The Rose of Shanhasson

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  Foulness wafted from a tiny barred window in the door, along with low, wickedly pleased laughter, all the more horrific because it was so genteel and elegant. Something moved behind the bars, a hint of motion and shadow blacker than the darkness. Laughter slithered through the bars again, rumbling through her body until her bones hurt. Still silky but crawling with malevolence.

  Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.

  Her internal alarms blared with urgency. “I know you.”

  I AM YOUR GREATEST NIGHTMARE. YOU AND I ARE OLD FRIENDS, SHANNARI.

  The voice writhed in her mind like maggots in a corpse. Cold fear flooded her from head to foot and her heart nearly pounded out of her ribcage. She cast her gaze about the cavern, searching for a weapon, anything she could use to protect herself.

  Shadows moved, soul chilling and heavy with evil. They rose up above her, behind her, beneath her, wrapping around her arms and legs. Covering her eyes. Tightening around her neck. She opened her mouth to scream but choked as the darkness slithered down her throat.

  YOUR LADY ABANDONS YOU. THE HORSE KING FAILS YOU. EVEN THE SHADOWED KILLER IS HELPLESS TO SAVE YOU, WEAKENED BY HIS OWN HEART’S DESIRE. WHO SHALL WOUND YOUR HEART THIS TIME? WHICH OF YOUR LOVES SHALL I CORRUPT NEXT?

  No, no, it couldn’t end this way! Always before she had found a way to escape, to fight. But how could she fight now, alone and unarmed? Straining to draw breath, she froze when a new voice penetrated her struggles.

  “Shannari.”

  Devin. Stars above, no, not him. Never again. Her heart stuttered, agony spearing through her chest.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  * * * *

  Rhaekhar jerked awake. Shannari thrashed in his arms, and a horrible whimpering, choking sound escaped her mouth. A sound so foreign from this strong, proud warrior woman that he immediately knew something was very, very wrong.

  “Na’lanna!”

  An arm came around her neck and jerked her out of his grasp. Varne hauled her backward, his rahke to her throat.

  “Release her!”

  “The Shadow I see within her grows stronger.” Her flailing arm caught the Blood in the face. Unrelenting, Varne didn’t flinch as her nails tore down the side of his face. “She’s a threat to you.”

  An ivory rahke flashed in the night, suddenly lifting the Blood’s chin higher. “Give me a reason to let you live.”

  Even Rhaekhar shivered at the ice in Gregar’s voice. Shadows draped the two Blood, nearly obscuring them even with the full moon blazing in the night sky.

  Varne slowly removed his arm, letting her crumple to the ground. “I protect Khul, not her.”

  Crawling over to her, Rhaekhar pressed his ear to her chest. He couldn’t hear her heart beating. Her skin was like ice. “Great Vulkar, she’s not breathing!”

  Gregar shoved the other Blood aside and then knelt beside Shannari. His dark eyes burned with flames, gleaming with sympathy, and something else. Something darker. Death. Hunger. It made Rhaekhar’s skin crawl to see another look at her like that, let alone one of his most trusted friends.

  “She fights Shadow.”

  Varne hovered at Rhaekhar’s back, a wall of protection against any threat. “In her dreams?”

  He didn’t have to look at his nearest Blood to hear the sneer in his voice. If Shannari didn’t need him so badly, he would be tempted to use his own rahke on Varne to teach him some respect.

  Gregar picked up her left hand and a shudder passed through her, although she still didn’t breathe. Staring down at her, he whispered, “Events in dreams can be more devastating than any living action.”

  His voice was flat and cold, so achingly distant and devoid of emotion that Rhaekhar wondered what terrors the Blood had survived in his own dreams. Or committed.

  He pulled her lifeless body into his lap to warm her with his own body heat. Stroking her cheek, calling her name, he tried to reach her through the bond. All he felt was cold darkness and terror from her. Faint, so faint, as if she traveled seas of time and space.

  “If she fails, the Endless Night will roam the Plains once more.”

  Rhaekhar sucked in a shaking breath. The thought of na’lanna battling such evil, alone, sliced his heart and stomach to ribbons. Such a battle was for the Gods, not his woman. “What can we do to help her?”

  “I could go after her, but the risk to her would be just as great.” At the confusion that must be visible on Rhaekhar’s face, the Blood continued, but refused to meet his eyes. “As a Death Rider, I could enter her dream, but on my last precious honor, Khul, she would be better off dead.”

  Rhaekhar couldn’t stop his teeth chattering. Death Riders walked in dreams? Shannari, better off dead, at his own Blood’s hands? The Blood who loved her? He clutched her harder against his chest. “How can I help her?”

  Gregar tucked his ivory rahke into her hand. “She needs a weapon. And she needs to bleed.”

  “Nay,” Rhaekhar whispered, his entire body shaking.

  “It is best if you do it, Khul.” Gregar met his gaze. His mouth twisted in that trademark smirk, but agony glittered in his dark eyes. “I would draw too much.”

  She went rigid, her body vibrating from head to toe.

  “Hurry, Khul.” Gregar’s voice softened and a dreamy peace smoothed the pain from his face. He cradled her hand gripping the rahke in both of his palms and lifted the blade to his chest. “A little blood will be sufficient.”

  Silently, Varne offered his rahke. Rhaekhar shook his head. “Mine.”

  Another Blood appeared beside them, Khul’s rahke in his hand. Rhaekhar took his rahke and lifted the wickedly sharp edge to her fragile skin. He chose the scar over her heart, the scar he wished to obliterate. Closing his eyes, he whispered a quick prayer, and then made a small incision.

  Light blinded him. For a moment, he couldn’t tell where it came from. The ivory rahke in her hand glowed like a captured star, shining in the night like a beacon. In the many years he had called Gregar friend, Rhaekhar had never seen such a marvel.

  Shannari took a long, shuddering breath. Her eyes flew open. And with a low, vicious cry, she buried the rahke in Gregar’s chest.

  * * * *

  The dark-haired Blood with the wicked smile fell forward slowly, the knife in his chest still in her hand. Horrified, Shannari tried to pull back, but his hands gripped hers in a vise, pressing the blade deeper.

  He fell on her, staring into her eyes. No surprise, no reprisals, no pain. His gaze was heavy lidded, smoldering with desire, pleasure, raw hunger, death. Blood gushed from the wound, searing her skin.

  “Thank you,” Gregar whispered, his voice thick. “You honor me.”

  One of the other Blood she didn’t know gently lifted his weight from her and lay him on the ground beside her. Gregar never took his gaze from hers, even as the blade slid out of his flesh. No pain flashed in his dark gleaming eyes.

  His chest glowed like the knife in her hand. Light pulsed in the wound, a liquid rainbow flashing in the night. Before her eyes, the wound closed until only a scar remained. A scar over his heart to match hers.

  “Oh, Lady, I didn’t mean to— ” Her teeth chattered so badly she could hardly speak. The knife dropped from her nerveless fingers and the light faded. “What happened? What did I do?”

  Rhaekhar bowed his head against her chest, his arms squeezing her so tightly she made a small sound of pain. Immediately, he loosened his grip, but he didn’t raise his head. “You were dreaming. You stopped breathing, na’lanna. I couldn’t wake you.”

  Shivering, she fought back the overwhelming horror of the dream. The nightmare tormented her often, but she’d never hurt anybody before. Then again, she’d never been so desperate before. Her stomach heaved. Rolling away, she barely avoided vomiting on the barbarian.

  So sick, so scared. She could still feel thick, foul shadows writhing like snakes inside her. She could still taste rotting death. Shaking, she swiped a hand across her mouth, smearing he
r lips with Gregar’s blood.

  His blood was still warm. The spicy taste on her lips washed away the foulness. So good, heating her stomach, chasing away some of the bone-chilling shadows deep inside. Before she could think, she slipped a finger in her mouth. Another. It shamed her how good his blood tasted. She truly was tainted, corrupted, ruined, just as the Nightmare had told her in the dream.

  “Nay.” Gregar touched her back lightly. “As I said, Shannari, you honor me.”

  “Too much,” Rhaekhar retorted. “What were you thinking? She could have killed you.”

  While the two barbarians argued, Shannari staggered over to the pool and scrubbed the blood off. Her hands trembled. So much blood. Bad enough that she seemed to hunger for Rhaekhar’s blood. At least he professed to love her. But why on earth would Gregar’s blood tempt her?

  “Are you well?” Rhaekhar asked, his voice low.

  Turning slowly, she studied his face, trying to judge his emotions. The bond between them was quiet. He felt… careful. Hesitant. He didn’t seem angry or jealous, at least not now. Deep down, he seemed more resigned than surprised.

  He should be furious. If tasting blood was a great honor to his people, then she’d just accidentally given great precedence to his friend.

  Miserably, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no reason, na’lanna. I’m relieved that you survived the darkness you battled.”

  Carefully, she stole a glance at Gregar on his left. He watched her, his manner oddly expectant. He seemed to suffer no ill effects from having had a knife buried in his chest. That didn’t make her feel any better. “How did you know?”

  “Gregar felt the Shadow in your dream.”

  Varne shifted uneasily on Rhaekhar’s right. His cheek was scored by what looked like her fingernails. When had she done that?

  “Do you want to taste Varne’s blood too?” Rhaekhar asked solemnly.

  Shaking her head hard, she quickly looked away from the glowering Blood. That’s the last thing she wanted to do. Gregar snickered, drawing her gaze to him again. Why were they acting so careful and strange? She’d stabbed the man, and they walked on eggshells around her. It didn’t make any sense.

  After giving her another disapproving glare, Varne left, disappearing into the shadows around the pool.

  “Why’s he upset? If anyone should be angry, it’s you two.”

  “Varne has no sense of humor.” Gregar hunkered down in front of her and winked suggestively, his teeth flashing white in a wide smile. “I’m not angry.”

  “I’m not angry either, na’lanna.” Rhaekhar watched her, then Gregar. He didn’t rant or rage. No fury flowed through the bond. If anything, he seemed to have accepted whatever hesitation he experienced earlier. “Do you want anything else from Gregar at this time?”

  Suddenly, she realized she was stark naked. Chilly water or not, she scrambled into the pool and made a great show of washing. With her back to them. “Some clothes would be nice.”

  The wicked Blood laughed again. “It’s an honor to serve, Shannari.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Gregar?”

  Pausing, he faced her. Heavy and solemn, the night waited silently, shadows draping over his face. Again, she had that haunting sense of familiarity, of recognition. Some dark dream, forbidden, shadowed, blood and temptation.

  “How did you know you wouldn’t die?”

  His mouth quirked, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I didn’t.”

  * * * *

  She had no idea what she’d done.

  A blood bond with another warrior. Not just any warrior, but one of his Blood. And not just any of his Blood, but the one who carried the Shadow of Death. Who feared to draw the smallest amount of her blood lest he take too much.

  The Blood who loved her enough to die for her.

  He braced for the raging jealousy to drive him to challenge his best friend, but he felt only… Relief. She was alive. Gregar had helped save her. Whatever she wanted, Rhaekhar would provide it, as long as she was safe. Apparently, all she wanted at this time from Gregar— rather reluctantly— was blood.

  A hard, grim smile curved Rhaekhar’s lips. Blood he could certainly provide, either his or Gregar’s, whichever she preferred. He would use every weapon at his disposal in this kae’don. Even if he must share her bond with each of his Blood, he would use any and all of them to keep her safe. If need be, he would knock Varne senseless and hold him down for her. Another bond would be another lifeline dragging her back from the bowels of darkness.

  Rhaekhar waited for her to finish hiding in the water, drawing on the bond to fully explore her emotions. Embarrassment, shame, terror so great it sent his own heart thumping faster. Then a growing sense of withdrawal. The small amount of trust and tenderness he’d earned turned to stone, hard and unrelenting.

  She feared for his life, for Gregar, for any and all who neared her.

  Silently, Rhaekhar watched her wade to shore, her arms clutched about her chest. He would accuse any other woman of shyness, but he knew the truth. She felt the need to hide the scar— not her breasts— from him.

  Rubbing aimlessly at the old puncture wound, she hesitated, her gaze flickering up to his and then skittering away. “I’m not sure I should sleep again, even if I could. I should have my own sleeping place, away from yours so no more accidents can happen.”

  Ah. She would push him away, deny his hard-won encroachment on her heart. Hardening his voice, he asked, “Is that how you received the scar on your breast? An accident?”

  She flinched and turned away.

  He seized her, dragging her into his arms. Heat swirled within her, stirred by the blood she’d consumed, her fear, the press of his body against hers. Whatever her words, her body wanted comforting. She needed to feel safe and warm and loved.

  Releasing some of his frustration, his worry, aye, even his jealousy, he kissed her thoroughly, claiming her mouth, her lips, her tongue. He gave her no time to argue or fight or worry.

  Need hammered through the bond as he carried her back to their blankets. Hers, to lose herself and her fears if for only a while; his, to lay claim to what was threatened. He slid into her warmth in one hard thrust, and she groaned with pleasure.

  “There is no Shadow here, na’lanna. No dark dreams. No terror. Only my love, my honor, my blood.”

  She spoke as much with her eyes as with her words, dark with desire and fear, both. “Everything is touched by Shadow. Everything is corrupted eventually.”

  “Not me,” he growled. He slammed back into her, drawing another low cry from her. “Every night when we come together, you will feel my love. You will know my honor. You will taste my blood. My blood binds you to me, and I refuse to let you go. Do you understand? My honor and my love are unshakeable. Hold to me, Shannari, and I shall fight to keep your Shadow at bay.”

  She averted her face. Misery swirled through her scent like the Shadow she claimed stained her soul. “Blood feeds the darkness in me.”

  “Nay. Blood and honor are entwined. Blood shed as willing sacrifice is an honor that Shadow cannot touch. For you, I give my blood, willingly and gladly. Take me, taste me, carry my honor inside you. Strengthen our bond with my blood, and I shall drive your nightmares away forever.”

  Rhaekhar slid his palm across the ground until he found his rahke. Making another shallow wound high on his chest above his heart, he waited for her to taste his blood. He would not force her, no matter his selfish wish to reaffirm her desire for his blood after she tasted another’s.

  “Unshakeable,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what that means.”

  He gathered her closer, pressing her scarred heart against his. “It means I’m yours, forever. When you open your eyes, I’m here. When you close them, I’m in your heart. If you seek me in dreams, you will find me, always. If you need me, reach through the bond and meld your heart to mine. Nothing can break our bond, na’lanna, not even the Endless Nig
ht, not even death itself.”

  “I might kill you. I don’t even know why Gregar’s still alive.”

  “I know why.” She searched his face for an answer, but he shook his head. “You must discover it for yourself. But know this. You could bury my rahke in my heart this very moment without fear. I don’t believe I would die, not after what I saw with Gregar earlier this night. But if I did, I would go to Vulkar’s Clouds with a smile on my face.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my love for you will never die. There is nothing you could do or say that can change the way I feel. When I die, I shall wait for you to join me, and then, na’lanna, we shall ride like the wind across the Plains forever.”

  Hope and longing flickered across her face a moment, before it was wiped away by a tidal wave of pain centered about the old wound on her chest. Agony crashed through the bond with such force he couldn’t breathe.

  “I don’t love you.” Her voice was ragged, her face pale, but she didn’t weep. Not his warrior woman. “I can’t. Not like you want.”

  “I know.” Then why did she fear for him? For Gregar? She swore her heart was dead, yet nothing truly dead ached so badly. “Take my blood anyway.”

  She closed her eyes, her jaw clenching. He thought she would refuse, and his heart sank. Blood was his hope, strengthening the bond, drawing her tighter to him day by day. Until his very thoughts echoed in her mind and heart and she could deny him no longer.

  With a rough cry, she wrapped her fists in his hair and locked her mouth to the wound. He felt the rising pleasure swirl through her, golden and pure, driving back the darkness still lingering about her.

  He didn’t even attempt to control his own response. Hard, pounding, claiming, he drove into her body, pushing her pleasure higher. She threw her head back, crying out, and he matched her hoarse cry on his own release.

  She murmured a protest when he rolled over and pulled her close in his arms. Throwing a leg over her, he ignored her half-hearted attempt to remove herself from his embrace. With a sigh that tugged on his heart, she buried her face deeper against his chest and fell asleep.