Holding her hands together, she brought her knees to her chin, wanting to make herself as small as possible. She had heard the stories the Hunters brought back with them. The sheltered life her parents tried to give her had always been shadowed by this fear – that Weres would find and kill her. As a female-born vampire, she was, for want of a better word, indispensable. Most vampires born were male, and whenever fate decided to grace the Covens with a female, she was well protected for the mere fact that through her, a pure bloodline could be established.
Amarinda was the first female vampire to be born into the Cronus Coven, the youngest of several siblings and the apple of her family’s eye. If she lived to see another evening, she swore never to make fun of her brother’s call again.
One of the Weres left the room only to return a moment later with another. They all reeked of dirty dog. The newcomer inserted a large, rusted key into the gate. With strength borne solely of determination, she stood. He showed no hesitation when he stepped into the room. She did not break his gaze - not when he cautiously approached, not when he cocked his head peculiarly to one side, not when he sniffed the air slowly, deliberately.
Had it been her mother or her grandmother captured, Amarinda knew that they would have faced whatever fate these monsters administered with pride. Tears would not have fallen from their eyes. They would not have begged mercy. She stiffened her spine. These beasts had attempted to kill her family. Her beautiful mother might be dead for all she knew, and her father and brother…
She pushed down the hurt that threatened to cripple her and lifted her chin. If she must die, then it would be a noble death. She would not shame her Coven by groveling like a coward. Her observer issued a command, and another stepped forward, shackles in hand. Her intake of breath made her nostrils flare. They circled her like wolves moving in for the kill.
He looked pointedly at her fisted hands and lifted the shackles. She silently, stoically obeyed and followed him through the iron gates. The guard snorted and spat inches away from her dirty hem. Amarinda flinched. It took all of her self-control not to back away from his intimidating frame. Through the door and down a narrow hall they went. In the dark she observed the crudely cut walls, shocked to see that it was made entirely of stone. It seemed to have been carved out of a solid mountain.
They continued on, passing more than a few Weres on the way. They looked like men to the average eye, but she could clearly distinguish the stench of beast that lingered in their veins. Nauseated, she parted her lips to breathe. At the end of the winding hallway a large door was opened. She was pushed into a spacious chamber that housed only a few, all of them dirty and bruised. Her eyes were momentarily blinded by the many torches that lined the wall.
Their leader, standing in the center of the room with three men at his flank and another two at his left, was just as dirty and just as bruised, but it was the depth of his burnt honey gaze that numbed her stiff. Her gasp of alarm and agony echoed. She felt her heart beat an unnatural staccato in her chest, felt him sear her with just one sweeping look, and noted that he too, seemed to still in her presence. For a brief moment, incredulity registered on his face, only to be replaced by a wicked sneer.
She swallowed hard and fought the urge to surrender to the threat display. She had a hard time finding her valor now, for in that moment, beneath the stench of wet dog, was the one scent that left her mute and physically weak. A mate? Amongst wolves?! Surely the fates were mistaken! Surely this man, this monster was not the one chosen for her!
She faced him, heart wrenching as he made a calculated approach, considering her like some ill-gotten disease. Her nostrils flared as he walked slow circles around her. By the fates, he smelled divine! Awareness stroked her senses alive, and she shuddered in delight and repulsion. Amarinda forced her spine to straighten and lifted her chin to mask the fear and confusion that warred within her chest. When he finally stood before her, she met his eyes and was near knocked off her feet by the impact of the fury she saw there. A pair of thick, dark eyebrows deepened into a frightful scowl, and he sniffed as if he scented something foul. Despite her resolve, her cheeks flushed in humiliation. Still, anger replaced the sting of rejection. That anger fueled her tongue. “Don’t you see something you like, mongrel?”
His cold eyes whiplashed her into silence. She dared not swallow the lump in her throat lest he pounced on her fear. And she did fear him. He stood well over six feet tall, and was incredibly wide. Everything about him spelt danger and death. How Amarinda supported her weight beneath her watery knees she did not know.
“Spoken like a true vampire whore,” he stated with loathing. His voice rumbled through her like warm fingers, making her shudder anew.
“Better a vampire whore than a mongrel’s bitch!”
The contact she made to the cold, hard floor was swift and harsh. Astonished, she pressed a trembling hand to her abused cheek. The breaths she took were deep, and for a shocked moment she did nothing but gawk at the rough stone hewn beneath her pale hand. Never in her life had anyone dared lay a hand on her! And now, to be so abused by this common dog!
She stood up in a flash. Her swift retaliation was anticipated, and he sidestepped her attack with nothing but a snicker. One large hand clutched onto her neck and he lifted her well off the ground. Amarinda grasped helplessly at his wrist, struggling to breathe as he applied pressure to her delicate throat. Tears stung her eyes, and she met his steady gaze, noted the contorted features of his face and listened to the roar of blood thunder through her veins. Every second echoed in her ear now. She became aware of the rate at which her heart sped. She heard the soft, choking noises she made as she struggled to force air into her lungs. She felt, with renewed awareness, the sharp pains the seized her chest. She would die, she thought. She would die here, and that too, at the hand of her mate. The thought was ludicrous, of course. The mate that should have been chosen for her would see himself killed before hurting her. That was the vampire way, after all. But he did not know her heritage. And he was no vampire.
Unexpectedly, she was released. She fell heavily and had not the strength to look up. Racked by dry coughs, she gasped for breath, vaguely aware that they were now the center of attention to many more that had somehow gathered to witness the scene. “My – my father will come – for me,” she heard herself wheeze painfully. She pushed her weak form away from the sight of his fur boots until the harsh wall met her back. “He will bring – the Hunters and – and slaughter all of you!”
Her prediction did not fall on deaf ears. Low murmurs swept through the room long before she heard him command their ear. “She lies,” he offered nonchalantly. “Hunters do not hail from such a small coven as hers.”
She blinked several times to bring his towering frame into focus. He stood confident, looking down his nose at her, snarling.
“You are wrong, mongrel,” she said softly, struggling to her feet. Her face flushed, for the dress she wore was tattered and torn, and she had been stripped of her stockings and shoes. “I am Amarinda Cronus – and my family will see you butchered for what you have done!”
At the mention of her name, silence reigned. She noted with satisfaction the slight panic that flashed in his eyes before it was masked once again with bitter resentment. “If I must die, then it will not be in vain,” he stung swiftly. “Rhys!”
At his bark, another man stepped forward. He was not as tall as her captor, but was fiercely attractive. He did not meet her eyes when he stood at her side.
“Ready the whipping post,” he commanded stonily, his eyes not once swaying from her direct gaze. “At dawn, we execute her.”
****
They came for her just before first light. Amarinda sat regally, waiting. She had spent the majority of the night fighting the urge to scream her fear and frustration, but the guards at the gate would have enjoyed seeing her come undone. Already they taunted her with lewd comments; already the sound of them rattling the bars of the cage was enough to send her
over the edge and into the abyss of panic.
When they opened the gate, she stood slowly, dreading what was to come. Still, she would not beg for mercy from these beasts. She would lift her face to the sun and keep her lips clamped shut. They would not get the satisfaction of seeing her grovel.
Even as the Were named Rhys gestured for her to be shackled, she recounted in her mind the bits and pieces of stories told by the Hunters about the battles they had won and lost. She may not have been trained with the sword, but vampire blood coursed through her veins. Royal blood flowed within her. In the moments to come, she would die like a true Cronus female – with her pride intact.
They led her down darkened corridors until they came to a large dome, dug straight out from the mountain. Around them, only a few were present. They sat wearing bear skins to ward off the chill of the morning air. Amarinda felt their resentment toward her with each look she received, but kept her face void of emotion. To the center of the dome, a stone post stood, tall and steady. One of the Weres clutched onto her elbow and dragged her forward. She wrenched her arm away and cast him an icy stare.
“My feet work well enough beast! There is no need for your assistance.”
She could sense his anger at having been dismissed, and quickly made her way to the whipping post before he retaliated with his fist. Once there, she summoned the courage to blink away the panic that threatened to engulf her. She sniffed the wind. It was sweet and heavy with the odor of autumn. Beside her, someone moved. Amarinda did not flinch when Rhys attached the chains of her already shackled hands to a third clasp that was embedded into the stone. As the irons clanked, her heart beat a little faster. She took a quick glance above her head and then to the east. Already, the sky was blushed in hues of pink.
She leaned against the post, hating that her feet were weak from fear. A few yards in front of her, he stood stiffly. She met his gaze with open repulsion. Rhys went to stand at his side. In silence, they waited.
Amarinda saw the sky brighten. The first rays of sunlight touched the uppermost part of the post. Second by painstaking second it descended. She squinted against the sting in her eyes from the brilliant glare, and felt her pores suck in the warmth of the birthing day. Courageously, she lifted her face and waited. The smart of tears formed behind her heavy lids. Was she a coward that she could not stare into the face of death? She swallowed hard. She had no more courage to give.
What she had expected when the shaft of light hit her, she did not fully know, but the feather-soft brush of warmth caressing her flesh was not it. Stunned, she opened her eyes and lifted her chained hands as though they were unfamiliar. Dust particles floated everywhere. She swept her hand through the almost microscopic specks and allowed the tears to spill down her face. Movement demanded her attention, and her awe vanished long enough to register exactly what had happened. She stood, unflinching beneath the dawn.
The Weres were out of their seats, confusion and horror crossing their faces as they spoke in panicked voices amongst themselves. He, however, considered her with a mixture of dread and … relief? In a flash his expression was shuttered and he barked a command. Despite her resolve, she flinched. Something was said to Rhys who moved to obey. She was unshackled and removed from their presence, forced back through the narrow halls until they came to a less populated part of the stronghold. Here, light streamed in through every available window. Up a winding staircase they went until her legs ached with protest. She stumbled upon the dirty hem of her gown and was hauled to her feet. Rhys did not miss a step. At the end of a narrow hall, a heavy wooden door was pushed open and she was released at its entrance.
Amarinda sucked in one breath on the threshold and spun around to flee just as quickly. Her nose made contact with a muscled mass of chest. Stunned, she watched stupidly as Rhys blocked the doorway with his large form. The cold glint in his eyes forced her to turn around. Hesitant, she stepped forward. The chamber reeked of him. She pushed away the nausea that threatened to consume her and made it all of five steps before his voice thundered upon his entrance.
“What form of witch-craft have you blood-suckers wielded that the sun has no effect on you?!”
She stiffened and turned to meet his fury. Behind him, Rhys stood guard. “The same kind that turns you into animals whenever you will it!”
“How many more are there like you? Are there Hunters with the same ability?”
She kept her mouth shut. His nostril flared at the challenge. Let them assume the worst. His eyes did not break contact with hers, and she felt him peel away the layers of mettle she had so carefully spent the night putting into place.
“We should alert the men,” Rhys offered calmly, “just in case.”
“There are no more,” he announced with decisiveness. For a split second she recoiled, and he offered a self-satisfied smile. She swallowed unwillingly. “If there had been, the Hunters would have been here already.” He spun around on his heel and stormed away. Rhys closed the door and bolted it from the outside.
Amarinda crumpled to her knees, her strength sapped. She drew deep ragged breaths and allowed the tears she so adamantly held at bay to fall. What would happen to her now? She looked up at the sunlight that streamed through the window and struggled to her feet. She flung the window opened and gasped. The sun was indeed warm, soaking into her skin, heating her throughout her form. She reveled in the fact briefly before gazing at that sheer beauty of the stronghold. Hewn out of the very stone of the mountain, the drop was a treacherous one. As far as the eye could see there was only green – thick forests touched even the horizon.
Her mother had been human when she met her father a few centuries ago. As far as Amarinda knew, she was the only human to be ever taken into the coven and mated to a vampire. The bonding that sealed the vows spoken at the ritual of marriage was an unbreakable one – forever was promised, so her mother had become immortal. It seemed however, that Amarinda was born with some human qualities as well. Maybe that was why a mate was given to her from the Weres.
She pushed the thought aside and went to the bed. Her heart clenched in her chest then, realizing that she had spent many years pondering and dreaming about the mate she would spend the rest of her life with. Now that it was revealed, bile rose in her throat.
If only he was a vampire, he would have made a fierce one. She would not have objected, for he was attractive. She could probably have dealt with his temper too, if it was not directed toward her. Even if he were a human she would not have been bothered. But a Were?
Exhausted, she tumbled on the bed and rolled to the center. The thick bearskin furs that were thoroughly infused with his scent calmed the pace of her heart. Wasn’t that ironic, she mused, since he was the source of her terror. Her stomach groaned, and she felt her body tighten. A mild, painful pulse resonated gently through her. She had not fed for many, many days.
Cuddled there, she rocked back and forth, willing the pain to disappear.
****
Graeme slammed the door behind him and went straight toward the window that overlooked the village below. His father had left him this responsibility several years ago when he had been killed in battle against another horde. With strong allies and strong enemies, he had been forced to leave the wandering life he so loved and had tied himself to the people that rejected him from the very beginning.
The true leader of the horde had been struck down with his father - the legitimate son of his father’s mate. He, however, was the bastard no one wanted to acknowledge. His face softened at the thought of his mother, well tucked away from the clutches of any who would dare harm her, away from the cruel accusations that would no doubt break her heart.
She had confessed to him once that she had been his father’s true mate, but circumstances had forced him to marry the daughter of another powerful horde. With such an alliance, he would not have had to worry about war anytime soon. That, however, was broken the moment he and the result to such a union were killed in battle. His father�
�s mate had returned to her horde and received protection beneath her brother’s roof while Graeme had taken up the mantle and grudgingly carried on.
Graeme never wanted to become anything more than a good son to his mother. Now, he was the hordes’ leader, and as such, he was expected to carry out their laws and protect them when in danger. He had done a damn good job at it too. He had taken the strength of the horde and multiplied alliances not through marriage, but through trade. Now they were a force to be reckoned with this far north. Even the vampires stayed away.
At the thought he scowled fiercely. If what the female said was to be believed, they would come. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and ground his teeth until they hurt. He sent the scouts to do nothing more than that – scout. When they returned some three days later, it was with a woman in tow – a vampire woman.
It was a rare thing to capture a female. The men vastly amused themselves, saying that were it not for her stench, they might have found her irresistible. Truth be told, Graeme agreed with them. And for good reason too.
She was his mate.
He sneered in disgust at the word. What would the Weres say if they found out that he had been given a vampire mate? The thought was too daunting to consider. He fought hard to deserve the respect of the people now. It had taken years of proving himself to be finally accepted as a fierce warrior and worthy leader. Though not loved, he was respected. The power he held, the strength of his sword arm, and the bloodlust he birthed in battle was a force to be reckoned with.
His first thought when he spotted her being weighed down by heavy chains was that she was beautiful. Her hair was black and long, shielding all the hidden parts of her. Her skin was a creamy hue blushed with embarrassment and awareness. Her lips were flush and pink, and her nose was pert and small, resting exactly in the center of her face. It was her eyes that had left him speechless. They were unlike anything he had ever seen – silver they were, flecked in shards of blue and green.
The Sanction Page 2