by Monica Burns
"You cut me," she choked out. Without thinking, she swung at him but an unseen hand easily deflected her blow. "You son of a bitch. You tell me to trust you, and then you cut me?"
"Be quiet and keep your palm open, Emma." It was a command, and his cold, deliberate manner made her obey him despite her anger and pain.
"Vena vinculum," he said quietly before he proceeded to slice open his own hand.
Appalled, she backed away from him. It was a pointless effort as a familiar, invisible pressure on her arm jerked her forward until she was within an inch of his hard, tension-filled body. Despite his insane actions, the raw maleness of him still managed to send her heart slamming into her chest. But it was his cold, unflinching gaze that alarmed her. This was a true Sicari assassin. A man capable of killing. Yet for some bizarre reason, she didn't fear for her life. He was furious with her, but there was also a glimmer of solace in his eyes. She trembled as he pressed his wounded hand against her cut tightly, their blood flowing as one.
"Repeat after me." The dark authority in his voice edged its way along her nerve endings. "I accept the blood bond of Ares DeLuca."
Despite her fear and confusion, she rebelled. "Not until you tell me what's going on."
"Say it, Emma, or I'll turn you over to the Order without another thought." The implacable expression on his face made her believe he meant every word. And whatever turning her over to the Order meant, she was certain it wouldn't be good.
"I accept the blood bond of Ares DeLuca. Whatever the hell that means." This last part she muttered beneath her breath.
"It means I just saved your life. Again," Ares said sharply as he raised their clasped hands high in the air and shouted, " Vena vinculum ."
She flinched. Whatever he'd saved her from, his dark scowl said he wasn't happy about it. Definitely bad news for when he got her alone. Worse, the crowd encircling them erupted in low rumblings of dark disapproval. Not a good sign either. She tried to pull free of Ares's grasp, but he tightened his hand around hers to hold her firmly at his side.
Out of the crowd, the regal, silver-haired lady she'd seen earlier walked forward at a stately pace. Her hand went up in a command of silence as she halted in front of them. The crowd obeyed. Her stern gaze fixed on Ares, she studied him for a moment then turned toward Emma.
"Do you accept the blood bond this man has offered you?"
Oh lord, if this was some sort of Sicari marriage ceremony--she shook her head vehemently. The woman arched her eyebrows at Ares, and the pressure on Emma's hand grew painfully tight.
"Answer her," Ares growled. The harsh command warned her to respond in the affirmative. As much as she wanted to object, an internal voice warned her now wasn't the time for rebellion.
"Ye . . . sss." She sent Ares a fiery look, but his chiseled expression said he could care less.
"Very well." The woman nodded her head then looked at Ares with a questioning look in her eyes. "And you, Ares. Do you accept the responsibility that comes with this blood bond?"
He nodded sharply. Emma frowned at the sudden gleam of approval in the woman's eyes. Why did she seem pleased by Ares's behavior when everyone else was angry? And what the hell kind of responsibility was she talking about? The woman turned slowly to survey the crowd.
"The trial shall begin. Who will stand for the transgressor?"
"I will." Ares's voice rang out loud and clear in the night air.
"If you do so, her fate is yours. Are you prepared for the consequences?" The matron's eyebrows arched in an imperialistic manner.
Emma shook her head. Fate? Whose fate--hers. Suddenly, she realized this blood bonding rite wasn't about marriage at all. It was about something altogether different, and she didn't like where any of it was leading.
Chapter 12
HIS shoulder was on fire, again. He'd let his guard down on purpose, believing Maximus would know he was simply helping him save face in front of the Order. The Sicari warrior had figured it out after Emma had interfered. Anger tugged a low growl from him.
Emma . . . Christus, it had been a miracle he'd managed to keep from throttling her. He'd told her not to interfere. Yet she'd thrown herself into the middle of the fight, thinking he needed saving. Deep in the recesses of his mind, a small voice reminded him that she'd willingly put her life on the line simply because she believed him in mortal danger. It took courage to do that. And even something else. Not a thought to explore--particularly right now.
He suppressed a sigh of disgust. It changed nothing. She'd interfered in a Dux Provocare and jeopardized her own life by her actions, no matter how well-intentioned her motives. Emma jerked her hand from his with an unintelligible exclamation. The action accentuated the protesting nerve endings in his palm. The blood bond. If she'd listened to him, all of this would have been avoided. She erupted with fury as she glared first at him and then at the Prima Consul.
"Damn it, will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"You are on trial, Miss Zale."
Ares studied the Prima Consul's expression as she eyed Emma with that piercing silver gaze of hers. After the murder of his parents, he'd spent a lot of time pinned beneath that assessing look. His godmother hadn't been the Prima Consul then, but Atia had still been a formidable woman when she'd taken him and Phae into her own home.
"Trial? For what?" Emma exclaimed with disbelief.
"You interfered in a Dux Provocare, which is strictly forbidden."
"You can't be serious," Emma snapped. "I didn't interfere. Ares was about to lose his life because of me. I couldn't let that happen."
"An admirable motivation, but ignorance of the Order's law does not excuse your transgression." His godmother turned her sharp gaze on him in a look of clear reproof. "For almost two thousand years, the Dux Provocare has ensured loyalty and strengthened the leadership of our Order. Interference cannot go unpunished even for aliena."
Fotte. That wasn't altogether true. As Prima Consul, Atia had the authority to mitigate the punishment. He'd just not been willing to bet Emma's life on Atia's generosity. Was his godmother angry that he hadn't trusted her with Emma's life or because he'd performed the blood bond? He knew he'd bent the rules tonight. Merda, he'd done a lot more than bend the rules. At least the punishment for Emma's crime and his unsanctioned blood bond with her was the same. They wouldn't make him do the gauntlet twice--would they? He drew in a deep breath and tightened his jaw. It wasn't like he'd had much of a choice.
Despite her good intentions, Emma had committed the ultimate sin against the Sicari Order. A seditious act. It had been more than a hundred years since someone had tried to stop a Dux Provocare. Then it had been a Praetorian defector attempting to save his Sicari wife. The man had barely survived the penalty handed out for such an offense. Emma wouldn't have stood a prayer without the blood bond, and the Order would never have agreed to let him champion her otherwise.
"What's done is done." He met his godmother's sharp gaze with defiance.
"Agreed," Atia said in a crisp tone. "Yet we still must resolve the issue of this trial."
"Get on with it then," Ares snarled. "As the Prima Consul, you have the right to set aside the trial and move directly to the sentencing."
"Ah, so I do," Atia murmured as her mouth thinned with what he knew was more than displeasure. She was worried for him. "But a trial would afford you some respite."
"We both know the delay will be of little use."
His godmother drew in a sharp breath and glared at him. "You always were hardheaded. I know the Dux Provocare took its toll on your ability."
"I'll manage."
Normally calm and serene, Atia uttered a sound of fury. The unusual response expressed her fear for him more than anything else she might have done or said. With a sharp movement, his godmother turned to face the Sicari surrounding them.
"The aliena has been judged and found guilty. Her blood bond with Ares DeLuca gives her the right to choose him as her champion."
&n
bsp; Beside him, Emma made a choked sound of anger. "That's it? No defense? Nothing? That's not justice."
"There's no point. The law is the law," Atia said harshly as she whirled around to eye Emma with an icy look. "Be grateful Ares chose to break our law against blood bonding with alieni. Otherwise, it would be you running the gauntlet."
Concern darkened her silvery gaze as Atia stared at him for a long moment. The unspoken message in her eyes warned him to take care. His barely perceptible nod seemed to satisfy her. Resignation flashed in her gaze before his godmother turned and walked away without a backward glance. In a flurry of movement, the gathering erupted with activity. Emma jerked her gaze toward him as a large group of Sicari fighters formed two long lines a short distance away.
"Gauntlet?" she asked sharply. "As in running between two lines of men who beat you with clubs?"
"Not exactly." He met her gaze and looked away.
Clubs would be infinitely preferable to swords. At least each warrior only got one shot at him, but it would be more than enough when he had no defenses to speak of at the moment. Merda, he should have left her in Chicago. She'd be safe and he'd be on his way back to the Wacker Drive complex. She blew out a low noise of exasperation.
"Damn it, Ares," she hissed. "Either you tell me what the hell is going on here or I'm going to make you sorry you ever met me."
"Emma, at this moment a part of me is already sorry, particularly since this isn't an ordinary gauntlet," he said wryly.
A lie. He was beginning to excel at it where she was concerned. The truth was he wasn't sorry at all. He'd made himself responsible for her safety, and he'd done what was necessary. No, it was more than that. There was something about her that aroused every protective instinct in his body. He could call it responsibility all he wanted, but in the end, he knew it came down to something much more. A door slammed in his head as he locked his thoughts into a dark room. His gaze flickered toward the Sicari fighters. The warriors had formed two lines, facing off with the fighter opposite them. The result was a narrow corridor wide enough for three people to walk through abreast. She turned her head and paled visibly as the warriors drew their swords
"Are you telling me that's the gauntlet?" She pointed toward the human-made passageway with an expression of horror.
"Yes." He looked over his shoulder and jerked his head in a silent command for Lysander to join them. When he started to turn away from her, she grabbed his arm to hold him still.
"I never agreed to you doing this in my place."
"You agreed to it the moment you acknowledged the blood bond. It gave me the right to take your punishment."
"Then I take it back," she said vehemently. "It's insane."
Resignation tightened his jaw. Insanity? She was probably right, but it was how the Sicari had survived the Praetorians repeated attempts to wipe them out. Without their laws, there was anarchy and annihilation. He couldn't deny the possibility that he might not survive what was to come, but it was the Sicari way. He glanced at the warriors lined up a few yards away. Nothing would have saved her if he had not made the blood bond. He'd done the right thing no matter what happened.
"You may be right. But I had one of two choices. Let you run the gauntlet or run it for you."
"You can't survive that," she breathed and her hand clutched at his arm in a silent plea.
The shock of her touch raced up his arm. It created an intense need to pull her close. The fear in her hazel eyes made him reach out to brush his fingers across her cheek.
"I agree the odds aren't good," he said with a pragmatic expression and shrugged. He immediately grimaced at the pain lashing its way through his shoulder down into his hand. "But you had no odds at all.
Lysander and Phae reached them at almost the same instant. The moment she stopped in front of him, Phae glared at him. "You and your bloody honor. It's these kinds of heroics that get people killed," she said fiercely. "Let me heal your shoulder."
"There's no time." He waved her hand off. "You need to see to Emma's hand."
"Emma will live," Phae snapped. "You know a healer can't go near you the first twenty-four hours after a gauntlet run."
Phae's voice reflected her deep fear that he wouldn't survive. He didn't try to reassure her. Rather pointless when even he wasn't sure of his chances. He nodded abruptly as his sister grabbed his hands and closed her eyes. The pain in his shoulder eased considerably in seconds. As he watched Phae concentrate, he experienced the usual guilt that came with seeing her taking on the physical pain of his injuries.
Her knit sweater grew wet with blood at her shoulder and she groaned softly. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her agony. Beside her, Lysander's features were as stoic as always. His Primus Pilus rarely showed any emotion at times like these, but the muscle tic in his friend's face emphasized how serious the situation was. He could have done without the silent reminder.
When Phae released his hands, she swayed slightly. Before Ares could react, Lysander extended his hand to steady her. Phae brushed off his assistance and sent her brother a stark look of fear.
"I couldn't heal it completely. The old wound interfered with the healing process." It was the helpless note in her voice that scraped at him. Phae never liked to admit to fear.
"It will do," he said as he tested the shoulder with a slow movement.
He turned to Lysander. "You know what to do if anything happens to me. I charge you with all the responsibility I currently hold."
"Understood." The disfigured warrior gave him an abrupt nod. "Your ability?"
"Nothing a little rest won't cure." His ability was so weak at the moment, he wasn't even sure he could deflect the more deadly blows as he moved down the corridor of Sicari fighters.
"Watch Sybil's men. They weren't happy to see you this evening. I doubt their mood has changed." The warning was the only indication his Primus Pilus was concerned for him.
Resignation tightened his jaw as he turned toward the warriors forming the gauntlet. Sybil Castella ran the New York guild. The woman had made it her mission to make his life miserable whenever possible because he'd brushed off her overtures years ago. If Sybil's fighters were angry, it meant his godmother's men would not go easy on him. They wouldn't want their honor questioned. Another point against him. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension holding them tight. As he glanced in Emma's direction, his gut tightened at the fear on her pale face.
"This is all my fault," she said with a note of panic in her voice. "I can't let you do this."
"You don't have a choice," he said softly. Best to just walk away.
Ares turned and headed toward the gauntlet. He'd only gone a couple of steps when he stopped. If he didn't survive the night, he damn well wasn't about to die without another kiss. Fotte, he wanted a lot more than a kiss, but it was the best he was going to get at the moment. He whirled around to stride back to her and roughly tugged her into his arms.
The taste of her flooded his mouth as his tongue mated with hers. She didn't resist him. Instead, her body melted into his and she responded to his kiss with a fervor that heightened his desire for more. Hot and sweet on his tongue, she stirred a primitive need inside him. Every time he tasted her, he found himself wanting more. His hands slid through her silky hair and he deepened the kiss, his mouth drawing every last bit of response from her he could.
With her arms wrapped around his neck, she burrowed her body into his and a soft sound hitched in her throat. The finality of his kiss terrified her, and her lips clung to his in an effort to keep him from what she knew was certain death. The heat of his tongue dancing with hers sent fire racing through her limbs to make every nerve ending in her body cry out with frantic need. A need to keep him with her. To hold on to him and keep him safe.
How was it possible for her to feel so connected to a man she barely knew? Yet, against the surreal backdrop of everything she'd witnessed in the past twenty-four hours, being in his arms was the most natural thing she'd e
ver experienced. The pressure of his mouth against hers eased. No, not yet. His hands gripped her arms gently, yet firmly, as he pushed her away from him.
The resignation on his face filled her with fear and she reached out to him. He caught her hand and pressed his mouth to her fingertips. There was a hint of mischief in his dark blue gaze as he offered her a slight smile.
"It's all right," he murmured. "But the next time you think about interfering, Emma, don't."
Guilt stabbed through her as he turned and walked away. As the distance grew between them, the gash in her hand throbbed a painful reminder why he was putting his life on the line. She took a step forward and a strong hand held her in place. She didn't have to look up at Lysander to know he was keeping her from going after Ares. The sudden beat of the drum echoed in the glade. Unlike the strong cadence it had played earlier, now the drum resounded a soft, insidious rhythm as Ares came to a halt at the edge of the gauntlet. He withdrew his sword from its scabbard and handed it to the woman he referred to as the Prima Consul.