Letting Henrik go almost killed her. A silly reaction. Yet Cosmina couldn’t quell the urge to hold on tight. Nor the need to keep him close. She wanted her hand back on his skin. Craved the warmth and the steady beat of his heart to calm the raging thump of hers. Drawing a shaky breath, Cosmina exhaled in a rush. Frigid air attacked, blowing the chill back into her face as she listened to Henrik run. Shoved to the forefront by blindness, her other senses sharpened. Now she heard everything—the thud of his boots against stone, the harshness of each breath, the splash of water rising against the tunnel walls. Scent picked up, speeding the smell of must and mildew along.
His feet left the floor.
A sharp snap sounded. Material, mayhap? The hem of Henrik’s cloak cracking in protest as he made the jump? Cosmina tilted her head and, pressing her back to slick stone, listened harder. A faint whistle rose and—
Bang!
Cosmina released a pent-up breath. Thank the gods. He’d landed on the other side of the hole. Was on task. Ready to pull Andrei out of the water to safety.
The realization should’ve made her glad. The collection of sounds, however, did little to soothe her. Hampered by injury, her arm throbbed, keeping time with the throb of her heart. Frayed by the ritual, her nerves refused to settle, jangling in warning. Now she bled worry—concern heaped upon concern. So unusual. She never allowed angst to get the better of her. ’Twas weakness, plain and simple. Tonight, though, circumstance sabotaged her, tossing her into an emotional quagmire. Now she sank . . .
Into the morass of overload. And an undeniable fact: she needed Henrik.
Cosmina bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Had she said silly earlier? Well, she’d meant ridiculous. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for him. Not one wit, but . . . goddess be swift and merciful. She couldn’t fight the compulsion. The urge to be close to him pushed impulse past unwise into witless. Now it ran hand in hand with stupidity. Particularly since her banishment from White Temple always topped her hurts-like-hell list. Somehow, though, uncurling her fist from his cloak—shoving him away, telling him to go—had brushed the five-year-old hurt out of the way, claiming the number one spot. Now all she wanted to do was abandon all restraint and call him back.
Pride stopped her. Right on its heels, dignity put in an appearance.
Thank the gods.
Despite her fear of the dark, she refused to make a fool of herself. It didn’t matter how bad it got. Or that blindness raged, and she still couldn’t see a blasted thing. Acting like a brainless ninny didn’t appear anywhere on her list of things to do tonight. Neither did the shaky hands, wobbly knees, and stomach-twisting nausea. Not that her body cared. Weak from blood loss, physical chaos took a turn for the worse. Struggling to stay upright, she sagged against the wall behind her. The damp seeped through her cloak and tunic to attack her skin. Goose bumps rose. Cosmina ignored the shivers, closed her eyes and, taking a deep breath, exhaled hard.
Filling her lungs didn’t help.
Her stomach pitched. She swayed, listing sideways before jerking to a stop. Resetting her stance, she regained her balance, but knew it wouldn’t last long. The harder she fought, the more she suffered. The headache was getting worse, clawing at her temples. As the intense throb hammered the inside of her skull, Cosmina’s hands and feet went numb. She shook her head. Oh gods. She was in trouble. Would be facedown in the middle of the tunnel any moment now. End as naught but a crumpled heap while she emptied her belly and surrendered her pride.
Cosmina clenched her teeth and reached for calm, struggling to be patient. All she needed to do was hold on . . . just a little longer. ’Twas mind over matter, a simple case of will versus circumstance. She could stave off disaster and combat the discomfort. Tougher than most, she could combat the discomfort. Lord knew she’d been doing it for years. Alone in the forest. Deep in the wilds. Not a friend in the world. Except . . .
That wasn’t quite true, was it?
In the space of a night, she’d found someone. Or rather, he’d found her. The thought should have scared her. Gratitude rose instead. Despite her uncertainty, she knew Henrik somehow—understood his ways, accepted him as a friend while dismissing him as a foe. Strange, really. Baffling by all accounts, but even as intuition warned her to be careful, she recognized his value. Felt his strength. Perceived great honor in him and responded to those truths without question.
He’d promised to come back for her. Had given his word.
She believed him.
He wouldn’t abandon her. Even now, she could hear him up there, somewhere ahead of her, talking to Andrei. Leather creaked. Someone cursed as water splashed. The wet, sloppy sound beat against the tunnel walls, feeding her information. He had a hold on his friend. Was hauling the other man out of the water.
Leaning forward a little, Cosmina pressed her bottom to the wall and listened to each snippet of sound. Her eyes narrowed. Aye, definitely.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Relief was moments away. The second Henrik returned, she would feel better. The nausea would abate. Her nerves would settle. And her body? The pain would go. Crazy to believe it? Cosmina knew better. As odd as it seemed, Henrik’s touch soothed her. His closeness helped. The sound of his voice brought the kind of comfort she didn’t want to resist. Each syllable, every word, drew her into his circle, making everything better. So forget denial. Toss aside logic too. Agony had a way of burning both out of a person and, like it or nay, she was beyond fighting the pull of attraction.
Stomach cramps twisted her abdomen.
Desperation took hold, pushing pride out of the way as she doubled over. Tucking her injured arm against her side, she planted her free hand on her knee. The movement threw bile up her throat. The awful taste unbalanced her, weakening her resistance. Cosmina struggled against it, but . . .
Her stomach heaved again.
With a moan, Cosmina cupped her hand over her mouth. Oh gods. She wasn’t going to make it. She needed Henrik. Or out—out of the dampness, out of the chill, out of the tunnel and into fresh air—to regain control.
“Henrik.”
Her tone said help. Naught more than a croak, her voice didn’t carry. She cringed in reaction. Gods, she sounded bad, beyond bruised into broken. Cosmina whispered his name again. Attempt number two didn’t go any better and as she hung her head, shame came calling. Blast and damn, she was better than this—stronger, more skilled, a member of the Blessed for pity’s sake, able to—
“Let it go, my lady. Vomit . . . you’ll feel better.”
“Gods!” Surprise sent her sideways. Her knees gave out, buckling beneath her.
A big hand grabbed and hauled her upright. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her breath hitched. “Shay?”
“Aye.”
She huffed in relief. “Can you . . .”
“What?”
“I cannot breathe. I need fresh air. Please get me out of here.”
“Hang tight, Cosmina. Give H another minute.” Shay stepped in close. Bumping against her, he grabbed the back of her cloak and held her upright. “He’s got a hold of Andrei, but—”
“Goddamn it.”
“Oh shit,” Shay said.
Cosmina flinched. “What? Shay, what’s—”
A horrific snap rolled into a lethal hiss.
“Jesus Christ,” Henrik said, more growl than curse. “Andrei, listen to me. You’re all right . . . Calm down, brother. Don’t—”
Hot air slithered down the tunnel. Fire snarled and . . .
Snap, pop . . . boom!
“Get down!”
Chunks of stone flew like shrapnel, peppering her chest, stealing her air as her arm squawked. Suspended in surprise, she registered the blast, felt blood well above her eye, smelled the sulfur, but—gods. What in heaven’s name had just happened?
Hard hands grabbed hold and spun her full circle.
Her feet left the floor. She landed with a thud. Boot soles
sliding, she twisted mid-tumble. The ground bit into her hip, then hammered her shoulder. Shay flipped her belly down and landed on top of her. Dirty water splashed into her face. An instant later, blue flame flared in her periphery. Pain streaked across her temples as the flare disappeared. Shock expanded. Holy gods—the light. She’d seen something. A brief flash of . . . of . . .
Drat it all, she didn’t know.
Not exactly. Although she could guess.
Andrei had gone cataclysmic. Deep in panic, his fear of the water ruled, making his magic react in unpredictable ways. Not surprising. Nowhere near advisable either. If Henrik didn’t get him under control, the flare-up would kill them all. The tunnel acted like a funnel, channeling heat along with the inferno. Cosmina felt the blaze. Flame roared just above her, singeing Shay on the way by. He cursed and shifted, using his body to shield her as fire licked overhead.
“Shay,” she yelled above the din. “Water. You need to—”
Quick to understand, Shay growled a command. The stream flowing beneath them obeyed. Water swirled, curving into a wave. Up. Over. Around them. She sensed the wet curl envelope her. It rose in a rush, meeting in the middle over Shay to create a wet bubble of protective cover.
Another burst of blue seared in her periphery.
Cosmina sucked in a quick breath. Sweet heavens. Thank the gods. ’Twasn’t much. Was naught but a barely there glimmer, but oh, how it gave her hope. The blindness wasn’t permanent. Not this time. The bright flash—no matter how quickly gone—told her so. Which meant it was only a matter of time before the darkness faded, her body healed from magical overload, and her sight returned.
Good news. At least, she hoped.
Magic was a tricky beast. Here today, gone tomorrow. Just like her sight. Which meant there were no guarantees. But as the inferno blazed overhead and ash flew, Cosmina allowed faith to rule. ’Twas better than desolation. Belief, after all, was a powerful weapon, and hope its catalyst. Now all she needed to do was survive the onslaught. A distinct impossibility as Andrei roared and fire raged, burning so hot stone crumbled, cascading into an avalanche above them.
CHAPTER TEN
Facedown on the stone floor, Henrik elbow-crawled farther up the passageway. He needed to close the gap and strike from behind. The direct approach would get him killed. Or set on fire, so . . . aye. Only one avenue left to take. Attack from the rear position. Grab Andrei by the throat. Cut off his air supply until he collapsed in an unconscious heap and the firestorm stopped. Henrik grimaced. He didn’t want to do it. Unfortunately, little choice remained. Andrei had lost his goddamn mind. Now panic ruled and the blue flame rolled in a continuous stream from the center of Andrei’s palms, pushing the inferno toward Shay and Cosmina.
He heard Cosmina cough.
The harsh sound pinged off blackened walls, zigzagging in the tight space to reach him. Henrik cursed. That cinched it. No help for it now. Her suffering narrowed his focus. Screw Andrei. His friend could handle the headache in the aftermath. Cosmina couldn’t take much more of the smoky air. Gritting his teeth, he maneuvered into position. Hemmed in by stone, his shoulder cracked against the wall. Pain clawed down his bicep. Fingers of blue flame licked over his head. The scent of burnt wool rose and—
Cosmina yelled something.
Shay murmured and his magic rose, shaping the water into a shield overhead. Crumbling stone hit the frothing barrier and bounced off, cracking against the side walls. A pop-pop-pop sounded as fire roared overhead and water hissed. Relief grabbed Henrik by the balls. Thank Christ. Didn’t know how, his arse. His apprentice was a quick study. Sorcery warped the air, flowing around him as Shay controlled his gift, combating the flames with the only thing that would put it out . . .
Water. A ton of it too.
Another fireball roared along the corridor.
With a quick shift, Henrik struck, clipping the back of Andrei’s head. Teeth bared and blue eyes aglow, his friend swung around. Fire blew sideways and hit the tunnel wall. Rock exploded into shrapnel. His friend stumbled backward. Henrik took advantage, and with fast hands, locked Andrei in a choke hold. Palms pressed against his friend’s nape, he pushed his thumbs into the base of his skull, forced him to his knees, and held on hard.
Powerful magic seethed. Andrei bucked, twin fireballs rising in his palms.
Henrik tightened his grip. “Andrei . . . calm down. You’re out of the hole. No longer in the water. You’re safe, brother. No need to fight.”
Chest heaving, Andrei paused mid-punch. “Henrik?”
“That’s right.”
“I . . .” Andrei twitched. He tried to shake his head. It didn’t go well. Immobilized by the choke hold, he couldn’t move. “What happened? I cannot . . . what . . .”
“You lost your head for a moment. But you’re good now,” Henrik said, grip still firm, refusing to let go.
He couldn’t. Not yet. Mayhap not for a while.
He needed to be sure. Aye, Andrei recognized him now, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go half-mad again. Panic worked in odd ways. Most of the time it came out of nowhere, blindsiding a man, locking him inside a prison of his own making. Henrik understood the ins and outs. Hell, he was a prime example. Water might not be his trigger, but Lord knew he had one. Tight spaces did it to him every time. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quell the unease. Or stop his slide into panic.
Tonight stood as an excellent reminder.
His chest went tight. Henrik swallowed hard. Christ, it had been close. If not for Cosmina . . . if not for her hands on his skin, the stirring rise of her scent, the soothing tone of her voice . . .
He clenched his teeth. Thank God for her quick thinking. Had she not stepped in, he would’ve lost his composure and, just like Andrei, spiraled out of control. How she’d known, Henrik didn’t know. Mayhap she’d read the tension in his body. Mayhap it had been the choppy sound of his breathing. Mayhap the Seer in her picked things out of the ether. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. Her intervention had saved them all. So forget her connection to White Temple. No matter how uneasy it made him, he accepted her without question now. She deserved his trust, or at the very least, the beginnings of it. He could do that—take a step toward her instead of away, if only to discover more and explore the strange connection he sensed growing between them.
The mental shift made him nervous.
Henrik went with it anyway. Backtracking, after all, wasn’t his style.
“How we doing, Andrei?”
“I’m solid . . . in control now.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” Boots sliding on ash, Henrik pushed to his feet, but kept his grip sure. “I’m going to ease up now.”
His friend nodded. Not much, a simple dip of his chin, but it was enough.
“Don’t lose the fire. Keep the flame burning. We need the light.” Gentling his hold, Henrik slipped one arm free. He held his friend in place with the other for a moment, watching, waiting, gauging the reaction. When Andrei stayed put, and the glow from his palms remained steady, he released the choke hold and pivoted. His gaze skipped over the jagged hole in the floor to find the pair farther up the passageway. “Shay.”
His apprentice raised his head. The bubble surrounding the pair burst and water sloshed, pouring over their shoulders to reach the floor. “Is it safe to come out now?”
Henrik’s lips twitched. Goddamn Shay and his warped sense of humor. Trust him to use a light tone to diffuse a tense situation. “Aye. Is Cosmina—”
“I’m all right.”
Light flickered along the walls, beating back the darkness. Henrik squinted into the gloom, trying to get a read on her. Water pooled on the floor, catching the glint, casting shadows as Cosmina shoved at Shay. His apprentice shifted, untangling their cloaks. Planting her hand on the floor, she pushed herself upright.
Legs curled beneath her, she glanced his way. “Half-drowned, but all right.”
The hitch in her voice told a different story.
Which was, well . . . surprising, actually.
He wasn’t the coddling kind. Wasn’t the least bit possessive either. He didn’t yearn for commitment or anything long-term. Women came and went. Fast, fun, easy to forget in the aftermath of mutual pleasure. No need to hang around, never mind become entangled. But as he watched Cosmina struggle to her knees, his admiration for her grew. So brave. Trying so hard to be strong. Refusing to ask for help.
Innate toughness times a thousand.
The realization tugged at his heartstrings. God, she cracked him wide open. Respect for her stepped through the fissure, breeching his defenses. Now all he wanted to do was bridge the distance and hold her. Henrik shook his head. Ah hell. Not good. He was in big, big trouble. The kind a warrior didn’t come back from. Henrik knew it well. Recognized the truth because he witnessed it all the time at Drachaven—in the way Xavian looked at Afina, in how the pair touched and talked to each other as well. ’Twas a place no sane man wanted to go. Putting a name to his peril, however, didn’t change a thing. The urge to stay with Cosmina dragged him closer to the edge, inch by terrible inch toward what felt an awful lot like fate.
Aye, exactly . . . fate.
Unease slithered up his spine. Warning bells went off inside his head. As the clang got going, Henrik tried to deny it, but the facts refused to let him. He was a logical man, able to follow the trail to its conclusion. Chance meeting, his arse. Cosmina hadn’t been inside White Temple by accident. Neither had he. Tonight was about more than just his mission and her duty to the Blessed.
Knight Avenged (Circle of Seven #2) Page 12