The rest of the Blood rode hard with him. Even Varne was furious, his usually implacable face twisted into a grimace. They failed. Khul’s blood flowed in her veins, and they failed.
Close now, they galloped up the last slope toward her. She was still on her feet. Staggering with blood loss and weariness, she took another strike on her sword and almost fell. The sword dropped from her hand.
Nothing stood between na’lanna and certain death.
He couldn’t reach her! Desperate, he tried to judge the distance between Gregar and the Death Rider. Too far, surely. Not even the Shadowed Blood could cover over twenty paces in a heartbeat.
Gregar hopped up to crouch on the black stallion’s back and launched toward Shannari. Surely an impossible distance, but Rhaekhar strained with him, willing the Blood to fly further. The ivory rahke flashed in the sunlight on its downward arc straight toward her heart.
Twisting as he fell, Gregar slipped beneath the rahke and wrapped her in his arms. He bore her to the ground beneath him, and her death sentence sank to the hilt in the Blood’s right side.
Varne tackled the Death Rider and eliminated him. Leaping off Khan’s back, Rhaekhar crouched beside her, quickly scanning her for injuries. The only wound he could see was a deep, vicious slice down her right wrist, but blood poured. Too much blood.
Despite the rahke wound in his back, Gregar pushed up to his knees. But Rhaekhar didn’t fail to notice how carefully the Blood avoided touching her. Not with the scent of her sweet blood thick in the air.
“Your memsha— wrap it around her arm.” Gregar’s voice was tight, hard, teeth clenched. With pain? Or something worse?
Afraid to look into his friend’s eyes, afraid of the darkness he might see, Rhaekhar yanked off his kae’valda and wound it tightly around her wrist. Her face was pale and clammy, her eyes wide, her face strained as she struggled for short, shallow breaths.
Varne flashed a silent command at one of the Blood, who raced back to Camp to fetch Kae’Shaman to Khul’s tent.
“See?” She rasped, laughing mirthlessly. “Everywhere I go.”
“Shadow shall not have you this day.” Rhaekhar picked her up and ran to Khan’s side. At least she hadn’t come far from Camp. A few minutes hard, tense riding, and he swung down at his tent.
Wrapping his gnarled hands around her wounded arm, Kae’Shaman didn’t wait for Rhaekhar to carry her inside.
She gasped with pain, her eyelids fluttered, and she went limp in his arms.
“Stay with me, Shannari! Don’t leave me!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Floating. She floated in a gently rocking boat. Darkness all around, but she wasn’t afraid. The full moon hung above, glimmering with a peaceful opalescent light.
Voices intruded in the serene beauty of the dream.
“Did we stop the bleeding in time?”
She identified Rhaekhar despite the tight, odd tone in his voice. She’d never heard the invincible warrior sound so… shaken.
“Aye, but it was a very near thing. Another cut into her veins or a few more moments, and Vulkar would have Called her home this day.”
Kae’Shaman’s low voice wound around her wrist, soothing away the pain. At one point her arm had been bathed in fire.
“Now, let me see to your wound, Gregar. You’ve honored Vulkar with enough blood this day. Shannari is out of danger.”
Gregar. He had flown out of nowhere, appearing out of the shadows almost like a Death Rider himself. The rahke…
He took the rahke meant for me.
No one had ever taken a wound to protect her before. No one had ever successfully stood between her body and the assassin. Blinking furiously, she opened her eyes. Rhaekhar leaned over her, his face twisted with worry. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt like a huge wad of cotton.
“Give her a drink of water, Khul, while I see to your Blood.”
Rhaekhar tilted a cool flask of water to her lips, and she suddenly realized she was terribly thirsty. Cradling her head, he let her drink her fill, his blazing gold eyes locked on her face. She pulled away a bit and he gently set her head back down. “Is Gregar okay?”
“See for yourself, na’lanna.”
She turned her head, and Gregar smiled, his dark eyes gleaming with relief and a multitude of emotions she didn’t dare identify. He lay on his left side, his head just a foot away from hers. Kae’Shaman knelt between them, still chanting softly with his bloody hands against the Blood’s side.
“My blood is Khul’s, and my blood is yours, Shannari.”
Varne stiffened, growling beneath his breath. She studied him a moment, trying to understand why those words would offend him. She listened, too, to Rhaekhar through the bond. All she felt from him was overwhelming gladness that she was alive and a horrible guilt. “It’s not your fault. Assassins have hunted me all my life.”
“It is my fault,” Rhaekhar ground out. “On my honor, I swore none would raise a hand against you. I swore you had no need for weapons in my Camp. Yet without your sword and skill, you would be dead this day. Without Gregar, you would be dead this day. I failed to protect you.”
She tried to make light of the injury but she knew he spoke truthfully. Weakness still trembled through her body. “It was only a scratch. I’m fine.”
“It was more than a scratch, na’lanna. A Death Rider knows exactly where to place a blow that either kills without delay or causes such injury that death soon approaches.”
Finished with the Blood’s Healing, Kae’Shaman added to the explanation. “One of the major veins in your wrist was sliced at least an inch lengthwise, Shannari. If Khul had not wrapped his memsha around your arm, you would have bled to death before reaching Camp.”
“But the veins in the wrist are small. To place a stroke like that in the middle of a fight would be next to impossible.”
“Not for a Death Rider,” Gregar answered softly.
She turned her attention back to him and shivered at the darkness in the Blood’s eyes. So deadly, but not so cold and evil as the other Death Rider’s eyes. Flames flickered in Gregar’s eyes. Flames that might burn them both.
“As the Great Wind Stallion’s Right Hand, his mother’s milk is blood and he rides Death like na’kindre. Cloaked in Shadow, he lies in wait for his sacrifice, and he does not fail. To face one and still breathe is a gift from Vulkar. I should have… ”
His voice shook and he closed his eyes a moment, fighting some inner battle. Opening his eyes, he turned his gaze up to Rhaekhar, composed but resigned. “Her blood Calls. She smells like a mark, Khul, when no sacrifice has been offered. I believed the temptation and shame were mine to bear alone, but I should have known it would affect the others, too. My blood is yours, Khul, but it will be my greatest honor to protect her with my life. Perhaps my blood will erase this dishonor.”
Rhaekhar’s hands settled on her, hard and desperate as he pulled her into his lap and sheltered her with his body. She was too weak to demand he put her down. “Every Death Rider on the Plains will attempt her as a mark?”
His voice shook with fury and fear, both, and the bond between them vibrated with tension. She tried to follow their conversation, but she wasn’t sure what all the talk of mark and sacrifice meant. It sounded like she had a giant target painted on her back once again, which didn’t surprise her in the least.
“I don’t know how strong the compulsion will be for the others. The mark of death on her isn’t from Vulkar. I don’t feel it the same way as a normal mark. I smell it. I sense it in the darkness, something just over the next hill, or the next, that begs me to investigate. They will come, drawn by her scent and the strangeness of the Call. Vulkar forbid— ” Gregar shuddered, averting his gaze from them both. “— they catch a scent of her blood.”
“Great Vulkar.” Rhaekhar breathed shallowly, shaking, his arms nearly squeezing her to death. Why wait for the assassins to come again? “What can I do? How many Death Riders roam the Plains?”
&nbs
p; “At least a fist. Not all of them will be as susceptible to her Call. That which makes us silent in death, the Shadow we use to hide, is what makes us vulnerable to the Endless Night’s taint. Those that walk more often in Shadow will be the ones who come. The ones who’ve killed the most, even for Vulkar.”
“The most skilled,” Varne said flatly. “The most honored.”
“Aye.”
Shannari again had the feeling that some nasty barb was hidden in that exchange between Blood. If these Death Riders walked in Shadow, how could they make sacrifices to Vulkar? It didn’t make sense to her at all.
“She needs a Blood with her at all times.” Rhaekhar said, his voice and body language vibrating with command. “She carries my blood in her veins.”
Varne turned away and paced back and forth. The silence inside the tent became oppressive, and Rhaekhar radiated disappointment and disapproval. Even the holy man frowned at Varne.
“She’s not Khul’lanna.”
“I shall protect her as my own,” Gregar whispered. “I shall be her Blood.”
Her heart raced, worry stealing her breath. Oh, Lady, would Rhaekhar take the Blood’s offer as a threat? Would they fight now, as she’d feared all along?
But Rhaekhar relaxed immediately, his arms easing their grip on her to merely hold her against him. “Aye, thank you, Gregar. It will be a fearsome attack indeed that overwhelms the Shadowed Blood protecting his own.”
Varne stalked outside without a word. Rhaekhar pressed a kiss against her head and then gently lay her back down beside Gregar. “I expect you to never let her out of your sight.”
The Blood stared at her, his dark eyes bottomless and full of emotion. Longing, shame, hunger. She shuddered, desperate enough she contemplated begging Rhaekhar to change his mind. “Aye.”
Cold chills and fire, both, raced down her spine. This Blood, never letting her out of his sight?
Rhaekhar stared at the tent flap, his brow creased. Through the bond, she felt his sadness and worry for his one-time best friend. Another casualty to the Shadow she carried. “I had to give him the chance to correct his mistake.”
“I know, Khul, yet he is blind to everything but his own fears. He most hates that which he fears in his own heart.” Gregar laughed, but his eyes, too, were sad.
:I am not the only shadowed Blood.:
She gasped, her mind racing. What did he mean? She didn’t feel anything for Varne, not like the dark-haired Blood lying beside her.
Gregar’s eyes flashed, his mood lightening. “He won’t change even when she becomes Khul’lanna.”
“When?” She tried for an offended, sarcastic tone, but the weakness and breathlessness in her voice betrayed her.
“Aye, when.” He laughed, the familiar smirk twisting his lips. “I’ve seen it.”
“Vulkar let it be soon,” Rhaekhar said fervently. “I shall return shortly. Kae’Shaman, can you stay?”
“Aye, Khul. She’s out of danger, but I shall stay until you return.”
“Rest, na’lanna.” Rhaekhar ducked beneath the tent flap, leaving her with the Blood and the holy man.
The latter she wasn’t worried about at all. He checked her arm, humming softly, and then moved away to sit quietly against the tent wall.
The former… terrified her on levels she hadn’t known existed until now.
Gregar edged nearer, his breath fanning her face gently. “I shall sheathe a rahke in my body daily if this is my reward.”
Staring into those gleaming obsidian eyes, she felt trapped, exposed, and weak. Oh so weak. “You took a wound for me.”
“Aye, I’m Blood. That’s what we do. If I can’t stop the weapon, I take it into my body instead of allowing it to touch you.”
“You could have died.”
Gregar shrugged. “Not this day. I’ve seen the day I shall die, and it won’t happen until you carry my ivory rahke. As long as you live on that day, I won’t mind dying.”
Her heart ached, her throat tightening. “I’ll Heal you again, remember?”
“When Vulkar Calls me home to His Clouds, not even your Lady’s Healing will save me. Not even the temptation of your blood will be able to hold me, no matter how much I long to stay.”
A shadowed dream tickled the back of her mind, the nagging sense of familiarity and recognition. “I know you from a dream.”
“Aye,” he whispered, shuddering. He moved closer, filling her nose with the dark, rich scent of caffe and warrior. “A nightmare.”
“Shadows all around, so cold, waiting. I know you’re there, but I can’t see you. Just like today. I couldn’t see the assassin, but I knew he was there.”
“Wrapped in Shadow, the Death Rider lies in wait for his mark.”
“Was I your mark?”
“You still are.” A deadly edge crept into his voice, a cold blade of death and darkness. He sighed, a long, aching breath of air against her cheek that squeezed her heart. “You’re my greatest mark, and my greatest shame.”
Had they somehow shared those dark, bloody dreams? Did he know how some of the dreams evolved? From dying at the hands of an assassin to lying in his bloody embrace. Lust and pain and blood and—
“My greatest love.”
She shook her head frantically, her heart thundering.
“Na’lanna.” He laid his cheek softly against hers, whispering their doom and nightmares into her ear. “You can’t deny me, just as you can’t deny Khul. I would love you, too, but I would kill you in the end. I lived your death a thousand times at my own hands before I ever knew your name.”
Panting, short gasps for air. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “I killed you in some of those dreams.”
“Aye, and you loved me, too.”
“Never.”
His low, ragged chuckle made her shiver. Lips brushed her ear, his hair trailing her face. “Deny me, deny Khul, and the Endless Night shall win this kae’don.”
“Love you, love Khul, and I will still lose this kae’don,” she retorted, turning her face into his. Their noses bumped and he sighed again, as if he relished even such an accidental touch. “You of all people should know that love murders.”
“Ah, but do you want to live in Shadow, your heart forever untouched and frozen? Or die with a smile on your face and our love warming your heart?”
“I have no heart.”
“So if I kissed you now, you would feel nothing in that scarred, shriveled muscle beating so loudly and so rapidly it sounds like stampeding na’kindren?”
Her heart did indeed pound, blood rushing through her veins, chest heaving. She turned away, staring up at the tent ceiling. “Nothing at all. Besides, I have more honor than to dally with Khul’s Blood in his own tent when he proclaims a love like no other.”
“What do you care if he loves you?” Gregar’s voice sharpened, a shockingly cold intensity rolling from him that sent goose bumps racing down her arms. “What do you care if I love you just as much? What do you care of our honor? If he didn’t want me here with you, he would challenge me. He certainly wouldn’t give me the great honor of protecting you. If he didn’t approve, only one of us would pursue your heart. The other would die. He already honors me more than you do with these spiteful insults.”
“Spiteful!” She spluttered, trying to come up with a logical argument. “If I wanted to insult you, I would call you a loud-mouthed vulgar bastard.”
Gregar laughed. “Those are not insults. Vulgar I am, proudly, but if Khul rejected my intentions, I would cease without delay.”
“I reject you.” She was pleased at the harsh, adamant tone of voice she managed to muster. “I wish you’d cease without delay.”
“Very well,” he breathed into her ear. “I shall not kiss you until you beg me.”
She raised her arms to push him away, but the injury pained her, drawing a quick gasp from her throat.
Groaning, Gregar rubbed his cheek against hers and took her hand in his. “You’re killing me, woman.”
His thumb swirled against her palm, and her voice trembled. “How?”
He drew her bandaged wrist up to his face. “I love soft, fragile little sounds of pain.” Breathing deeply and noisily up and down the bandage, he shuddered. “Blood. Your blood… Make that sound again.”
He pressed his thumb firmly against the newly-healed wound, his eyes swallowed by shadows. She let a small moan escape again, for it truly did hurt. Watching the flames rise in his eyes, though, was worth it. The small pain and his immediate enjoyment of it fed something in her she didn’t know existed. At least outside of the dark, bloody dreams of a shadowed man trying to kill her.
Gripping her wrist in his jaws, he pressed his teeth up and down the bandaged cut, not biting, exactly, but threatening. A rumbling growl of hunger resonated from his chest. The sound of a predator on the hunt.
Every bleating, breathless cry of pain she made only fed his hunger. She didn’t think he’d actually hurt her, but the threat was there and real enough that fear rose inside her. The more afraid she became, the harder his teeth dug into the bandage. The thought of his teeth digging into her arm…
“I won’t be pleased if you tear open my careful handiwork,” Kae’Shaman said mildly, reminding them both of his presence.
With her wrist in his mouth, Gregar snarled at the holy man.
“Tell him to release you, Shannari, and he shall without delay.”
Gregar rose up to a crouch, muscles bunching along his shoulders, still gripping her wrist in his mouth. She curled her fingers against his cheek, and he jerked his gaze away from the holy man to focus on her. His eyes flashed like faceted obsidian, so dark, yet flickering with flames. Death waited in his gaze, but so did fire. And more, so much more.
Rhaekhar suddenly filled her mind, his iron-clad touch honed to a cutting edge. :Do you need assistance with him?:
He wasn’t jealous, exactly, but he knew everything. Through him, she became aware of the heat flaring between her thighs, the need spreading through her like wildfire along with her fear. Embarrassed, she gave a tug on her arm. “Let go, Gregar.”
The Rose of Shanhasson Page 19