My Immortal Protector

by Jen Holling

  "Baobhan sith," Deidra slurred.

  William raised his brows. "You are the reason Luthias is now obsessed with the idea that we are blood witches."

  Stephen nodded reluctantly.

  "How did my daughter become involved in all of this?" William asked suspiciously.

  Stephen’s belly tightened, and he fought to maintain eye contact. He had compro­mised this man’s daughter and not yet offered for her hand. Quite suddenly he felt his bastard heritage keenly, and he wondered if William would even consent to such a union for his daughter.

  "She sought me out. She thought I was a baobhan sith."

  William looked at his daughter, his face creasing, as if wounded. "Why would you search out a blood witch?"

  Deidra fought to keep her eyes open. She mumbled something unintelligible, then her lashes dropped heavily and she went limp against Stephen.

  "What did she say?" William asked, anxious.

  Stephen shrugged.

  William watched his daughter, his expression full of worry. Stephen won­dered which was worse—being a blood witch, a cripple, or a bastard. He was or had been all three. Not the first choice a father would make for his daughter.

  Stephen leaned his head back with a sigh.

  It was a long day, trapped in the back of the wagon. They stopped once and were given a cup of water and a crust of bread. Deidra was given nothing except more laudanum, which Stephen and William protested against vociferously. They were ignored. She was still unconscious while they held her mouth open and poured the stuff down her throat. She coughed a few times before going limp again. Ste­phen was as useless as William was dur­ing the daylight. He tugged at his bind­ings, but they held fast.

  William scooted closer to his daughter and examined her. "Is she breathing?"

  Stephen nodded. “Aye, she still breathes.. .but everything is slowing down. If it slows down too much...it stops."

  William frowned. "How do you know this?"

  "I can...feel it. The heart pumping blood. It is faint during the day, but at night everything is clear."

  William sat back against the side of the wagon. "So the stories are true. You drink blood?"

  Stephen nodded, watching William’s reaction. William appeared deeply dis­mayed, but he said no more on the mat­ter. Stephen guessed his chances for win­ning the father’s approval had just dimin­ished significantly.

  Chapter 20

  The entourage to England eventually stopped for the night. Stephen could tell that Luthias was unsure about where to stop, but in the end he chose a vast moorland. It was flat, so he would be able to spot trouble before it could surprise him.

  He left Stephen and William tied securely in the back of the wagon so that they could not escape—at least, not if they were normal men. Their wrists were bound together behind their backs, their ankles were tied, and their mouths were gagged. Their bound wrists were tethered to the sides of the wagon. Then Luthias had a limp Deidra taken to his tent, the only one erected in the whole camp.

  Night fell. The moon was high, and Ste­phen felt the moonlight pouring into him, giving him strength and making him more aware of everything around him. He could have broken free and killed the men around him, but instead he played along, pretending to be incapacitated by his bonds and monitoring the camps activity. Luthias had two-thirds of his men on guard, walking the perimeter while the remainder rested. One-third was relieved every two hours.

  The best time to slip away was during a change of the guards. The wait was excruciating. It was full night and the moon was high. Stephen was alive at night. His body hummed with strength and energy. He lay on his side, listening to the activity around him. He could hear everything, even the guards' conversations across camp. He knew where everyone was and what everyone said. They were afraid and hypervigilant, but their focus was outward, on the wilderness around them. They waited for animals to attack. They did not expect an attack from within. Stephen could smell their fear, sense the rapid beating of their hearts.

  And he was hungry. It was not the gnawing, desperate pain of when he'd first woken as a blood witch, but he smelled their blood and he wanted to taste it.

  William lay across the small expanse of the wagon, eyes wide. It was too dark for the older man to see anything, but the darkness did not hinder Stephen’s vision at all. He could see William clearly, could hear the slow rubbing as William worked at the bindings on his wrists.

  Stephen didn't bother working at his. He flexed and pulled his wrists apart. The rope snapped. He pulled the gag down around his neck.

  He lay quietly for a moment, making certain no one was near before he rolled across the wagon. William made a soft sound of surprise, and Stephen shushed him. He reached behind William and broke the rope securing him to the wagon, then broke his bindings as well.

  William quickly pulled off his gag. "Jesus God, you are strong."

  “Aye!”' Stephen whispered as they both untied the ropes binding their ankles.

  "What the hell have you been waiting for?" William hissed. "Its been hours. Luthias probably gave her more of that poison. She could be dead, and then I can do nothing at all."

  "I was waiting for the guards to change. That is the best time to act."

  William frowned, obviously not under­standing how Stephen knew when the guard changed.

  Stephen leaned back against the wagon side and listened and smelled. Nothing. He sat up and scanned the area around them. It was clear, so he climbed out of the wagon.

  "Follow me and be quiet."

  Her mind was a black pit of tar. She strug­gled to climb out of it, but the tar kept dragging her back. Stephen. He was near, but she could not find him, could not even call out to him. The tar covered her mouth and her eyes, hiding the world from her. It held her fast so that she could not even move. It seemed she had been mired in this pit forever when finally, it’s hold loosened and she climbed out.

  She blinked groggily. Her head throbbed and her vision blurred, wrench­ing a moan from her. It felt as if a vise squeezed her head. She couldn't remem­ber where she was supposed to be. She had been with Stephen...they had been going somewhere, to do something important.. .but that was all she could grasp.

  She squinted this time, trying to deter­mine where she was. A dim, firelit room. The walls...moved. She squeezed her eyes shut, stomach roiling. She was still trapped in the nightmare world, where everything swirled and rocked sickeningly. She tried to move her arms, but they were bound behind her. “Ah, she's awake."

  Her heart rose, trembling in her throat. Oh God, no. She knew that voice. Knew it only too well.

  Luthias.

  She opened her eyes again and saw boots. She rolled partway onto her back and raised her gaze slightly. He squatted in front of her, his head tilted to view her.

  "I've been waiting for you to wake up. There is a conversation we must have that is long overdue."

  Deidra shook her head, making the room spin, so she stopped. She didn't want to talk to him, didn't like his talks.

  "No!”' she rasped. Her throat was raw and dry.

  "Here!”' he said, grasping her by her arm and pulling her to her feet. "Let me help you up."

  Her head spun again and her stomach heaved. She stumbled around, trying to get her balance and feeling as if she would die. His hold on her arm kept her from falling. He led her to a stool and forced her down on it.

  She swayed woozily, then tumbled off of it, her head slamming into the ground.

  Blackness overtook her again and she nearly wept with relief, preferring the darkness to the man. But her reprieve was short-lived. Her heart seized when freezing water saturated her, flowing into her ears and mouth and nose. She gasped for air, coughing and choking.

  He hauled her to her feet again, drag­ging her across the room. She couldn't see. Panic choked her. Water stung her eyes. Her head whirled and her stomach turned. She needed to boch, desperately, but there was nothing in her stomach to vomit up.

  He
pushed her to her knees.

  "Now, Deidra, you and I are going to have a little talk. But first, you need to drink your medicine." The vial was pressed to her lips.

  She jerked her head away, desperate.

  She could not drink any more. The smell made her stomach heave.

  "No," she croaked. "I cannot."

  "Oh, I think you can. We've been sur­prisingly free of vermin this whole jour­ney. This is a very effective way to keep the animals at bay."

  "But how can we talk if I'm not even awake?"

  She could see again. They were in a tent. That was the reason for the fluid movement of the walls. They shuddered with the wind. A small brazier was set up across the room near a camp bed. Several candles sat on a table. A folding stool was on its side on the floor. She looked down. She knelt before a wide-mouthed bucket filled to the top with water. She see could herself in the waters reflection, face small and pale, eyes wide. Wet ringlets stuck to the sides of her face. She looked like a cornered animal.

  Her head jerked up. Luthias crouched on the other side of the bucket, vial still in his hand.

  "This takes a bit of time to send you to dreamland. Long enough for us to talk."

  She shook her head, disgusted at the pleading that she knew entered her expression. She couldn't go back to the tar place. Something inside her told her that her body couldn't take any more. That it would kill her if he kept pouring it down her throat.

  But he didn't care. "Take it or I will force it down your gullet."

  "No," she whimpered. Where was Ste­phen? Her father? She remembered them now. That was their plan, to give them­selves up, and it had been a good plan, too. It would have worked if not for the laudanum. Luthias was too clever. He would always be too clever for them.

  Deidra couldn't accept that. She wanted a life, a real one, not the constant running and fear. She tried to remember what she was supposed to do, the rest of the plan. Send word to Drake via a rodent, but she didn't even know where they were now, or where Drake could be. Her mind stretched out around her, reaching for the thoughts of the surrounding animals. It was difficult and confusing, as her brain was still filled with fog, but she touched the minds of horses, and other, wild ani­mals.

  Apparently Luthias could see her mind working, because he grabbed her face in one hand and forced her mouth open, pouring the contents of the vial in it. When she would have spit it back out, he shoved upward on her jaw so that she bit her tongue, then he held her nose.

  She tried to jerk away, but she was weak and sick, and he was strong. She couldn't breathe, couldn't spit the poppy juice out. Her mouth was filled with the vile, bitter liquid and the copper taste of blood. She tried to scream, but nothing came out except pathetic moans. Her vision clouded, the fog overtaking her mind. Finally, she swallowed.

  He felt it and released her.

  She gasped for air and sagged forward, leaning on the side of the bucket. Her belly burned, threatening to bring it all back up. She closed her eyes, hoping the world would stop swirling.

  "Now, we shall talk."

  Deidra didn't really know what there was to talk about or how he expected her to uphold her end of the conversation. She couldn't even raise her head, could barely keep her body balanced on the edge of the bucket. When she opened her eyes, the room spun slowly around her, making her dizzy.

  "I thought.. .trial.. .England!”' She was dismayed by her inability to form a coher­ent sentence. He swam in and out of focus.

  “Aye, you will be tried." He leaned close. His face blurred and doubled. "But I will not let you go to the gallows with this curse still on me."

  She blinked, frowning. "Curse?"

  Aye...you have invaded my thoughts...sabotaged everything good in my life. Do you know I have never been married? No woman will have me now."

  And this was her fault? Her mind strug­gled to understand what he was saying, but it escaped her grasp. She couldn't find the animals anymore either. Tar and fog and nausea crowded her brain. Sickness rose in her throat.

  "Remove the curse."

  She shook her head, trying to say that she didn't understand—what curse? But his face contorted into rage.

  “Aye! You will! Before we leave here you will!"

  He grasped the back of her head and shoved her forward, plunging her beneath the freezing water. She opened her mouth to scream and instead swallowed water. It choked her, burning her throat. She couldn't struggle, couldn't escape; she was too weak.

  He yanked her back out. Air, like fire, burned her throat. She coughed and sput­tered, sucking it greedily even as her lungs rejected it. Water poured down her face, soaking her clothes. Her body shook from the cold. Her lungs strained to suck in the air. She could no longer hold herself up, but when she fell, he caught her.

  She could smell him in her face, and she heaved, water spilling down her chin.

  "Remove the curse, or God help me I will drown you within an inch of your sorry life!" His breath smelled of beans and ale.

  She gasped and coughed and again made the mistake of shaking her head in confusion.

  He shoved her down again, plunging her head beneath the water. In her mind, she screamed. A long scream of horror and helplessness that started in the pit of her belly and encased her heart, crushing it. Stephen, please, help me. She was done with the fight, with the fear. She’d grown weary of this weak body.

  There seemed to be no escape from this man except death.

  Chapter 21

  Stephen could feel Deidra. He could feel everyone now to some extent, but Deidra felt like no one else, as if she’d been a part of him. Her heart raced like a frantic rab­bit and he followed it, his own heartbeat increasing as if to keep tempo with hers. The closer he got to her location, the stronger became the scent of her blood. It was tainted, unappetizing to him, strongly diluted with poppy juice, and thin from lack of food.

  As a baobhan sith he was better able than a human to move about unseen. He stayed in the shadows, keeping William behind him, and the few guards who passed near simply did not see him.

  His senses led him to Luthias's tent. As he and William stood outside, he became aware of Deidra's heart slowing, so slow it was about to stop.

  Urgent terror sent him bursting into the tent without a thought to whom or what he might find. The only thing driv­ing him was that Deidra's life was draining away and he could not go on without her.

  Luthias hunched over a water bucket. A small figure was beneath him, her head submerged in the water. The surface of the water showed signs of calming, as if there had been a struggle, but it was over now. Luthias did not hear him enter, so intent was he on his task.

  "Oh my God," William gasped behind Stephen. Then, "You bloody bastard! I'll kill you!"

  Luthias whirled around, jerking Deidra's head out of the water. He grasped her by her hair and she hung there, limp, her lips blue.

  Stephen's chest convulsed, his mind refusing to believe what he was seeing. Everything seemed to slow down. Wil­liam rushed past him as he honed in on the man before him, whose mouth was opening, preparing to scream for help.

  Fury blinded Stephen to all else but Luthias. He saw Luthias's heart pumping and squeezing with fear, the blood flow­ing, strong and healthy and untainted. He moved forward, so fast that Luthias didn't even have a chance to get a sound out. Stephen hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious, then yanked him back up by the front of his shirt, shoved his head to the side, and sank his teeth into his neck. Blood flowed into Stephen's mouth, quenching his thirst and quelling his hunger.

  He drank until satisfied, then shoved the limp body away from him. Luthias fell to the floor. Stephen stood over him, breathing hard, strength and vitality flow­ing through him. And then he remem­bered, and grief pierced him.

  He turned. William leaned over Deidra, lifting her in his arms and holding her against his chest. "Is it too late?" Stephen asked, barely able to breathe as he waited for her father’s answer.

  But William
never had a chance to answer. Men flooded into the tent. Swiftly, Stephen drew the sword from the dead man on the ground and rushed for­ward to protect William and Deidra. Men attacked from both sides. Stephen swung his sword in an arc, cutting down two of them. When he turned to confront the others, sword bloodied, William slumped over Deidra's body, his back wet and glis­tening.

  "No1." Stephen shouted, red lights exploding about his eyes. This was bad, very bad, but he couldn't grasp exactly why at the moment. The rage at what had been done engulfed him, and he flew at the rest of the men, sword slashing. The men scattered, running from the tent. The ones that weren't fast enough tasted Stephen's blade.

  Luthias's sword clattered to the ground as Stephen dropped to his knees beside William and Deidra. When he rolled Wil­liam off of Deidra, William gasped. Ste­phen leaned over Deidra to find her soaked in blood—but it wasn't her own.

  She was still alive and unhurt, though her pulse was weak and thready. Her father’s body had protected her from harm.

  "She's dying," William said, trying to sit up. There was a wet quality to his voice, Stephen smelled that he had lost a lot of blood. He placed a hand on William's shoulder, easily pinning the man to the ground.

  "You cannot save her. Not now."

  "If I do not, she will die."

  Stephen swallowed, his gaze falling on Deidra. If left alone in his current condi­tion, William would heal rapidly, but not so rapidly that he would be any good to his daughter. It would take him a day or more to heal from the wound that would be fatal to any other man. Deidra, how­ever, would not last that long. Stephen could tell that by the slowing of her heart, the shallowness of her breath.

  But if Stephen allowed William to heal her, William would no doubt die from it. And though William would willingly die for his daughter, Deidra and Rose might never forgive Stephen for allowing it.

  Not when there was another way.

  "Let me up1." William gurgled, the back of his head pressed hard against the ground, his breath sawing harshly in and out of his chest.

  "You'll die, man," Stephen said gently. "I can save her.. .but she will be different."