The Sanction

by Reeyce Smythe Wilder

  The wrinkles upon his face looked deeper than she recalled, and lines of strain were evident around his mouth and eyes. Those eyes…as lifeless as the very obsidian stone beneath her feet. A sliver of fear shot through her, and like flashes of lightening, she recalled many of the stories the Hunters told of the Elder. He was fierce, heartless, proud. A true Hunter. A pure-blood. And he considered her with none of the love and warmth she had known from him all her life.

  Now, she was his enemy. As he was hers.

  That reminder gave her courage and strength. In the back of her mind she continued to hear the scream of her son as he was thrown to the depths. A light shaking consumed her, but she held her ground and dropped her eyes to the floor. They burned cyan, so enraged was she.

  “The Council has demanded that you be tried for acts of treason.” His voice was as chilled as her heart. “I have agreed to partake in this meeting. It is also my wish to honor the one who brought you home safely.”

  The hair at the back of her neck stood erect and she held her breath. A Hunter stepped forward, clad in black and gold and red, boasting swords strapped crisscrossed upon his back. She recognized him instantly. Blood flooded her mouth when she sank her fangs into her tongue. Pain seized her again, and in a flash, she relieved each heart wrenching moment of having her newborn torn out of her arms.

  The Elder did not make to move when the Hunter knelt before him. Slowly, he lifted his hand and allowed the warrior to kiss the ring on his hand before muttering words in the old language.

  He was honoring him! He was paying the murderer honor for killing her son, for kidnapping her!

  A pulse drummed in her head, swift and steady, so intense that she could no longer hear her own thoughts. But thoughts be damned!

  Rage forced her to move. Rage and pain and the sudden needed to annihilate those responsible for the hole in her chest. In a breath, she was upon him. She saw him brace himself to stand, noted the look of awe and gratitude he cast his Coven brothers who themselves appeared proud of his endeavors, listened to the drum of his heart beat and the sigh of pleasure he took at being so greatly honored – and moved so quickly it took everyone a moment to realize exactly what she managed to accomplish.

  The double swords he so boldly carried upon his back were his own demise, for she held them both. Breaths heaving, she considered the still standing body of the Hunter she had, on instinct, decapitated. It took all of ten seconds for his body to follow his head to the ground. Sprayed in blood, she lifted her head to the ceiling and felt adrenaline course through her body. Heat flooded her from head to toe, and when she finally turned toward the Elder, she realized he was on his feet, his face stiff, condemning.

  The Hunters moved forward all at once, but she did not fight. Slowly, she lowered the blades and heard them chime when they hit the blood stained floor.

  “My sentence, my lord?” came a throaty request.

  The weapons were kicked away. The Elder considered her, condemnation bright in his flaming orbs. “On this night, for this deed done, one hundred lashes.”

  A gasp of horror filled the silent chamber, its echoes rising and bouncing off the stone columns and beams. She did not move, did not care if they whipped her until the very skin was torn from her bones. She longed for death.

  “And if you are foolish enough to survive that, beheading, when the full moon wanes.”

  A hiccup and a muffled cry tore her attention to her parents. They were distraught. Vilirus stood rooted to the floor, unable to contain the heated tears that filled his eyes. Still, Amarinda felt nothing for them.

  “As you wish, my lord.” Her voice was distant, unattached. When she turned her back, two Hunters all but dragged her away. She had executed the one whose hands had taken her son. With all her heart she wished she had the strength and the courage to kill the Elder as well, before her own demise.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Graeme stood in the thickest part of the forest and waited. Around him the scent of freshly killed prey assaulted his nose. There were silent steps running in sequence to his left. Wolves, he knew, paying him no mind as they disappeared into the mist as if they were wraiths. Above, the sky was an inky black. The cold was stingingly numb. With each breath he took, vapor clouded before his eyes. The wind wrapped him in frigid arms, and his muscles flexed and shuddered. Concern and worry rode him hard. With each passing hour, his despair for his mate grew until the dead weight that replaced the heart in his chest suffocated him.

  Tonight, he would make the arrangements. Tonight, he would sell his soul if needed.

  He paused and closed his eyes, straining to listen, scenting the air. The hackles at the back of his neck raised in warning. Instinct as old as time kicked in, and before he could contain the change, it rippled throughout his body. The odor of putrid flesh stained the stagnant air. On his feet now, he heard the first soft footstep crunch the freshly fallen layer of snow. In the dark before him, the vampire stood. His body was deceptively relaxed, bottomless eyes the color of clear glass fixed upon him, studying him with a curious expression that was also riddled with scars. The hair atop his head was shorn to the scalp. Odd, for the Hunters were a vain lot, known to take pleasure in their locks. Graeme shifted. The vampire’s eyes hardened at the slight movement and did the same, this time strategically positioning his feet into a comfortable fighting stance.

  “Are you the one called Sutter?” he grumbled.

  The vampire’s grin was menacing. “Are you the one who kidnapped my niece?” Graeme shrugged as if it were as inconsequential as the light snow that began to drizzle from the sky. Sutter’s eyes lowered to slits. “What do you want Were?”

  Graeme’s breaths were heavy, intense. “It is said that you are the one to hire for…difficult tasks.”

  Sutter considered him with sharp eyes. “No job is too difficult, if the price is right.”

  “Name your price then.”

  “What is the task?”

  He inhaled, flared his nostrils at the stench there, and continued stiffly. “The Coven has taken her from me. They have taken Amarinda.”

  The vampire smirked as if he was not at all surprised. “And you want her back.” His tone was laced with mockery.

  Graeme felt his fingers twitch. “I want you to bring her to me. Where she belongs.”

  For a stunned moment the vampire’s expression turned from curious to icy. Features strained, he studied Graeme with suspicion. “The price will be high as I risk my own capture,” he finally muttered into the night.

  The breath Graeme was unaware he held was exhaled in a rush. “Name your price then.”

  For a lengthy moment the vampire’s eyes stayed fixed upon him before he responded. “A favor.”

  Graeme frowned, the large streams of smoke trailing from his nostrils carried away with a light wind. “A favor?”

  The vampire offered a sinister smile, his eyes half crazed but his words surprisingly clear. “Yes. I will deliver sweet Amarinda into your care, but only if you agree to attend me when I call upon you.”

  Graeme felt agitation slither through his body and forced the growl that lurked in his chest to sink to the base of his stomach. To be so summoned by a vampire, and a mercenary vampire at that, was more than a blow to his pride. Already he stung knowing that he could not retrieve her on his own. Still, her safety, her place at his side as his mate meant he would sacrifice nothing less than his life itself. The battle must have shown a hundredfold on his face, for when he finally met the vampire’s empty stare, it was to be greeted with a wicked grin of victory.

  “I will be indebted to you but once vampire,” came his husky agreement.

  “Whatever I require,” the vampire pressed.

  “So be it.”

  The shorn-haired warrior smiled lethally into the night and bowed curtly, his eyes never leaving Graemes'. “She will be delivered into your care on the third night of the full moon.”

  When he made to move, Graeme stopped him. “We have n
ot yet agreed upon a location.”

  Sutter cast him a mocking glance and turned away, presenting his back pointedly. “I will find you.”

  Then he was gone, becoming one with the dark and the ice.

  ****

  Rhys swung his feet off the cot and planted them firmly on the wooden floorboards. The chill there shot up to his thighs and he shivered. His stomach felt raw and tender, but he managed a light repast only an hour or so before he attempted rest. Sleep, however, was not coming anytime soon. Graeme had yet to return from his meeting with the mercenary. He buried his face in his hands and muttered curses to high heaven. That he couldn’t be there to offer his protection pricked more than just his pride. If anything happened to Graeme, he would be expected to care for the child. Dread filled him as he cut a sideways glance to the corner of the room where the babe slumbered. The wet nurse had been instructed to leave him in Rhys presence when she was not attending him. At first Rhys had protested, but Graeme did not need to have his mind troubled while negotiating with a vampire.

  On wobbly knees he stood and wrapped linen around his hips modestly. Four steps brought him to the basket where the child slept snuggled beneath a coarse woven blanket. His crop of black hair came alive in the firelight. His skin was pink and wrinkled with dark slashes for eyebrows and lashes that seemed ridiculously long. He was small enough to be held from his palm to elbow comfortably. Rhys leaned forward and inhaled, satisfied that the child held the same baby scent as the first moments he had taken him, wet and bloody from birth, into his arms.

  It was nothing short of a miracle that the child was alive. In a flash he recalled the fall to the rock bed below the bridge. He recalled the sting of the cold wind’s embrace as he fell, remembered being in so much agony he prayed for death. Still, death would not be given to him, because just as his back hit the solid first, he heard the distinct screams of the baby. Amarinda screamed as well, the echo of which raised alarm bells in his head, even as his body laid broken there. Her screams faded to broken cries, but that of the babe only intensified, and in some still conscious corner of his mind he recalled his promise to Graeme. Maybe it was the fact that he was the one present at the birthing, but determination swelled in his chest, and as the squealing cries advanced at lightning speed, so in his last ounce of strength, he moved. With arms wide open, the child took him to his back once more. He could not move, was afraid it was not saved until he felt tremors seize its tiny form. He would be cold Amarinda had said, so he had done all that he could to keep the child warm. The heart that thundered in his chest was swift and strong, and he held him close until he cries were nothing but whimpers. The next time he opened his eyes or became conscious, it was to Graeme’s voice.

  A headache drummed directly above his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked in rapid succession. The rest of the men had been sent to the stronghold with instruction to ready the horde for battle. They would move in at night, and bring the battle to the Coven at the stroke of dawn the morning of Amarinda’s return. Granted that he was strong enough, Rhys himself would lead the battle in Graeme’s stead. The rank and role of leader would be his to bear – a reward Graeme had called it upon their discussion the night before. For saving the life of his son.

  Rhys did not feel like a hero. And he didn’t like deceiving the masses, no matter how much or how often Graeme justified his actions. The babe stretched and yawned and blinked slumber-filled eyes against the flicker of the light in the hearth. The harsh lines around Rhys’ mouth softened. Wide blue eyes looked up at his hovering form, and a surge of protective energy warmed the ache in his chest. He thought of his future, of the mate he would one day claim for himself, and wondered if the babe he would plant in her belly would favor him the way Graeme’s son favored his father. With light fingers he brushed the ebony hair and marveled at the thistledown texture there.

  “He has the look of his mother,” Graeme announced.

  Rhys jerked his hand away and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Her hair and eyes – but your features.”

  The Were entered and closed the door behind him gently. “How do you fare?”

  Rhys crossed the room and returned to the cot. It creaked in protest against the force of his weight. “Still sore, but stronger.”

  Graeme nodded and awkwardly lifted the child. For a few moments he was silent, then met Rhys’ eyes and grinned like a lad. “I have named him Ulleam.”

  “A strong name.” Rhys nodded his approval and stretched out upon the cot. “Amarinda might not approve.”

  His face darkened into a frown and he took the child to the only stool in the room. There he sat and adored the babe. “She will be reconciled.”

  Rhys grunted. He had no doubt of that. “Did you meet the vampire?”

  Graeme nodded, not looking up. “He has agreed to bring her to me three days hence. Have you already dispatched the men?”

  “They rode at dusk.” Silence filled the space between them. It was Rhys who finally broke it. “What am I to tell the horde when the battle is over?”

  Graeme’s sigh was a heavy one. “It matters not what you tell them.”

  Rhys clenched his jaw and kept his eyes fixed on the rafters above. He had ample reason to justify the anger that did a slow burn in the center of his chest. War was something he lived, a part of him that he considered honorable simply because he protected the masses. Scouts and soldiers kept the safety of those entrusted to them. He considered the women and children who found refuge in the coastal villages because of the threat of war. He remembered the cries of the children in the village a mere three nights ago before the vampire female had given birth. Rhys questioned the wisdom of the Fates once more and clenched his jaw tightly, wishing he held something less than love in his heart toward Graeme, for that was the only reason he had almost given his life to save the child and his mate.

  Once he had promised never to choose the vampire over the horde. Now he was here, deep in vampire territory, body half broken and bruised, agreeing to claim leadership of the horde so that Graeme could sneak away with his family.

  Rhys would be the one left to answer the difficult questions. He would be the one to look upon the faces of the men and see their anger and shock and utter disgust when he confessed the truth. He had the strangest premonition that the betrayal they would feel in the coming months ahead would leave a heaviness in his chest, the burden of which he had no wish to carry.

  But according to Graeme, it mattered not what they were told.

  He ground his teeth together and shook his head without apology. “No,” he stated, his voice like starch. “You tell them.”

  Graeme’s sigh was deep and patient. “I am torn Rhys. If I disclose the truth about my mate, she will never be accepted. Nor will my son. They will want blood, and I will not allow them to have it. If they scatter, there will never be another horde of this magnitude in a hundred years to come. The men will not survive without numbers. This is my biggest fear.”

  Rhys’ deep eyes flickered in consideration. He had not thought of such things. “Your son has proved that breeding is possible between the two species. A new race, so to speak.”

  Graeme looked doubtful, although awe graced his eyes. “More than a vampire, more than a Were…” he whispered. The half-smile was wiped clean off his face. “They might also view him as a threat – unable to accept him because of his vampire heritage.”

  Rhys nodded. “Aye. Tis possible.”

  “Which is another reason why they must never know the truth.”

  “Without a leader –“

  Graeme shifted and offered his forefinger to the babe wrapped quietly in his arms. Pink lips found his flesh and latched powerfully, greedily. “I have appointed you –“

  “I beg you remember our bargain – I leave as soon as my part in this is done. You have your son, and in a few days, your mate. I want no part of this deception.”

  Graeme did not speak for a long time. When the wet nurse came in fi
fteen minutes later, he had yet to speak. Her bulky weight rolled forward and she claimed the fussing infant in her spiced arms. Graeme watched with calm satisfaction as she took him away to ensure that he was warm, dry and properly fed.

  Rhys was right of course. The masses were his responsibility. No matter how long or how many different ways he tried to procrastinate, the truth remained the same – he would have to tell the horde the truth and let them decide if their lives were worth hers.

  The response he knew he would get forced his heart to almost seize within the confines of his chest. He felt like a bastard.

  “I will tell them, but only after my family is safe and out of harm’s way,” he heard himself croak.

  Rhys closed his eyes. “You have made the right choice.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What?!” Macer’s voice was nothing but a raspy croak in the stillness of the night. Beside him, his wife’s indrawn breath waited upon his nephew to repeat his words. Silas stood expressionless before the blazing hearth and did not lose a breath when he recited exactly as before.

  “Sutter comes for her.”

  Vilirus planted himself upon the single chair closest to the window and swallowed with difficulty. “I don’t understand. He would risk capture, death, for her?”

  His father’s shrewd eyes flashed in awareness. “The Were…”

  “It was the only logical thing to do given the situation,” Silas continued, his pale eyes almost flat. “He has sent a message to you.” It was Macer he seized with his almost lifeless eyes. “If you want her unharmed and reunited with her mate, then spare yourself death and stay out of his way.”