Elisa lifted her head high, gripping her knife. Her eyes began to glow, the Herald emerging right before me.
Gabrielle extended a hand, touching the roundness of my stomach. She smiled. “It’s time, little one.”
She spun toward our enemy beyond the door, moving to the side of Elisa as another desire to push came over me.
Light grew, encircling their bodies, surpassing the flames of the fire and catching the room’s attention. The others froze as Gabrielle and Elisa floated toward them, their feet hovering above the ground. Gabrielle spoke in Chords. Elisa joined, blending together with the heavenly being.
With a sideways nod, Gabrielle upturned desks and chairs, exposing the doorway that shook with pressure from the enemy.
Together their voices grew, the glow about them gleaming brighter. The Chords stopped. The angel lifted both hands to her chest and closed her eyes as if in prayer.
Then they flashed open and her hands swept out.
For a split second everything was still. An explosion followed.
My hands flew to cover my eyes, and for an immeasurable amount of time, there was nothing but that light.
When it faded, I opened my eyes. Only a few shards of wood remained, hanging from their hinges. The door had been reduced to splinters. Desks were strewn, broken in pieces about the room and down the empty hallway. Glass sparkled on the floor and smoke blackened the walls around the window, but the demons were gone.
And so was the angel.
Darius stood above me now. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, bracing me.
“Okay, Ava. This should be the last one,” Fiona said. She had retaken the place of Elisa, who now stood with Violet and Cheryl, surrounding me, protecting me from view.
“The last one?” I asked wearily.
“Push, Ava,” my Guardian said.
I grunted, obeying their orders. Sweat ran from every pore. I grimaced and groaned, desiring to release the pressure from within. Suddenly, a flood of relief rushed from my body. I fell back, resting my head against Darius, panting, and watched as the others went to work. I felt both numb and alive.
“Where is it?” I asked. “Where is my baby?”
A soft yet powerful cry penetrated the air, and I choked on a sob.
Cedric had removed his shirt, using it as a wrap for the infant. He leaned forward, placing the bundle in my arms.
“It’s a boy,” he said, stepping away.
“Oh.” I released the breath I had been holding. I cradled the babe in my shaking arms. His face was red, his lips large and pouty, but he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And he was mine.
“So ugly,” Violet said in disgust.
Elisa tsked. “Violet…”
She peered into my face, looking at me in a way only a proud mom could. “But, I’m sure his looks will improve.”
Darius kissed me on the cheek, his honey eyes wet from emotion. “Ava.” His finger touched the babe’s cheek as he peered at our son lying in my arms. Awe swept across his beautiful face that glowed with pride. “What are we going to name him?”
The tiny figure in my arms began to wiggle. His eyes opened merely a crack.
Our souls connected, and I gasped.
Aaron.
Acknowledgments
As always, this series would not
have been possible without several key people:
To my critique group, the amazing
Jill Burgoyne and Kate Stradling, for your direction
and unfailing support. You are my friends
for life and sisters in heart.
To Jenny Zemanek @seedlingsdesignstudio,
for making my books shine in ways
I couldn’t have even imagined.
To my husband, Dan, for cheering
me on and believing I can do anything,
and to my boys, Kyle and Micah, for filling my
life with love and inspiring me to finish.
And as always, to my amazing beta-readers and
proof readers (listed alphabetically):
To Brandon Fuller, Donna Robinson, Marjie Mattison, Rohndia Bretz, Sarah Goit, and Tamara Goodman.
THANK YOU!
Here’s a sneak peek at
Rachel’s new fantasy series
Of Blood and Deceit
For updates on its progress follow Rachel at
www.rachelcollett.com
Chapter 1
Shackled and Bound
Rusted cuffs bit into the flesh of my ankles, shooting sharp pains up bruised legs. My heart pounded, and my head throbbed as I shuffled down the cell corridor in a red, shapeless prison gown. Red signified female, though I hardly felt so anymore.
Once a week. Just once a week for an hour, we could escape our hell on earth and breathe the air outside of the piss-saturated, rat-infested walls of our confinement. Ten cells a day were given their freedom for an hour. That was what the king of Anolyn granted, and it was kind compared to what my uncle would have allowed.
I paced my steps and thoughts, hiding my excitement for when I reached the guards and the manacles were unshackled from my bare feet. The cement stairs were ice cold. As we climbed, the wind blew through the cracks of the prison doors. Then they were thrown wide. Light poured in, blinding me. I blinked until the burning subsided and my sight returned. Although hindered by dense rainclouds, the infused sky pushed through the darkened recesses of my mind, erasing momentarily all the demons that festered my soul.
The wind chilled my skin. Goosebumps shivered down my spine. Rain fell from a bloated sky, but I didn’t care. It was a blessing. I was the only shower I had had since being captured by Riaan’s men. I lifted my face to the heavens of Anolyn, letting it wash away months of dirt and grime.
An automatic grunt bubbled from my lips as Lucan shoved past to go sulk in the corner of the arena with the other prisoners. Under the protection of a large oak tree he scowled at me from his cover. Again, another reason why I was thankful for the rain. He would leave me alone for once.
Retracing the muddied circle entrenched in the ground from countless other prisoners, I walked my laps alone, lifting my shackled hands as high in front of me as I could, stretching sore muscles. I almost looked tan, but it was only dirt that darkened my skin.
This was my eighteenth walk, my first given to me after two-weeks of healing from a severe beating by an overzealous guard upon my arrival. In his defense, I deserved it. He would never regrow the ear that now rotted in the dense soil of Varian forest.
It had been twenty weeks since I had arrived. Three months since my capture, and I was nowhere nearer to escape. Not that I was trying very hard. Josiah’s prison was luxury compared to what was waiting for me when my uncle reclaimed me. Death came to those who he deemed a traitor—and I was a traitor.
I rolled my neck, feeling the tight strain of my skin and the burn mark from my uncle. The scar stretched from just beneath my ear to right above my collarbone—a reminder of a past treachery, and only one of many. Blood or not, he did not tolerate dissidence.
The sound of hooves arrested my attention as a man on his horse cantered into the arena. The prison guard whistled—a signal that our playtime was over early. My shoulders hunched as I walked back, the muddy ground squishing between my toes. The rain grew heavier and by the time the last man entered the prison doors, I couldn’t see a foot in front of my face.
Which was why I ran headlong into the horse’s ass . . . and his black steed.
Letting out a surprised curse, I pushed away, but kept my head down.
The man brushed at the watery filth left behind on the sleeve of his black uniform and tsked. “That’s not very becoming of a lady.”
My face burned, but I swallowed my sarcastic reply. I had never been a lady. Born as a girl, I was already thought of as weak. Second-rate. Eighteen years of fighting proved I was anything but. Now I accepted the truth that I was a woman, but a lady? No.
That station only came with add
itional costs. Costs I was unwilling to pay. But if I wanted to remain hidden, I needed to pretend for the time being.
“Nothing?” His deep voice was gruff and unnervingly calm—and I didn’t like it.
His very presence radiated authority. His eyes bore through my face as he stood silently watching me, waiting for me to say something imprudent—to fall into some unknown trap.
I mumbled my apologizes and prayed to be excused. Rain dripped from my dirt-crusted hairline, down my face, and onto my soiled feet, but still the man stayed where he was. The mud coated his once nicely polished boots and I fought the growing temptation to look up. Enlightenment could sometimes be deadly, and enlightenment was not something I was looking for at the moment.
“Sir.” A panicked guard rushed from the prison doors, grabbing me roughly by the arm.
Despite the pain, relief flooded through me. I was happily ready to be dragged back to my cell.
“Bring her to my office,” the man said.
The guard stuttered, surprised. “Sir?
“Now.” Then he turned on his heel and led his horse away to the stables. He vanished through the downpour.
My heart dropped.
“What did you do?” But before I could respond to the infuriated guard, he knocked me to the ground with a solid backhand to the face. Shock and then anger surged, but within seconds, two guards rushed me and I had barely enough time to block my face from a kick—missing the one to my side. The air knocked from me, my lungs seized in pain. Then another blow to my head—
I came to when my legs crumpled to a hard floor. Wet, weak and annoyed, I allowed the cold of the concrete to seep into my skin, glad to feel something other than my throbbing body. I pushed my hands against the ground, rising partway.
At first hazy, my gaze darted about an expansive and impeccably clean room. A huge stone fireplace blazed, warm and alive with a sweltering fire. A window was cracked open to allow a breeze from outside although the rain still poured in sheets.
The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, seizing almost every sense. A crystal goblet, a smaller wooden cup, and a platter with half a loaf of steaming bread teased from the top of an ornate wooden desk that faced the door. My stomach growled pitifully, but I forced myself to ignore the irritating hunger.
Masses of papers and folders littered the top fo the desk. Books were scattered about the room, stacked upon the floor and lined within rows of a private library. The owner of this receiving room was important. Advisor to the king? The king’s commander?
“What is this?” His voice was instantly recognizable and so were his boots now cleaned from the mud.
I inhaled a ragged breath as the guards gripped my arms and dragged me to my feet. I swayed on the spot, but managed to stay upright.
“The prisoner, sir.”
Clean and dry in new black pants and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top, the man with the impossibly deep voice strode into the room. He finished drying his thick black hair cropped tight on the sides with a towel, then tossed it to the ground. He ran his fingers through the tresses, calming the damp mess.
I cursed beneath my breath.
The King’s brother. The prince Castiel of Anolyn, known for his cunning in battle.
I had yet to face the renowned warrior. Something within warned I never wanted to.
The room went silent. His piercing blue eyes scanned my appearance, then that of the guards.
“It’s Lieutenant Scores, correct?”
Scores nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The man looked the guard over from top to bottom. “I don’t see a mark upon you. Did she attack you?”
Scores’ head twitched. “No, sir.”
The prince crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume she attacked you. Why else would you have beaten her to a pulp?”
“You—you requested the prisoner be brought to you.”
Another moment of silence, then, “And so, you beat her?”
“I thought she had offended—”
Quicker than lightning, the prince seized the lieutenant by the throat and lifted him into the air, although no physical contact to his guard was made. Power radiated the room and I cringed. A magician. A hiss issued from my lips as magic pulsed through the air, and I took an automatic step back, but could not look away. How much could he sense?
Muscles rippled in his jaw. Anger infused the prince’s words. “If I’d been offended, I wouldn’t need someone like you to do my dirty work for me.”
Then the energy released, and Scores crashed to the ground. He wrapped a hand around his neck, inspecting. He coughed, his voice rasped. “No, sir. Forgive me, sir.”
The prince whipped around. “Captain!”
Not even a second passed before the large oak door opened. The man—if you could call him that—must have been listening, waiting his orders. A beast of hulking muscles and ink, he entered the room and suddenly the space was a little too crowded. I instinctively took another step back.
A magician and a giant.
He smirked, catching the movement. His eyes pinned me to the spot, stopping any further retreat. Blood drew to my cheeks. Shaved close on the sides and back like his prince, his blond hair pulled tight into a pony-tail, exposing a high forehead and severely cut jawline. A tattoo crawled down the side of his neck.
“Yes, sir,” the giant said. His voice rumbled within his throat.
“Mikael, Lieutenant Scores is relieved from duty.”
Scores stuttered. “But—but, sir!”
“Make sure he is reassigned somewhere far away, with no option for promotion. Find an appropriate replacement among your men. And send for Hannah.”
Mikael stifled a laughed. “Yes, sir. Come with me, Scores.”
Scores’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, the blood draining from his face.
“You are dismissed,” the prince said, his tone an icy warning.
Bowing, Scores and his men trailed after Mikael.
The prince considered me from across the room, then walked to his desk, giving me the ability to study him unabashed. He was handsome. No, that was the wrong word. He was breathtaking—which meant only one thing: he was dangerous.
He drank from a crystal goblet. The skin of his throat and hands were favorably tanned unlike so many of the nobles of my kingdom. Eira’s harsh climates kept most indoors and even those with dark skin, paled in the lack of sun. His gaze found mine, before I lowered my eyes to my hands. I wondered if he expected me to speak. I clamped my mouth even tighter.
He set his cup down with a clank, then producing a knife from the holster at his side he sliced a chunk of bread from the loaf, but he did not eat. “Please,” he said, gesturing to a chair on the other side of his desk, but I didn’t not move until he had put away his blade.
The prince noticed.
Even though my legs shook with fatigue I wavered, wary to sit across from a being that was both a prince and a magician. I carefully perched at the edge of my seat, ready to make my escape if necessary. My gaze flashed to the cracked window just large enough for me to manage.
Prince Castiel’s head tipped to one side as he inspected me, curiosity brimming in those strange blue eyes.
Unexpectedly conscious of my appearance, I pawed at my dark hair, but gave up when my fingers got caught in a tangled, greasy mess. I peered down at my ragged prison gown, bruised ankles, and dirty, black encrusted toenails.
“You must be hungry,” he said, gesturing to the bread. “Go ahead.”
I didn’t wait for another invitation. I snatched the cut piece and took a bite. It wasn’t stale or full of weaves and my taste buds zinged to the mouthwatering taste. For the briefest moment, I wondered if I should be worried it was poisoned, but the next bite smothered the fear. It was the best tasting thing I had ever had and well worth dying for.
“Careful,” the prince cautioned. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”
I swallowed, chewing slower.
> Again, he watched me, waiting until I finished the last bite. My eyes dropped the remaining loaf, but he pulled the plate out of reach. “You can have the rest later.” He leaned back, resting his chin on steepled fingers. “You’ve created quite a stir as of late, did you know that?”
My head shot up and my heart quickened, but I didn’t answer.
One eyebrow raised. “We’ve been waiting for some time for you to make your move, but three months and… absolutely nothing.” He sighed again, then picked up a folder from his desk searching through the contents. “You’ve only ever been seen in battle, so you were almost unrecognizable without your usual attire.”
My voice rasped. “Please, your highness—”
“So, you know who I am?” He picked up another folder and selected through a few pages. Heat rose to my face as I speculated just what condemning documents he was searching through.
I swallowed. “Of course. All your loyal subjects do. You are Prince Castiel of Anolyn.”
“And so that is who you are? A loyal subject.”
“Of course, your highness.”
He paused, stroking the line of his sharp chin with his fingers. “That’s an interesting lie. But I’m pleased you know who I am. It makes things a lot easier.” His eyes narrowed as he considered me. “I couldn’t believe it at first. The Scourge of Men right here in my very own home. I wonder if you think I should be honored.”
“There is no such person, and even if there was, that title is not mine.”
His tone was like ice. “Why did you attack a soldier?
“He attacked me.”
“You failed to provide any sort of identification.”
“I didn’t know I needed any.”
His fist slammed on the top of his desk. I hid a responding jolt, my insides lurching.
“Anyone traveling outside of their community where they will not be recognized must have the proper paperwork.” His face softened. A smile tipped one side of his mouth. “But it’s alright. That has been rectified.”
Personal Warriors: Book 3 in the Personal Demons series Page 35