by Leslie Chase
“Don’t you dare die, Maxwell,” she whispered. “I’m coming for you.”
7
Rising to the Challenge
Lenore crept through the darkness towards the farm, cold and exhausted from the journey. Here and there she saw the marks of Maxwell’s passage, branches broken by the tiger as he’d made his way into the trap ahead.
She couldn’t hope to be as stealthy as he’d been, she knew, but their enemies would have less reason to be watchful now. By this point Maxwell would have made his attack, and either succeeded or failed. The enemy would have no reason to think that there was anyone else coming, and that simply had to be enough to cover her approach. She had no other plan to try. Managing to bite down on a curse as her foot slipped in the mud, she hoped that she wasn’t too late.
The thread linking her to Maxwell was still there, at least. She could feel him, his presence like an ache in her heart.
That has to mean he’s still alive, Lenore told herself, and renewed her struggle up the slope. Panting for breath, she collapsed behind the low stone wall that had hidden Maxwell the night before.
Beyond the wall, lights moved, washing over the sky as the sentry patrolled. And beyond that, Lenore could hear the supercilious tones of Sir Daniel.
“I am glad that you saw reason, Mr. Walters,” he said, and Lenore’s heart leaped for joy at the confirmation. Maxwell’s alive! “Your power will be put to much better use in my hands.”
“No, it won’t.” Maxwell growled, voice dark and full of danger. “Even if you manage to take my power today, you won’t live long enough to do much with what you steal.”
Lenore risked raising her head above the wall slowly, looking out at the scene beyond. Bright light spilled from the open doors of the barn, and what it illuminated made her blood run cold. In the middle of the courtyard Sir Daniel stood beside a stone altar, the Silver Sword in his hand and a smirk on his face. The ground around the altar was marked with lines dug into the dirt, lines that Lenore remembered from the chalk marks in Sir Daniel’s London lair.
One of his dark-suited minions carefully lit candles around the pattern, stepping delicately from one to the next. Lenore saw the concentration on the man’s face, and wondered for a moment whether the man knew what he was doing or if he was simply paid enough to do it well without asking questions.
None of that was important compared to the figure chained to the altar, though. Maxwell strained against his chains, a snarl on his face, blood seeping from cuts on his arms and chest. His face was a mask of anger, and if he’d been free, no one in the courtyard would have been safe. For a moment, Lenore wondered why he wasn’t breaking free — the chains didn’t look strong enough to hold back the weight and fury of a tiger. But the chains glinted silver in the light, and she realized that Sir Daniel would have taken precautions against that.
“Ah, yes, you think your kin will hunt me down,” the mad Englishman said with a smirk. “Your sister perhaps? But that’s not going to be possible, I’m afraid. Once I have the power that is due to me, she will be as helpless as any other woman. None of your tiger magic for her.
“I shall keep my word, though. Both your sister and your lover are safe from me, as long as they do not get in my way. That is a fair bargain, in exchange for your consent to this ritual.”
Oh, Maxwell, you wonderful idiot! Of course that was the only way the ritual could work without her — the sword was still linked to Lenore. Without that connection to the Walters family magic, Sir Daniel was helpless to steal the power he craved — unless he found another link. With Maxwell’s cooperation, he could still get what he wanted, and of course Maxwell would go along with that to protect her, and his family. Lenore’s heart ached at the thought of what he was willingly giving up for her, and tears welled in her eyes.
Still, she couldn’t help thinking that Sir Daniel was underestimating Penelope; she hardly needed to transform into a tiger to kill him. Not that it mattered one bit tonight, though — Lenore didn’t want to see Maxwell avenged, she wanted him to live!
Aside from the man lighting the candles, there were only two guards in sight. Lenore supposed that with Maxwell captive, Sir Daniel didn’t feel the need to have them clustered around him. Unfortunately, it looked like he was right. There was no way she could free Maxwell while they were there. Lenore wouldn’t have bet on herself against Sir Daniel on his own; with gun-toting thugs at his command, she was certain it would be hopeless.
Maxwell snarled a wordless angry noise at his captor, and Lenore could feel his lethargy through the bond they shared.
Drugged, she thought, remembering the darts which the thugs had used to render the two of them unconscious. What if he can’t move? Even if I find some way to free him, what good is it if he can’t escape on his own?
Despair gripped her heart, and she ducked down out of view again, trying to think of a plan. She hadn’t even thought to bring a weapon, not that she’d have known what to do with one if she had.
One of the guards turned towards the wall, his torch playing over it, and Lenore ducked back down. Her heart pounding in her chest, she heard the man’s footsteps approach and then pass by as he patrolled.
“I can see that I shall get no further worthwhile conversation from you, Mr. Walters,” Sir Daniel said. “Never mind, never mind, that is, after all, not what we are here for. But now that Sergei has completed the ritual’s preparations, I shall not be burdened with your presence for much longer, eh?”
“Do it, then. Better a sword through the heart than more of your words,” Maxwell replied, contempt dripping from his voice. There was a short, shocked pause before Sir Daniel barked a forced laugh.
“Bravado to the end, eh? Well, well. I suppose I can respect that. You three, go and reinforce the perimeter — I do not want any unwelcome visitors to interrupt my ascension!”
“Yes, boss,” one of the men said, sounding somewhat relieved to be ordered away. Lenore wondered if being part of a sacrificial ritual was a little too much even for the hardened mercenaries Sir Daniel employed. Their footsteps hurried away as they made their way out of the yard, leaving Maxwell and Sir Daniel alone.
Alone aside from Lenore. Heart pounding, she raised her head above the level of the wall again. The lights of the guards’ torches retreated as Sir Daniel lifted his leather-bound book in one hand and began to read aloud.
The words made no sense to her. It might have been Latin or some other ancient tongue, but whatever the language, it didn’t sound entirely human. The words seemed to hang in the air, echoing in a way they had no right to in the courtyard, and settling into her mind with a chill colder than the icy air.
Sir Daniel’s voice was different too, darker and heavier, his arrogant upper-class twang replaced with a sonorous low tone. He picked up speed, looking up from the book and lifting the silver sword in his right hand.
“Stop!”
Lenore barely recognized her own voice as she called out, and had to fight an urge to cover her mouth and hide. Sir Daniel’s head snapped around to look at her, his dark litany coming to an abrupt stop. The echoes of the last word hung in the air as though waiting for him to continue.
“How dare you interrupt me?”
Lenore stood, trying to keep herself from shaking in fear, and pulled herself over the low wall. “Get away from him, you — you asshole!”
She realized that she must look a sight, covered in mud from the trek through the dark, hair a mess of leaves and tangles from pushing her way through the woods. Sir Daniel stared at her incredulously, and Maxwell looked up at her from the altar, appalled.
She felt appalled at herself, too; she had only one faint hope, one memory to cling to that might offer a way to save Maxwell. It was a desperate throw of the dice, but she was committed now. Trying to focus on the link of fate she felt between them, she stepped towards the altar, and Maxwell.
“Lenore! You can’t be here — please!” His voice held a fear that he hadn’t shown before,
even in the face of death. It was a pain that cut to Lenore’s heart. “Go, there’s nothing that you can do for me, save yourself and our child. Leave and you’ll be safe!”
That drew a barking laugh from Sir Daniel, and the nobleman swung the sword through the air in a vicious, whistling arc.
“Listen to your man, girl. I don’t wish to spoil this glorious moment with needless killing. Go. I shall not be so merciful again.”
Lenore swallowed and ignored them. Two steps and she was in blade’s reach of the mad Englishman. Trying to keep her mind off the damage a sword could do to her, she looked past it and into his eyes, seeing the crazed intensity in them. When she spoke, it wasn’t to him, though her eyes never left his.
“I am not going to leave you to die, Maxwell. I couldn’t do that, not for anything. No more than you could let me die for you.” She was surprised to find her voice steady and calm, for all that her mouth was dry with fear.
“But our child, Lenore! You can’t risk our child!”
Another step, and now Sir Daniel raised the point of the sword, angling it at her chest, at her pounding heart. His maniacal smile twisted into a snarl.
“Listen to your man, girl. Debased creature he may be, but he has your interests at heart. If you stay, I shall simply have to kill you as well — and if you’re carrying his spawn, I would be doing the world a favor.”
“Harm one hair on her head, and our deal’s off!” Maxwell said. “You need my consent, Hawthorn!”
“I do not.” Sir Daniel’s voice had a cold unpleasant certainty, at odds with the wildness of his face. “Without it, things are more difficult, true. Which is the only reason I am still offering you my deal. Nonetheless, if I need to kill her, I shall. It will add hours to the ritual to reclaim the sword after she’s dead, and it will cost me a great deal, but it will work. The Dark Powers I have contacted will ensure it,” he said with bone-chilling assurance.
“So, young lady, I’ll renew the offer I gave you once before — give me the sword willingly and walk out of here a million pounds richer. Or leave without it, and I’ll continue with Mr. Walters’ consent. Stay, however, and I will have to kill you both, and I will still win.”
Lenore could feel his hate and his madness like a physical force, pushing against her. Those wild eyes stared at her, and she wasn’t sure if he truly wanted her gone or would rather she forced his hand and gave him an excuse to murder her. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave Maxwell to the fate this man had in store for him, no matter the cost.
Side-stepping, she circled Sir Daniel slowly, reaching out to take Maxwell’s bound hand with her left as she ended up beside him. He squeezed, hard enough that it almost hurt, and through their bond Lenore could feel his love, his pain, his fear for her. He was willing her to leave, she knew, willing it as hard as he possibly could, and it was hard for her to fight against his will. Her heart ached for him, and for their child, and she hoped — prayed — that she was right.
Lifting her chin, she looked Sir Daniel in the eye and took a deep breath.
“Do what you have to,” she told him, squeezing Maxwell’s hand back. She managed to keep the tension out of her voice, but felt it in her grip, tight enough that a man weaker than Maxwell would surely have winced. “You won’t kill me, though. That’s not happening.”
The direct challenge in her voice brought an enraged snarl to Sir Daniel’s face, and he drew back the sword. It hung overhead for a second as they stared unmoving at one another. Then he struck, swinging it down in a blurring arc towards her.
8
Confrontation
Lenore couldn’t help flinching, but she didn’t try to avoid the blade. She held her place in front of him and felt the blade cut the air beside her cheek as it sliced past, twisting in Sir Daniel’s hand to miss her by an inch.
He stared at her, furious, and slashed again. This time she stayed perfectly still, and the sword came closer still. Still it didn’t touch her, didn’t cut her, and she sighed with giddy relief as it flashed past.
“That’s my sword you’re holding,” she told him, suddenly feeling weak now that she knew that she’d been right. Her voice cracked at the realization that she might not die here. “You won’t hurt me with it.”
Sir Daniel’s answer was a wordless snarl and a thrust, the point of the sword aimed directly at Lenore’s heart. Maxwell shouted something, a wordless cry of rage and fear as he thrashed, but Lenore stood still and let the sword point twist, the blade curving aside as though an invisible barrier blocked its way. The tip managed to nick her jacket but that was all, and then it was past her.
Lenore reached up, feeling almost dreamlike as she took hold of the blade. It felt right somehow, as though it was meant to be in her hand, and not sharp at all. She pulled and the hilt leaped from Sir Daniel’s grip eagerly, abandoning him in favor of her.
He stared at her in horror and took a step back. Lenore flipped the sword in her hand, catching it by the hilt — a trick that shouldn’t have worked, and wouldn’t with any other sword, she knew. This one, though, wanted to be in her hand, to be wielded by her.
Almost as though she knew what she was doing, she snapped the sword into a guard position between her and Sir Daniel. The point trembled slightly, leveled at his eye, and he took another step back out of her reach.
“You stupid woman,” he hissed, furious hatred filling his voice. “Do you really think you’ll defeat me so easily?”
His hand moved too fast for Lenore to follow it, darting into his jacket and coming out with a pistol. “He dies by the sword. You, I can shoot.”
Maxwell threw himself forwards, snarling, chains creaking as his weight slammed into them. Lenore glanced aside at him and saw a wave of orange fur rise and fall across his body as the silver in his bonds kept him from transforming. The narrow silver cuffs on his wrists bit into his flesh, crimson blood trickling down his forearms as he struggled to get free.
Sir Daniel jerked his gun over to cover him nonetheless, and Lenore’s knees shook with relief as the muzzle left her. The sword in her hand tugged at her grip, wanting to snap forwards into a thrust, but she found herself paralyzed. It was one thing to take the sword from him, to put herself between him and Maxwell. It was another to kill him. Before she could make up her mind, the gun was back on her and the chance was lost. No matter what speed the sword might lend her, she knew it would be suicide to try and race a bullet.
In the distance, a wolf’s howl broke the night’s silence. Sir Daniel’s head snapped around for just a second, and then back to her, eyes wide and crazed. “What have you done?”
“Give up,” she said, trying to keep her voice firm but hearing it crack. “You’ve lost, give up, please. I called Penelope, she’s following my phone’s GPS to find this place. She’ll be here soon.”
“Surrender? To you?!” His voice was a shout, the muzzle of his gun wandering between the two of them as he spoke. The last vestiges of control slipped from him as she watched, and she flinched at the careless way he gestured with his pistol, his finger trembling on the trigger.
“Never! No, I will still win this. Give me the sword willingly, and you can leave here unharmed! Refuse, and I will shoot you in the stomach — and Maxwell here can watch his girlfriend and his heir die in the mud.”
“Spare him that pain. Don’t force my hand.”
Somewhere, another wolf howled. Closer, Lenore thought, but not close enough. Distant gunfire answered the howl, followed by a human scream.
“I do not have much time,” Sir Daniel ground out, lowering the muzzle of his weapon to her pregnant belly, and Lenore felt the blood run from her face. The sword weighed heavily in her hand, and she felt her arm shake.
“You can’t think that you can still get what you want!” Her voice sounded panicked in her ears as she tried to reason with the madman. “You don’t have time to do your rituals now!”
“You may be right,” he spat, aiming the gun at her carefully. “That gives me
no reason to let you live, does it?”
Maxwell roared. The sound that emerged didn’t belong in a human throat. It was a low, terrifying vibration that spoke directly to the hindbrain, the part of the mind that remembered being hunted in long grasses, and remembered when humans were prey to mighty cats. Lenore’s blood turned to ice in her veins, and she shuddered in sudden fear.
The effect on Sir Daniel was more profound. He froze, only his eyes moving, flicking sideways to the shifter bound to his altar.
Smoke rose from the chains binding his limbs as Maxwell lunged forwards, his body fighting the influence of the silver and transforming. The cuffs were too tight for his great paws, and blood flowed freely where they bit deep into his flesh, but he didn’t let the pain stop him. His full weight pulled on the chains, and the soft metal tore as his flesh did.
The metal parted first.
Sir Daniel jerked his gun towards the tiger, finger tightening on the trigger. The bullet slammed into Maxwell, whose growl turned to a yowl of pain and rage. The great cat tumbled down into the mud with Sir Daniel desperately aiming for a killing shot as Maxwell gathered his legs under himself to pounce.
Now, a voice said in Lenore’s mind. Devi’s voice, calm, certain, and encouraging. You must act now.
The woman’s faint presence was enough to snap her out of her paralysis, and she found herself lunging forwards. Sir Daniel’s reflexes were sharp, sending him jumping back out of the way of her blade, his gun staying precisely on target and his finger tightening on the trigger.
Lenore felt as though Devi’s hand was on her wrist, guiding her into a snapping cut which knocked the gun aside just as it fired. The crack of the shot rang out and was lost in the roar of a furious tiger, and then Maxwell was pouncing past her, his bulk knocking her aside as he slammed into his prey.
Sir Daniel screamed, the weight of the tiger sending him tumbling to the ground. One swipe of a mighty paw and his gun flew into the night, a bloody spray following it from his maimed arm. Then Maxwell’s jaws closed on his neck and lifted him, shaking him like a rag doll.