“What’s got you spooked?” Mask said behind her, his boots clomping over the boardwalk. He came around the end of the hitching rail and squatted down beside her, resting a hand on her head between her flattened ears.
She met his intense blue eyes and suddenly felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her all over again.
How many times had she looked into those same eyes over the last couple of months and unconsciously her imagination had formed Aaro’s face under the mask? How many times had she caught his scent and had her heart break because she suddenly remembered one perfect night of being one with her man? How many times had his voice, even in its broken bitterness, haunted her dreams?
But now he was here in this town, where she’d looked into his eyes the first time and wondered what mysteries their sparkling blue concealed. His lips quirked into half a grin.
“Almost there, Red. And once I’m done with our Lesser King… maybe then I can be free.”
Rowan’s hide shuddered under his touch as he brushed a hand across her blood-caked shoulder. He packed the few supplies he’d bought into his saddlebags, and offered the stallion a small sack of grain, holding it while he ate. He’d replaced his ruined dagger as well.
She stared at him.
Aaro?
But then the vicious circle of her thoughts turned again, and she remembered his cold detachment as he murdered every single one of the Shonno-mara that had attacked their camp. Not that his actions didn’t have reason behind them. But there were other ways the problem could have been handled. This man was a monster.
Not Aaro, she tried to convince herself, even as she followed him down the street, back toward Ormand’s palace, where he’d warned her he would betray her if it meant an opportunity to kill the king. This was her last chance to run.
If he was Mask, the faceless assassin, she should leave now, wait to see if he was killed, and rejoin him later.
If he was Aaro—her ears flattened again as she trotted at his horse’s heels—if he was Aaro, then she would follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant not losing him again.
And if he was Aaro and he still betrayed her? What then? Would she risk a broken heart, plus whatever Ormand had planned for her? Should she stop him and try to tell him the truth?
They were passing through Old Town again, and tremors wracked Rowan’s body. She should leave now. This man was not her husband. He owed her his life, but she owed him nothing. Nothing whatsoever.
She couldn’t do it.
Chapter 20
Aaro admired Red more than he’d admired anyone since Rowan, as she followed him through the gate into Ormand’s courtyard. What on earth could drive someone—for she was a person, not a wolf—to display that much loyalty to someone she knew almost nothing about? What was she thinking?
He was surprised by a sudden tremor of anxiety as he dismounted and looped his reins over the hitching rail just inside the front gates. The two gate guards left their post and stood watch over him and Red with their hands on their gun butts.
“Captain Fernand will be here shortly to escort you in to see the king,” one of the guards informed him, though his eyes never left Red. “You better put a rope on that animal.”
Aaro shrugged. “Red, I’d be insulted.”
She looked up at him, panting and visibly trembling. She was afraid.
He swore under his breath. He’d threatened her, warned her, practically begged her to leave so he wouldn’t have to betray her. Why hadn’t she left?
“So you’re still alive after all.”
Aaro turned to see Captain Alonso Fernand striding toward them, grinning broadly under his moustache. He looked like he was relieved and trying to hide it under brash swagger.
“I thought for sure you weren’t coming back to claim your silver. And you brought the king a new pet.”
Red’s hackles rose.
Alonso halted in front of them, eyeing Red, and whistled. “Can’t imagine what he wants with such a creature, but he’ll be pleased.” He turned and waved for them to follow. When they passed through the second gate and stood alone in the inner courtyard he stopped and faced Aaro. “Don’t do it,” he said flatly.
“You’re going to stop me?”
Alonso shrugged impatiently. “This country needs you. Not an assassin. You. Someone they can rally behind.”
“They need Ormand gone.”
“And who’s going to take his place?” the captain’s sharp brown eyes glared at him.
“Whoever Heymish appoints.” Aaro returned his glare, while Red watched, her head cocked to one side.
“Yes. Someone these people don’t know or respect. And who knows if his second choice would be as bad as his first one. King Ormand needs to be brought to justice, but not at the expense of making yourself a villain. He’s plotting something, and it’s not good. Something Heymish isn’t going to be able to stop. I’ll beg you, if I have to, not to do this.”
Aaro brushed past him. “Take me to see Ormand. He owes me money. Especially since I almost died for it.”
With a growl Alonso spun on his heel and led the way up to the same ornate double doors that they’d entered before, passing two guards on the outside, and facing four more once they were in the vestibule.
The lit fireplaces at either end of the narrow room put off heat that slapped into Aaro like a wall. After over a week of travel, and living in little more than a hut made of saplings all winter, the heat threatened to suffocate him as two of the guards stepped forward and waited for him to remove his weapons belt. One of the other guards rummaged through a closet until he came up with a length of rope, which he handed to Aaro.
“Tie your animal,” he said.
Aaro looked at the panting Red as he took the rope, running it through his hands, considering. After a moment he handed it back. “She’d get offended. Believe me, you don’t want to see Red offended.”
The guard thrust the rope back into his hands. “Tie her, or she doesn’t go in. You want to get paid, don’t you?” He sneered.
Aaro shrugged. Kneeling beside Red, he fastened a quick sliding knot and dropped the loop over her head, taking a moment to scratch her ears. She was shaking worse now than she’d been before.
The loop of rope hung loose. All she would have to do to get away would be to duck out of it. Unless she pulled on the rope and made it tighten. But she could always loosen it up with her paws if she had to. On her, the rope was little more than a decoration, though the guards didn’t know that, and Red didn’t let on, dutifully flattening her ears and backing away growling. She even took a snap at his hand, conveniently missing, of course.
One of the guards patted him down for hidden weapons, then sent them on their way.
Neither Aaro nor Alonso spoke until they neared Ormand’s receiving hall. But before they were in earshot of the guards Alonso whispered, “If you must sacrifice something today, let it be your bloodlust, not your life.”
Aaro ignored him.
He was searched for weapons again by the next set of guards, and then they were in the king’s hall. Aaro felt as though a block of ice had settled in his stomach.
Ormand stood slowly from his throne as they approached, stopping a dozen yards from the dais. “You brought her.” He breathed a laugh. “I can hardly believe it.” He turned to Red. “Hello, my dear.”
The red wolf stared at him, all the fur standing up along her back as she rumbled out a growl so low it was barely audible. Aaro heard it. His hands twitched on the rope.
“If I had known you would fare so well as a wolf, I would have chosen something else for Rigall to turn you into,” Ormand said. There were three steps leading up onto his dais, and he stepped down one.
Aaro’s eyes flickered over him, noting the sword and dagger he still wore on either hip, along with the medallion now draped around his neck. There was something else about Ormand now though. Something he couldn’t pinpoint. A different air, perhaps.
“What
would you give to be a woman again?” Ormand asked Red, still perched on the second stair.
She growled at him. Loud enough so the whole room could hear this time.
Ormand laughed. “In that case, I have no use for you either.” He beckoned to Aaro. “Mask. Come. Leave the beast.”
Aaro handed Red’s rope to Alonso and walked forward. His vision had tunneled down until the only thing he could see clearly was Ormand’s dagger, and his fingers twitched. Killing the king was going to be the easy part, and it was looking easier by the second. Red would back him against the guards, and hopefully Alonso as well.
“I congratulate you on a successful mission,” the king said as Aaro drew nearer. “And also for living through it. I had heard a rumor that you were dead. Since you are not, the rest of your payment is at this moment being counted.”
Aaro stopped when he was a pace away from Ormand. A lunge was all it would take. He could have Ormand’s dagger out of its sheath and into his heart in under three seconds. His muscles tightened.
“But I would ask one more small thing of you first,” the king continued.
Aaro’s heart faltered as Ormand reached for and drew his own dagger, holding it out to Aaro, hilt first. Aaro’s hand came up of its own volition, slowly, to grasp the hilt.
One of the guards appeared suddenly at his elbow, standing so close he brushed Aaro’s arm as he drew his sword and pressed it into his side, cheerfully ensuring his king’s safety.
At the same time Ormand voiced the rest of his command. “Cut out her heart.” He nodded toward Red.
Time froze for Aaro as his hand closed around the dagger hilt.
In one second his plan had gone from perfect to nightmarish.
Ormand held his hands up to the guard, cautioning. “Let him prove his loyalty to me. I insist. He will need it for his next mission.”
Aaro kept himself from swaying on his feet, but he could feel the color leave his face beneath the mask. Light reflected off the polished blade and into his eyes as he hesitated. The guard’s sword stayed at his ribs. He could still kill Ormand, maybe, but he would in turn be killed. Could he deliver a fatal blow with the guard standing at his elbow, holding a sword to his ribs? Dare he try?
“I have great plans, my friend,” Ormand was saying, with the oil in his voice that he used for killing people. “And I can make you a wealthy man.”
“Oh? With a sword at my ribs?” Aaro growled.
Ormand waved him off. “Prove your loyalty. I see you are fond of the she-wolf. Kill her, and I will consider you my right-hand man.” He laughed. “No more swords in your ribs. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell them not to take your weapons when you enter my hall.”
How could this go so wrong?
Aaro met Ormand’s gaze, and wondered what was behind those calculating blue eyes.
“You’re wondering why I would trust you?” Ormand said. He shrugged. “I don’t. and I won’t. But you won’t get paid if I’m dead, and I’ll be paying enough to make keeping me alive a worthy goal.”
“I see.” Which would be good reasoning, if money was my motive.
So, after everything, all he had to do was kill Red, and Ormand was as good as his.
He turned slowly, and found Red and Alonso watching him. Alonso gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, while Red met his gaze without blinking. He took a step forward. She had stopped shaking, though her ears were flattened back. Another step. Who was she?
It took him an eternity to reach them. He knelt in front of Red, bowing his head before the force of her gaze, her eyes their indefinable shade of copper, amber, and brown. The king’s dagger shook in his hand.
Above him he heard a hiss of breath from Alonso.
With the only guards up near the dais, Aaro faced his two friends, and beyond them, an empty room. He reached up with his free hand and grasped his mask. The magic tingled for a second and then released, and fresh air swept over his face. He would hate himself after today. The best outcome he could hope for was to kill Red, kill Ormand, and then die by the guards’ hands.
“I’m sorry, Red,” he whispered.
The razor-edged dagger slid between her ribs, just behind her shoulder.
* * * * *
Rowan flinched.
Not at the dagger through her lung, but at the face of her husband.
Aaro.
His hand dropped from the dagger before he’d pushed it to the hilt, his gaze snagging on the little pendant hanging from her collar, half hidden in her fur. Recognition flashed in his eyes. “What…” he whispered. “…what…?”
Then the pain hit her. Along with a wave of blinding fury.
She lunged at Aaro, snapping her jaws open. She drove him over backward onto the floor, while his hand came up at the same time and slapped the mask back onto his face, and then she clamped her teeth around his shoulder, tasting the salty tang of blood, and gave him a shake. The movement tore at the dagger in her side, and she let go of him, both of them yelping in pain. For a bare instant she stood over him, drooling blood, and they stared at the mutual horror reflected in each other’s eyes.
“Who are you?” he whispered hoarsely.
She snarled, baring bloody fangs at him, and his eyes widened as though he expected her to rip his throat out. She considered it. But then she was yanked backward, gagging, as Captain Fernand, who had seemed to already know Aaro’s identity, snapped out of his shock and hauled on the rope tied around her neck.
Aaro scrambled to his knees and lunged forward after her, grabbing the hilt of the dagger and jerking it free. Blood poured after it, and dizziness assaulted her. He reached for her, dagger in hand, and she thought he would slit her throat. Instead he grappled for a second with the knot, and the rope slid free. Rowan bolted.
She snarled at one of the guards who tried to intercept her, and he faltered long enough for her to rush past him, through a side door and into a deserted hallway. She ran in the direction of the kitchens while magic swarmed her wound, buzzing unbearably. She could feel it tickling inside her chest, along with the blood that gurgled with every breath and coated the back of her tongue.
Racing down another corridor, she burst into the kitchens to the sounds of shattering crockery and screaming cooks. Somewhere there would be a door open. There was always a door open in the kitchen, unless it was the dead of winter. There. She got a whiff of fresh air and barreled toward it, with shrieking servants diving out of her way. She burst out into the herb garden, leapt over three rows of lettuce and newly sprouted pea plants, and followed her nose toward the stables.
In the shadow of the stable she collapsed, coughing and panting. Her lung felt like it was filling up faster than the magic could heal it, thanks to her pounding heart. She coughed up more blood, gagging on it, then forced herself to stay still, to slow her breathing and wait for the magic to heal her lung. Another coughing, retching fit helped to clear it out, and her panic subsided a bit. She was still alive. Still breathing. It was coming easier now, though the tingling, crawling feeling of the magic made her squirm. As soon as she could draw a decent breath again she slunk away from the shadows of the building. She had to find a way out.
The old portion of the grounds was not as heavily fortified as the new. Sunken sod walls, shoulder high to a man, protected the immense gardens from the open prairie. Willing strength into her legs, she leapt to the top of the wall, teetered, for a second, then dropped down to the other side, taking off at a loping run.
* * * * *
The pain in her side grew less as she put miles between her and Ormand and Aaro and the rest of her cursed former life. She should never have left the Shonnowa. She would always be a wolf there, but at least she had friends who knew her. Who wouldn’t betray her.
Aaro.
Aaro.
His name and his face pounded through her mind with each drum of her paws. She had no coherent thoughts, let alone words, for the volcano of pain welling inside her, and she alternated betwee
n fiery fury and ice-cold loss. Dustan had hardly looked at her twice. Aaro, her husband, had stabbed her. Though now, she realized, his actions made sense. He’d become a monster. But a monster of Ormand’s making. He’d taken everything. From both of them.
When she became too winded to run, she walked for a while. Then ran again. Then walked. She didn’t stop until the sliver of a moon had come up, barely enough to activate her curse. She sat down when she felt the magic tingle across her skin, bringing with it the change in form, then picked herself up and continued north on two legs rather than four, striding along in the moonlight as her tears poured. Finally, when the night was almost spent, she curled up in a ball in the grass and cried herself to sleep.
* * * * *
Aaro flinched when the knot came loose, still more than half expecting Red to rip his throat out. Instead, she ran, disappearing through a side door that had been left open, and leaving a wide blood trail. He stared, his heart thudding heavily, and pressed a hand against his throbbing shoulder. He didn’t know what else to do at the moment.
“Go after her,” Ormand barked, snapping him out of his shock. He glanced around. Alonso still held the dangling rope in his hands, his mouth ajar. The guards weren’t in much better shape.
“Go after her, Mask,” Ormand repeated.
Aaro took a step, stumbled, and then he was running, turning into the corridor where she had fled, following her blood trail through the kitchen, which was in mayhem, and out toward the stables. He was just in time to see her furry hind end take a leap off the top of the sod wall, headed for open prairie. He scrambled over after her, but she was gone. Like an arrow shot from a bow, she sped across the prairie, becoming little more than a glint of copper in the evening sunlight. Even her blood trail thinned out and vanished.
He had wondered if the collar she wore had some healing magic in it. Obviously, he had been right. But a better question was, why did the pendant attached to the collar bear his own family seal? Who was Red?
He trailed her for more than an hour, though there was no more blood to follow. She had beaten a path through the long, brown grass. When the sun rested on the horizon he stopped, looking off toward the north, where she’d gone. Back toward the Shonnowa. Kneeling on the damp ground, alone, he took his mask off and dropped it beside him, next to Ormand’s dagger. The horizon blazed red. Aaro threw his head back and yelled. He emptied his lungs, then yelled again, wordlessly releasing his pain. Not the pain from the bite in his shoulder, but that of having his hands covered in his friend’s blood.
Quench the Day (Red Wolf Trilogy Book 1) Page 24