tight, and worry danced in the shadows of his eyes as if second-guessing his decision. Wishing to ease his concern, she brushed her thumb across his troubled brow. His eyes brightened at her touch.
“You ready, Carina?”
Her breath quickened at the anticipation in his voice. Oh, how she loved Criton riding. Just the excitement of flying seemed to lessen the pain in her shoulder.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Without any noticeable movement from Marek, FireStrike pushed with his powerful hind legs and beat his wings to propel them forward. She glanced down to watch the spectacle below as the other Critons jumped into the air, their strong wings pumping furiously to catch their Alpha and chase down the foot soldiers and coursers who were already running through the forest toward the border.
Another Criton swooped in from FireStrike’s right flank and settled into formation behind them. Carina laughed when she realized it was Mira. Her little Criton had transformed into a beautiful animal. Her perfectly proportioned translucent green wings swept up and down in a steady rhythm keeping pace with the others.
“Your Criton seems to think she is FireStrike’s second-in-command,” Marek mused.
“FireStrike doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Nor have the others showed any signs of challenging her. I guess they don’t want to pick a fight with a female who has made up her mind.” Marek chuckled.
Carina scowled, knowing Marek’s double meaning comment wasn’t intended solely for Mira.
“Or, she might consider herself your Criton and is flying beside you,” he added. “She did save you after all.”
“Yes, she did.” Carina grinned. After spending years defending Mira’s size, Carina savored the kernel of pride that swelled in her chest as she observed her beloved Criton. The effortless beat of Mira’s wings as she matched FireStrike’s tempo and the elegant arch of her neck as she pressed forward into the wind, filled Carina with joy.
But, at the same time, Mira’s transformation meant she would be a much sought after Criton. Someday Mira would bond with a rider, and no matter how much Carina wished it so, in her heart she knew it wouldn’t be her.
Carina couldn’t explain the special connection she had with Mira. They were like kindred spirits, growing up alone in a large world with only each other to love. Marek’s men believed Mira saving her was a miracle, but she knew better. True friends would always be there for each other. Mira had simply acted like a loyal friend.
Carina grimaced. She’d made a grave mistake by leaving Mira behind. With a silent vow, Carina promised never to abandon her companion again until she bonded with her rider.
“Look Carina!” Marek’s enthusiasm as he pointed at a meadow nudged the sad thoughts of eventually losing Mira from her mind.
She followed Marek’s gaze to view a herd of pronghorned gambels jumping across a grassy flatland as they raced for the safety of the trees.
“The Critons have startled them,” he said conversationally. “If we weren’t in such a hurry, I’d let them feed. But they’ll have to wait until we cross the border.”
They traveled hard and fast and the strain of riding weighed on her. The steady throb in her shoulder influenced a growing headache. She was tired yet couldn’t relax because she had to keep her back straight to avoid touching Marek. But even her discomfort and aching body didn’t prevent the cadence of FireStrike’s wings from lulling her. More than once she jolted awake after drifting to sleep. When she slipped forward again and reached out to grasp the pommel to catch herself, the sudden motion pulled at her stitches and she yelped at the stabbing pain.
“Come here,” Marek murmured, and wrapped an arm around her waist encouraging her to lean back.
Her body melted, molding against his chest and arms as if remembering a lost memory. The powerful beat of FireStrike’s wings soothed her, placing her in a trance-like state as she relaxed into Marek’s warmth.
“But this isn’t proper,” she grumbled, her mind floating away on the rise and plunge of FireStrike’s gentle rhythm.
Marek chuckled, and dropped his chin onto her shoulder in a small, intimate gesture before whispering, “You said so yourself that we’ve never followed etiquette. Why start now?”
If she wasn’t so tired, she might’ve focused on the vibrations coursing through her from Marek’s voice rumbling in her ear. Instead, she wrapped her arms around the arm that encircled her and yielded to the comfort and safety of his body.
27 – STIRRLAN
Two full days of riding found them flying over a small mountain range into a wide valley following the path of a shallow stream. Tall, wispy grass waving in the wind filled the valley with endless motion.
After the first poor attempt at protocol, Carina abandoned the endeavor altogether, thriving in the strength of Marek’s arms and the wind in her face until she cou
ld no longer hold her eyes open and fell asleep. Marek didn’t seem to mind their closeness and simply made it a habit of keeping her fixed against his chest.
She woke to the downward motion as they glided into the valley. She wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but from her body’s stiffened position, decided it had been for awhile. She stretched and arched her back in an attempt to ease some of the kinks.
“How are you feeling?”
She twisted to sit askew in the saddle, leaning her shoulder against Marek’s chest to look into his face. Even with her wound and other healing bruises, she loved riding with Marek.
“Better. Where are we?”
“We just flew over the Esquaine Mountain Range, which marks the beginning of my northern border. We’re on home soil now.” Marek’s voice was a soft, soothing ripple of sound, his posture relaxed.
“Are you eager to get home?”
He grinned. “Aye, it’ll be good to have you safe.” He paused from scouting the terrain to fix her with a pointed stare. “I also grow tired of only lying beside you at night, Carina McKay.”
The blush began in her toes and rose to burn on her cheeks. Marek’s laugh as he squeezed her and buried his head in her neck confirmed he witnessed the giveaway color.
His voice lowered to a raspy whisper and sparked tiny pinpricks of energy to arc through her body. “Of course, now I’ll have to wait until your shoulder heals,” he grumbled.
Her reaction to him was powerful, uncontrollable…and totally exciting. But his wicked smile and the gleam in his eyes kept her mouth closed in embarrassment until he released her from his piercing gaze and began showing her different landmarks as they flew by. Anticipation bubbled just beneath his voice as he spoke about his homeland.
He pointed to a stark, rocky mountain riddled with large caves where unbonded Critons lived. As they soared past the jagged peak, a few of the young animals peered out of their lairs and roared at the intruders flying through their claimed territory. FireStrike and the other Critons ignored them, seemingly unperturbed by the youngsters’ impetuous behavior.