savage 05 - the savage protector

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Matthew flicked his gaze to the unconscious man. He could make out the cluster of grapes that decorated the vest of the man’s uniform, though it was obscured nicely by his blood.

  “Is that the man who struck you?” Matthew asked Clara.

  Clara sighed.

  “It is.” She put a hand on his arm. “There is nothing more you can do to him that Theodore has not already done.”

  Truthfully, given Theodore was of the Band, she was somewhat surprised he had not eliminated Cyril.

  Matthew turned to stare at Theo. “You did this?”

  Theo nodded.

  “Aye.” His dark brows sank low over his eyes. “He was not well”—he rapped his knuckles against his skull—“in the mind.”

  Matthew noted that Cyril still breathed.

  “How did you hold back from finishing him?”

  Theo chuckled.

  “That is an interesting question you pose, Band.”

  His smile faded. “And what reception would I have received if I had killed him in your betrothed's chamber and came outside of her home without proof of my good deed?”

  Matthew relaxed a bit. “I would have beaten you until you moved no more.”

  Theo lifted his muscular shoulders in both agreement and dismissal. “You would have tried.”

  His words were neutral enough, but his eyes held the swirling violence of the Band.

  Matthew's nostrils flared, and he moved forward.

  “Matthew,” Clara warned. “Please.” She beseeched him with her gaze, and he wrapped an arm around her, pressing her against his side.

  Theo laughed. “My apologies. It is not often I find Band to incite.”

  Matthew inclined his head. “Watch whom you engage in jest, for they may not be of the right constitution to accept your jokes.”

  Theo studied Matthew and gave a short nod. “Yes, I think in your case it might have been ill-advised.”

  Billy interrupted, “Sire, what would ya have of me? Shall I take this big lug to the cell? For the other fella is out cold. He can wake up on his back like he fell.”

  Clara answered, “Take Cyril below but allow Theo to remain.”

  Matthew shook his head. “I am unconvinced, Clara.”

  Clara gripped Matthew's shoulders. “I do not blame you, not for a moment. But this male, however improper our meeting, came to my aid… and Olive's when Cyril thought to make me… his…” Clara could not say it.

  Theo stepped down. “He and King Otto were in collusion to reign with Cyril as second. They would keep Queen Clara under their subjugation and control her people by threat of harm to her. In that way, she would be helpless.”

  Clara shivered in revulsion, and Matthew put his hand at her nape, a favorite place of his. Though after their Wedded Joining, there would be a greater inventory of favorites, to be sure.

  Just thinking of joining with Clara made the blood run hotter in his veins. He frowned. That protection of what he claimed as his roared to the forefront.

  Theodore was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He wiped all expression from his face.

  “I have never been in favor of the abuse of the few females who exist to have treatment as the Fragment affords.”

  “You allowed it,” Clara said and could not keep the accusation out of her voice.

  Theo shrugged. “I did not partake in the degradation of the females. They were fed, watered, and not tortured in the Fragment I was a part of.”

  Fed and watered? Clara fumed. What? Like the oysters of her fields?

  She moved closer to him, and a low growl purred out of Matthew.

  “Fear not,” Theo told Matthew. “I did not save her only to injure her now.”

  What Theo did not say was: I protected her when you were not about. But Matthew heard the unspoken words and hated how that made him feel, for it was a truth that hurt.

  He should have left those matters to the other Band and stayed with his intended. An entire fleet of guards had not been enough.

  Cyril groaned and opened his eyes.

  He smiled at Clara and slurred, “Hello, my royal concubine.”

  Matthew strode forward and jerked Cyril up off the step in a swinging movement of fists bunched in fabric.

  He held the man in the air, feet dangling a foot above the ground.

  “She will be mine, abomination,” Cyril whispered, fearless in his conviction.

  Matthew slammed a fist into Cyril’s face.

  The blow shattered what was left of Cyril’s nose and rotated his head on the stem of his neck.

  “Matthew!” Clara gasped.

  Matthew turned to look at her. “On your word, Queen Clara.”

  Theo nodded. “He must die, Clara.”

  Clara's shoulders slumped. Mucous and blood bubbled out of Cyril's nose as if a geyser had burst. He appeared to maintain consciousness by the barest of threads.

  He stared back at her, and she saw that his plans for her remained unchanged.

  Yes, they could lock him up. However, he would haunt their future, a thorn of evil buried in the side of her kingdom.

  She met her future husband's gaze. “Word,” she whispered in a voice that carried far enough for him to hear that she meant it. She turned, not brave enough to watch Matthew snap Cyril's neck.

  The sound would stay with her for the rest of her life—bones broken at her command.

  King Raymond would have been proud that she murdered for the sake of the kingdom.

  But if killing were right and true, why did it feel so wrong?

  She felt Theodore studying her and said, “Do not judge me.”

  Her eyes flashed at him, blue flames to rival the hottest ember.

  He chuckled. “I do not judge you.”

  Though he was mightily surprised. Her delicate looks defied the steel within.

  Matthew breezed past Theo, bumping his shoulder without so much as a “by your leave.” Theo scowled, knowing he had much to prove.

  Matthew wrapped Clara against him with hands that had murdered but moments before and turned to glare at Theo.

  “You do not know Clara as I do. She has been through much.”

  Theo studied the two thoroughly and saw many things.

  “Aye, 'tis true. Yet it is not I who has anything to prove. I am Theodore, and I hail from a clan unknown, taken by the Fragment when I was a boy. I do not remember my family. I have survived, as you did.”

  “How does he know, Matthew?” Clara asked.

  Theo laughed. “It is obvious. He fights like a Fragment and never quits like Band. I might have had some trouble had I not been a part of them myself.”

  Matthew shook his head. “You would never stand a chance, imposter.”

  Theo cocked his head. “And how many atrocities did you see, partake in, and not escape from because you be Band in a group that loathes us?”

  Matthew did not mince words. “Many.”

  “Then do not distrust me, for I am as you were. Let us be well-met, Band.”

  Clara gave Matthew a subtle shove, but he stood like a tree, rooted to the spot.

  “Go on,” she said.

  Matthew grudgingly stepped forward and met the other man in the middle. Matthew put his fist to his heart. “I am Matthew Cartier of the Clan of Ohio.”

  Theodore replicated the gesture, though he was unfamiliar with the greeting. The only Band he had ever met was in battle.

  “I am Theodore, of unknown origin,” He said as his fist fell. Theo felt a disconcerting displacement.

  Clara immediately intuited his discomfiture and hastened to facilitate any good cheer she could. She understood instinctively that he did not wish to go back to the Fragment, not when his own people were here. Yet, it would not be an easy transition.

  “You are not the only person who has no roots. You are welcome to stay here until such time you wish to leave. Clara met the unique deep gray of his stare and fought not to be intimidated, though he had shown her only protection. “Or l
eave not. The choice is yours, Theodore.”

  Theo did not know what to do with her kindness. He had never considered a path that did not directly revolve around surviving, sometimes only from that day to the next.

  The guards, Clara, and Matthew seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his response.

  Theo looked at Matthew, who had callously broken the neck of the one who had mistreated his woman. Theodore said the only thing he could, hoping all else would resolve itself in time, though he knew the future would not be free of strife. “Thank you.”

  Clara smiled. “You are most welcome.”

  Billy grunted and picked up Cyril’s body. “Let me get rid of this trash, Queen.”

  Clara flinched. A human being was not garbage. But Cyril would have become a rotting apple had he stayed in her kingdom, a festering sore in the bowels of it.

  Billy and the royal guard hauled Cyril's body to the great incinerator that accepted all the dead of the sphere. Clara tried not to think about the graveyard that lay just Outside her sphere.

  So much death… When would life come to her kingdom? And in what form?

  It was almost too much conjecture for Clara. She longed for a space of time without violence, strife, and the cloud of destruction that seemed to come in waves from an endless shore.

  Matthew kissed the top of her head, and they walked away together, each deep in their thoughts. Clara glanced behind and saw that Theodore watched them. She thought he looked a little lost, an odd expression on the hard features of his face.

  Clara felt the same.

  CHAPTER 14

  Philip hung back, watching Calia with hooded eyes. He frowned when he saw that she did not eat but merely shoved the food around on her plate. Her golden eyes, so like her hair they matched like dual suns, were haunted with guilt.

  She blamed herself for the girl's absence. And even Philip had to admit that Calia should not have taken the young female. Actually, Calia should not have ventured Outside at all. Now her brother, Evie, and Maddoc were somewhere unknown. Philip had a good idea where that might be—in the company of Fragment.

  Daniel hit the back of Philip's elbow with the hilt of his dagger.

  Philip turned, glaring at him. “Cease that, infant.”

  Daniel laughed. “We can stand a little less grimness, Philip. If you ask me.”

  Philip scowled, fighting to understand the man’s words through the accent, and finally grunted. “Aye, but with the female gone, and Rowenna's own son, methinks it will be yet another party going out in search. What joy is in that?” He forced himself not to look at Calia. The thought of leaving her when their tenuous bond had been established filled him with dread.

  Daniel leaned in close to his ear. “Isn't it really that you can't stand to leave our female warrior over there?”

  Philip hated the slurred cadence of the Fragment speech but instead of the hard words he wished to speak, he said, “It is no small thing that she softens toward me.”

  “Knew it,” Daniel said.

  “What say you?”

  Daniel sighed. “I have suspected for some time that it was you she wanted.”

  Philip looked down at his feet as the back of his neck heated from embarrassment. Daniel put a fist in front of his mouth to hide his smile.

  The big lug was embarrassed. This was rich.

  Those sharp eyes, so deep a brown they appeared black in the right light, swept to his. “I did not, Daniel of the Fragment.”

  Daniel rolled his eyes at the insult.

  “Fine, admit nothing. Save your wretched pride.”

  Philip stood and glared down at Daniel, who was every bit of six feet and four inches, the tallest of the Fragment, but nothing compared to Philip, who had him by at least four inches.

  Phillip pushed his face close to Daniel's. “Pride is all that I have left, Daniel, brother of my Bandmate.”

  Well, that was an improvement over that last, Daniel thought.

  He slapped Philip on his broad back. “Take charge, friend. For that is what that one needs.”

  Philip looked at Calia. Her gold hair brushed the table as she planted her elbows beside the plate from which she pretended to eat. Then his gaze moved back to Daniel's.

  “I understand the root of what you say. However, I do not believe a heavy hand will win her… friend.” Philip's grin resembled a snarl on his rugged face.

  Daniel gripped his shoulder.

  “Take care of her.”

  Philip's eyebrows dropped like bricks over his eyes. “And what would you recommend?”

  Daniel swallowed, looking over at the most frustrating female he'd ever known. He shrugged. Not his problem. In fact, Daniel had begun to ruminate on how fantastic it would be to have a non-select as a mate in the future.

  Blood of the Band caused problems, fights, and turmoil. Could he not find a docile female?

  The Gathering Room where they sat was the part of the sphere that received the most light, so it could be blistering in summertime. But the temperature was a little cool for the women, he'd noted, when winter was at its zenith.

  For once, Philip had eyes only for Calia. She had become even thinner since she had returned to the sphere.

  Technically, since her brother had been found, he was in charge of her welfare because Calia claimed no male.

  Philip wished to claim her. She had warmed to him, but her mind remained unconvinced. She had been too long in her own company, surviving without adequate warmth, food or protection.

  Those things Philip would give her, if she'd let him.

  Daniel watched Philip move across the room, graceful as a mountain of muscle could be, and smirked.

  The Band could use with some lightening up. What was the Fragment term for that? Ah yes, ease up. Another expression to feed the Band. They were too serious by far.

  Daniel supposed the business of protecting everyone had taken its toll on levity.

  Ease up… Could they be taught? Daniel had his doubts as Philip stopped and stood awkwardly in front of Calia.

  *

  Calia felt a presence break her thoughts, and she knew who stood before her without glancing up for confirmation. The pleasant fire in her chest told her who warmed her merely by his proximity.

  She hated herself. Philip was a weakness. She had allowed herself to be the weak female she despised and conceded to his caretaking of her all the way to the sphere.

  Then Edwin would return and force her to move to a clan she could not remember. If he was a representation of what they were, Calia was not sure that was her path.

  But the Clan of Ohio was no more. Their people had been absorbed until other plans could be assigned to their lives, or they might choose to remain.

  Large hands landed on the table in front of her, and she laid down her fork.

  Philip was impossible to ignore, and the heat that burned like pleasant fire inside her chest spread, rising to her cheeks, because she found she did not want to. Regardless of her stubbornness to remain independent, Philip stirred something deep within her.

  No male of the Fragment had ever been more than someone to avoid. They only wanted to use her for gain, for war, for sex.

  She remembered her escape as Philip stared at her face. The wash of emotions was a kaleidoscope he did not understand.

  Calia had been a precious commodity and fiercely guarded.

  But on the night before her auction, some went against the law of their own government, eschewing the money that could be gained by an untried female on the auction block.

  Calia was ready.

  Using a dagger she had stolen from one of the other guards, she brought it up and slit his throat.

  “You will not have your way with me, vermin.” She then grabbed the offending column of flesh, stiff and vile in her hand, and sliced it off at the root. Calia said her promise with a grim smile, one that stayed fixed on her face as she drove the blade up until it stalled at his sternum.

  His comic surprise, gapi
ng in a noiseless scream, was followed by a hoarse cough as blood began to dribble out of his mouth.

  His body stilled underneath her.

  Calia grabbed her rucksack and headed for the tent flap. Having the element of surprise on her side, she easily dispatched the surprised guard outside the door. A sliver of moon illuminated the dead inside her tent. One eye stared with the sightless gaze of death, while the other was a pool of gelled gore. His crotch was a mess of blood and torn meat with the tangy odor of urine wafting from it. The other lay with his throat slit, appearing like a second grinning bloody mouth. She crouched and wiped her blade on the guard’s tunic.

  Fear tried to grip everywhere it could lay hold, but she squelched it. There was not time to wallow in the odds that lay against her.

  Calia tried not to be insulted that only two guards had been assigned her. She grunted at their complacency.

  Scars peppered her body in testimony to her stealth and engagement. Some were from torture at the hands of her adopted family. The rest were from other groups of Fragment who had not realized with whom they fought until her blade had come away wet with their blood.

  Philip did not interrupt Calia in her ruminations. He wanted to, but her expression held some old horror that he could not touch, that he could not protect her from. He knew the look, for he had worn it on his own face.

  When he felt she was coming back to the present, he asked softly, “What say you?”

  Calia awoke as though from a dream. “I…” She looked down at her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “I think of my time with the Fragment.” She waved a hand dismissively. Philip was not so easily fooled.

  Philip stood awkwardly in front of her, knowing not whether to pry or stay silent.

  The choice was robbed of him when Calia began to sob.

  Every fiber of her being begged for her to be strong, that she still needed to be autonomous of others, that—of course—no male could ever be trusted to take care of her. Every single man she’d ever known had proven they would hurt her.