Shield of Fire

by Boone Brux

“Human rebels?” Ravyn looked at the pink puff of a woman. Madam Turner was the last person Ravyn would suspect to be a rebel. Willa’s words about how she and others were familiar with the Bane floated back to Ravyn. “Are there many?”

  Bella scrunched up her face. “Ten so far, but we’re growing. Can’t allow just anybody into the group. Most humans will turn tail and run at the first sign of demon trouble. I’m selective. Nobody joins until they’re tested.”

  Nattie glared over Bella’s head at her with what looked like a silent plea to not to ask any more questions.

  “That’s very noble of you, Madam Turner. The Bringers thank you,” Ravyn said.

  Bella blinked several times and sniffed. “It’s my honor.” Determination clouded her face. “Now, let’s get you outfitted.”

  Ravyn handed herself over to the ministrations of the women, who efficiently stripped and redressed her in minutes. The harness turned out to be surprisingly effective. Two long strings pulled the material around her chest and tied beneath her breasts. The tunic and pants fit as if they were made for her. When Madam Turner handed her a tall pair of black leather boots, Ravyn nearly melted. The soft leather flexed and hugged her calves. She stared at a reflection that looked nothing like the old Ravyn.

  “Rhys will never let me wear this.” She ran her hand over her backside. The pants hugged her curves and tapered into the knee-high boots. Though dressed as a warrior, in this outfit, she flaunted every womanly aspect of her body. “It’s fabulous.”

  “Why does he have any say?” Nattie asked. “He’s not your husband.”

  Her statement stung a bit more than Ravyn wanted to admit. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t let me leave my room in these clothes. Remember, his rules—no arguing.”

  “I’ve found the element of surprise always works best,” Bella piped up.

  Ravyn glanced back at the mirror. These clothes were the solution to her problem and Nattie had a point. Rhys wasn’t her husband. She ran her hand over the leather patch at her wrist. He wouldn’t be pleased.

  “You’re right. This is a matter of safety, and I should have the final say in what I wear.”

  “Make sure you perform better than ever,” Nattie said. “Show Rhys these clothes are for your safety.”

  The three women smiled conspiratorially. Ravyn pivoted in front of the mirror. “This just might work.”

  Nattie paid for the clothes and they exited the shop amongst pink-feathered hugs and perfumed waves. Loaded down with four sets of leathers in black and green, a supple pair of black leather boots, four undershirts, and the gauzy purple gown, they made their way back to Alba Haven.

  Merely holding her new wardrobe gave Ravyn a sense of control.

  “Nattie? Can we make a stop on the way home?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “And—may I borrow some money?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunshine spilled across the bed, blanketing Ravyn with warmth. She lay cocooned in a nest of pillows and lush comforters, softness conforming to every bend and curve of her body. She smiled sleepily and snuggled deeper into the bedding. This was paradise.

  Pounding thumped against her door. “Get up, sleepyhead. Time to train,” Rhys yelled through the door.

  “No,” she whined, curling onto her side. “It’s still early.

  “If you’re not on the field in thirty minutes, I’m sending Luc up to get you.”

  “Tyrant!”

  He was still angry with her and Nattie for leaving the grounds. She snuggled deeper into the bedding, not wanting to face him again. Soft whistles cooed from the corner of her room and she smiled. At least somebody knew the proper way to awaken a lady. She slid out of bed and walked to the brass cage in the corner of the room.

  “Good morning, my little beauty.”

  The Firebrand ruffled her feathers in response.

  Since Rhys hadn’t been speaking to her last night, she’d spent the evening situating her new pet. An unworldly connection existed between her and the bird. Ravyn had never experienced anything like it with other animals.

  She unlatched the cage door and opened it. “You’re going to need a name.”

  The bird squawked and shimmied across the bar to the end. Using its beak and talons, it made its way along the bars and out the opening to sit on the top of the cage. Ravyn wondered if the bird could fly. She should have asked the man.

  “So what shall we call you? Something special.” She stared at the Firebrand. It stared back with big golden eyes, cooing softly. “How about Beacon, because you are a bright spot in my day?” The bird made a clicking sound and Ravyn reached a tentative hand and stroked its satiny orange head. “Beacon it is.” The bird nuzzled against her fingers. “I’d love to stay and pet you but I’ve been summoned.”

  Ravyn washed and braided her hair into two long tails, securing the ends with black, leather cords. She contemplated the sets of leathers, knowing she was about to make Rhys’s bad mood even worse. Which set to wear, green or black? Since he was in a black mood this morning, why not embrace his frame of mind? The harness gave her fits, but after several minutes of twisting and swearing, she secured the strings. Her heart skittered as she gazed at a warrior in the mirror.

  “Be confident. Be bold.” She released her breath. “Don’t back down.” Walking to the door, she called over her shoulder, “Wish me luck, Beacon.”

  A loud squawk was her reply. With her head held high and a confident step, she strode from the room and pulled the door shut to keep Beacon inside in case he decided to go for a flight. Ravyn marveled at the freedom the pants allowed her as she descended the staircase. No material tangled around her ankles or underfoot. Her irritation grew. How many times had she fallen over a heavy gown or watched other women wrestle yards of fabric out from under them as they struggled to stand?

  Her righteous indignation for all womankind billowed around her. “Just let him tell me to go change.”

  Shocked expressions and whispers from the other residents followed her. Good. Let them look their fill. From today on, she’d be dressed in pants, so they’d better get used to the notion.

  She entered the training field. Rhys stood with his back to her, arms crossed and his legs spread wide. He was listening intently to Luc, probably discussing her future. Nattie stood in the front row of the crowd and gave her an encouraging nod. Ravyn squared her shoulders and marched forward with more self-assurance than she felt.

  Luc’s gaze slid from Rhys to her. Like butter melting in a pan, his wicked smile spread across his face. He refocused on Rhys, mirroring his crossed-arm stance. “This morning keeps getting better and better.”

  Murmurs of laughter from the other men eroded some of her poise. With each step, she felt more foolish and awkward. Why had she gone along with Nattie’s plan?

  Rhys slowly turned, his eyes widening and then narrowing. Butterflies beat against her chest but she didn’t slow her stride as her wool- and leather-clad legs ate up the distance between them.

  Luc stroked his chin. “Have her legs always been that long?”

  Rhys growled, and her step faltered.

  “I knew she had curves.” Luc’s hand glided down his stomach and cupped his crotch. “But those legs, they make a man fantasize.”

  “Shut up, Luc.”

  His friend held his hand up in surrender but made no attempt to suppress his smile.

  Rhys pointed at her. “Stop.”

  Ravyn stopped.

  “Turn around and go change your clothes.”

  She took two steps. This was about her safety as a warrior, not her modesty.

  “Stop!” His voice rose above the crowd.

  She refused to obey, and faltering now would show weakness. This was a battle of wills. She stopped inches from Rhys and fisted her hands on her hips. “What’s your problem?”

  He shook his finger in the direction she’d come. “Turn around and change those…those…” He paused and raked her with his gaze. “What a
re those?”

  “They’re my training clothes.” She performed a slow rotation with her arms held out to the side. “And they’re much safer than those bulky dresses I’ve been wearing.” To prove her point, she spun and tried to kick Rhys in the chest, but he easily blocked her foot. “I can move in all directions with ease.”

  “They’re indecent. Every man here can see your…” His hands cut an hourglass figure in the air. “Body.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not my body, just my shape.”

  “Shape, body, it’s all the same.” He took his defensive pose—legs in a wide stance, arms crossed. “I will not have them gawking at you.”

  Ravyn mirrored his body language. “You will not have? What makes you think you have any say?”

  “I’m the leader of this group.” His gaze rebounded between her and Luc. “I make the rules.”

  Her temper flared. “I make my own decisions, Lord Blackwell, and if you weren’t so pigheaded you’d understand my safety is worth more than my modesty.”

  “You will change,” Rhys growled.

  “Your arrogance has no place in this decision or in battle.” She marveled at the strength in her voice and the wisdom of her words. Rhys’s expression darkened. Her confidence fled. Taking the coward’s way out, she trolled for reinforcements. “Aren’t I right, Luc?”

  Luc cleared his throat. “She has a point. Her safety is the most important thing, and these clothes seem logical.” He ran his hand over his chin. “Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t thought of this before.”

  “These clothes are indecent.” Rhys hands frantically waved toward her chest. “They’ll be more disruptive than helpful.”

  Ravyn gasped. “It’s not my fault you men can’t see beyond a pair of breasts.”

  “You’re playing with fire, Ravyn. Before we know it, all the women will want to wear these costumes.”

  “Good,” she snapped. “And now that you mention it, I want to talk about why more women aren’t training.”

  Luc’s tone dripped with warning. “Ravyn.”

  “What? Can you honestly say the best use for the strong women living in Alba Haven is cooking and cleaning? Give them swords. Train them. Even if they don’t go into battle, they’ll be able to defend their homes.”

  A loud buzz of approval mixed with low grumbles hummed from the crowd. Rhys’s glower narrowed. He remained unmoved by her logic.

  She huffed. “At least let me show you what I’m capable of. If these clothes don’t make a difference, then I’ll get rid of them.”

  “Immediately,” Rhys said.

  “Immediately. I’ll even let you burn them.”

  She wouldn’t, of course. At least not the three sets she had hidden away in her room. The two stared at each other, neither willing to back down from the fight.

  “Well, then…” Luc said. He stepped around Rhys and grabbed Ravyn by the hand. “Let’s get you saddled.”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. Now came the easy part. She scooped up a quiver of arrows and secured it across her back, settling the bow into the loop on the side of her saddle. Unhindered by her clothing, she mounted and straddled the horse.

  “Show him what you’re capable of,” Luc said.

  He smacked the horse’s flank. Ravyn galloped around the field, learning the rhythm and new position of her body. Awareness of the watching crowd melted away as she kicked the horse into a high-speed gallop. Her body hummed, and power pulsed around her. She blocked out all distractions and focused on the target. Her vision shifted to a world of color and light. She reached out with her right hand, ran her fingers through the lines of energy zigzagging across the field, connecting every living thing in the arena. Flickers of light and heat raced up her arm, and sparks flared from her fingertips.

  The energy existed for her. Vibrations pulsed and ran along her skin, sending tiny shocks through her body. She rounded the bend for the final time, plucked the short spear from the holster, and elevated the stick to her shoulder. She leveled the spear, aiming. Her fingers tingled and her movements slowed.

  She closed her eyes and sent power through her arm and into the spear. Her heart beat eight times with each full breath she took, measuring the cadence of her pace. Images of the weapon lodging in the center of the dummy swam through her mind. With a steady hand, she drew back the spear.

  The horse came level with the target, and she opened her eyes. The dummy swung from side to side like the slow, steady pendulum of a large clock. She exhaled and thrust her arm forward, releasing the weapon.

  The javelin soared toward the moving mark and pierced the center of the painted circle. Flames erupted as the tip passed through the dense straw stuffing and buried in the stone wall behind the target.

  She kicked her horse into a gallop and circled the field again. Tongues of fire licked the edges of the hole made by her spear and spread across the chest of the wildly swinging dummy. On the second pass, she yanked the bow from its holder and in one smooth motion notched an arrow. Leaning forward, she goaded the horse faster. She gripped the bow with her left hand and sighted down the arrow. With steady fingers, she pulled the bowstring back to her cheek. Breath flowed in and out. The horse’s gait rocked steadily under her. She lifted from the saddle to level the arrow into the line of energy radiating toward a second dummy. She twisted her body, pointing her shoulder toward the target. She relaxed her fingers and loosed the arrow, the fletching grazing her knuckles.

  The projectile whistled toward the target, embedding its razor point between the painted eyes of the dummy. Hay erupted in all directions, the head exploding from the impact of the arrow. Ravyn circled the field once more and pulled her horse to a stop.

  The lines of energy and color disappeared and her vision shifted back to normal. Men raced toward the blaze to douse the target with buckets of water.

  Luc stopped next to Ravyn. “Maybe I should get a pair of those pants.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak or to pull her eyes from the target.

  The crowd swarmed onto the field, firing questions too quickly for her to answer. She dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. Blood pounded in her ears, and a throbbing pulsed at the base of her neck. Where was Rhys? She craned her neck to locate him but the crowd pressed around her.

  He found her. His firm hand wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her through the mob. Rhys didn’t look at her, didn’t slow when she stumbled, didn’t indicate he’d been swayed by her performance.

  Luc, her loyal protector, marched a few steps behind them, probably determined to temper Rhys’s anger if needed. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as she trailed behind him. Off the field, through the halls, and up the winding staircase he dragged her without a word. He opened the door to his room and pushed her inside, turning to block Luc’s path.

  “You’re not needed,” Rhys growled and slammed the door. He spun to face her, his expression difficult to discern. “You are an awful lot of trouble.” He stepped away from the door and raked her body with his eyes. “I don’t like these clothes.”

  She retreated a step. “You saw the freedom they give me.”

  He prowled toward her. “I saw all the men looking at your body.”

  She edged around the bed. “You have to admit, my performance was amazing.”

  “Do you know what else is amazing?” He rounded the corner of the bed, pacing her. “It’s amazing how you’ve wrapped Luc around your little finger.” He backed her against the wall. “It’s amazing how you and Nattie plot and scheme to get your way.” He placed both hands on either side of her head. “And it’s amazing that I’ve been a gentleman this long.”

  The heat from his stare burned into her. “Um, thank you?”

  He leaned in, his mouth hovering inches from hers. “Not good enough.”

  Her body was pressed so tightly against the wall, she had nowhere else to move. “Are you still angry with me?”

  He wrapped an
arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Yes.”

  She pushed against his chest. “You don’t seem angry?”

  “Trust me, I’m not pleased with you.”

  She frowned. “Then why are you holding me?”

  He captured her mouth, plunging his tongue inside. She stiffened against his hold, but he didn’t relax his attack. Was this the price for letting her keep the clothes? Her body betrayed her and molded against him. Bless the Sainted Ones, but she could feel every inch of him. Her heart raced and her body ignited with what even the purest virgin would recognize—desire.

  She pushed against him, not wanting her first time to be like this, with Rhys angry. She broke their kiss and panted, trying to gain control of her faculties. “Can I keep the clothes?”

  Rhys growled.

  “Please?”

  He stared and her, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He exhaled heavily and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “You may keep the clothes.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ravyn punched her pillow for the fifth time and flopped back down. She stared at the ceiling. Rhys had treated her with respectful deference all through dinner. Respect—the very word galled her. How dare he respect her after the way he had touched her?

  She kicked at the covers, searching for relief from her agitation. Silk skimmed along her limbs and teased her sensitive skin. Sleep had finally claimed her after tossing and turning for an hour, but she awoke a short time later, wide-eyed, restless, and thinking about Rhys.

  She swung her legs over the side of the massive bed and stared into the darkness. The man was truly frustrating. How could he appear so indifferent after what they’d shared? Maybe she was too naïve to understand the way men thought.

  She padded across the room and hauled back the silk drapes. Night greeted her. Sunrise was still hours away. Her chemise felt too confining. She grabbed at its neck, quickly pumping the material in and out, trying to cool her body. Nothing seemed to help.

  A small decorative pillow perched on the window seat. She picked it up and waved the cushion in front of her face, but the breeze did little to temper the flush of her skin. With a frustrated huff, she threw the pillow across the room and paced.