by Sally Slater
In a desperate, final effort, she charged him, swinging her sword in a wild arc. He evaded her strike, and then the tip of his dagger was at her heart.
“It’s over now,” he said gleefully. “Say your goodbyes.”
Sam looked into the crimson eyes of the man she’d come to trust more than anyone else and tried to see past the High Commander and into his soul. He was still there, somewhere—the man who had never once doubted her but had only ever doubted himself. He’d protected her secrets as though they were his own and given her everything of himself. And Gods damn him, she loved him, no matter how pointless and irrational love was.
“Goodbye, Braeden,” she said for the second and final time. Gently, she let her lips graze over his. “I love you,” she told him, and poured her whole heart into one last kiss.
The knife dropped from her chest. “Oh Gods, Sam. What have I done?”
CHAPTER 46
Sam let her sword fall to the floor and reached up, cupping Braeden’s face in her hands. “Braeden, look at me. I’m unhurt.”
“Sam . . .”
She brushed his hard jaw with her knuckles. “You didn’t hurt me. I have a few cuts, nothing more. I promise you.”
“He made me hurt you,” Braeden whispered. “My master—his voice was in my head and I—I wanted to do it. He made me want to do it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” he rasped. “I wanted you more.”
Her breath hitched, and she stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Braeden groaned. “Forgive me, Sam.” He fisted his hands in her hair and took her mouth with his.
His grip on her was firm, but his lips were gentle, tender. He kissed her worshipfully as though she were precious, as though she might break beneath his touch.
Braeden began to pull away, but Sam wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back to her. Her lips were a whisper away. “I’m not saying goodbye,” she said. “Not again.” Her lashes flickered up and then closed. Tentatively, she placed her mouth back on his.
Braeden made a desperate sound in the back of his throat and crushed her against him. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and then greedily plundered within. Their tongues dueled like swords and their bodies trembled. She moaned, or maybe it was he.
Sam kissed him like she fought, with wildness and passion, and with a little mischief. Her lips left his mouth, latching on to the side of his neck. She bit him, right on top of where she’d bitten him before, and then ran her tongue over the marks her teeth left. He responded with a low rumble, pressing her against the hard length of his body.
Braeden broke away, gasping. He looked at her with unrestrained hunger. “I’m a selfish bastard. I should never have done that.”
She met his gaze and let him see her matching hunger. “I wanted you to. I still want you to.”
Braeden turned away from her. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t want me.”
She glared at his back. “I have always known my own mind,” she said. “Who are you to tell me what I want?”
“The man who loves you,” he said with soft yearning.
Sam hadn’t realized she wanted Braeden to say it till he said it. But . . . not like this. Not with sadness and regret. He told her he loved her in the same breath he pushed her away. “You love me?”
“Being loved by me is no blessing. If I could stop loving you, I would.”
She wanted to lash out at the sting of his words. “Am I so unworthy of being loved?”
His head snapped back as if she’d hit him. “Never say that, Sam. You’re the best person I know.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he reached out and coiled a strand of her hair around his finger. “You’re irresistible.”
Sam looked down at her wrinkled tunic and breeches. Her face was unpowdered and damp with sweat, but even if she were clean and tidy, her nose would still be too long and her face too thin, the lines of her well-muscled body too straight to be fashionable. “I’m not,” she said practically.
“You are to me.” Braeden let her hair slip from his fingers. “I have no control over my attraction to you.”
She didn’t want him to control his attraction, Gods damn it. “So what?”
“It’s not an easy thing to explain.” Braeden closed his eyes. “It’s my fault the demons are attracted to you.”
“Demons are attracted to everyone.”
Braeden shook his head. “Not like they are to you. I know you’ve noticed it, too. Every time we fight them, they go straight for you. As soon as they sense you, they forget anyone else is there. They want you above all others . . . because—because so do I.” He stroked her cheek with a sad smile. “You see, Sam? To be loved by me is to be cursed. Because I love you, I’ve put you in danger.”
Sam caught his wrist with her hand. “Is that a serious objection?”
He blinked. “What?”
Idiot, idiot man. “Do you think I disguised myself as a boy because I wanted to avoid danger? Do you think I picked up a sword to avoid danger? You say you love me. Just who do you think I am?”
Braeden opened his mouth to speak, but Sam spoke first. “I’ll tell you who I’m not. I’m not some princess in an ivory tower. I’m not someone who runs scared from a fight. And I’m not the kind of girl who gives up on something she wants because of a little thing like danger.” She poked her finger into his chest. “I left home to join the Paladins because I wanted to kill demons. I should be thanking you for making it that much easier.”
Braeden stared down at the place where her finger met his chest. He grasped her finger and hand and placed it over his shoulder. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face into her hair. “I love you, Sam of Haywood.”
She laid her head against his heart and was relieved to hear it beat as rapidly as hers. “I love you, too, you know.” Braeden was a noble, self-sacrificing idiot, but he was her idiot.
“You can’t love me,” he said brokenly.
She squeezed him tighter. “I don’t do very well with can’t.”
He stepped out of her arms and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I have to leave, Sam.”
She gave an annoyed huff. “Why? I don’t mind a few demons, and you proved tonight you would never hurt me. The High Commander tried to get you to kill me, and he failed.”
“Because it was you.” His mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I trust myself a little more around you. But there’s a whole city of Uriel he could command me to kill. Tristan, Sander, anyone. Would you have me risk their lives so casually?”
Braeden was right. He’d been tested against her, but no one else. She wanted to believe he could resist the High Commander’s possession again, but she had never experienced the power of his compulsion. It was a high risk to take and it wasn’t her life to gamble. She made a decision. “I understand.”
“You do?”
Sam sat down on the bed beside him. “We need to leave till we figure out how to remove your tattoo.”
“We?”
Sam nodded. “Aye. I’m coming with you.”
Braeden’s head whipped towards her. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“I want to.” She looked down at her lap. “If you’ll have me, that is.”
His hands found the tops of her shoulders. “I love you,” he said quietly. “It’s why I can’t ask you to leave with me. I would no more ask you to return to Haywood as Lady Samantha than ask you to throw away the Uriel for me. You finally have everything you wanted, Sam. I won’t ask you to give up your dreams for my sake.”
“You didn’t ask,” she said. “I offered. And I’m not giving up on my dreams; I’m making new ones. I want you—” She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “—and I want to be a warrior, too. Wherever we go, I’ll have plenty of opportunity to use my sword. The Uriel can wait.”
His hand left her shoulder to touch the spot where she’d kissed him. “I really am a selfish bastard.”
; She gripped his knees and leaned towards him. “Then I’m selfish, too. We can indulge in our selfishness together.” And because it was what she selfishly wanted, she kissed him full on the lips. The kiss was hard and fast, a promise.
Braeden returned her kiss, harder, till both of them were panting for air. In between breaths, he said, “We’ll need to tell Tristan. Sander, too.”
Sam looked up at him. “That we’re leaving together?”
He nodded.
She tightened her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For letting me come with you. For loving me.”
His fingers trailed down her cheek. “A man once told me I would never know love. I believed him.”
She gasped. “Braeden.” How could anyone tell this man—this man she would follow to the ends of the earth and back again—that he was underserving of love?
Braeden lowered a kiss to her forehead, to each eyelid, to her nose. His lips hovered near her mouth, and he didn’t try to veil the stark emotion in his eyes. “It was enough that you didn’t fear me. Loving you, being loved by you . . . you’ve made me believe that maybe I’m more than a monster. That maybe I’m a man, too.”
Braeden had bared his soul to her, and so would she. “Do you know why I love you?” she asked. “When I made up my mind to join the Paladins, I thought it meant I had to give up a part of myself. I had to choose between Sam the warrior or Sam the woman, and I chose the warrior. But you . . . you make me believe that I can be both.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “One day I’ll get you to stop trying to protect me.”
Braeden laughed softly. “That’s never going to happen.”
Sam scowled. “Fine,” she said. “Then I’ll just have to protect you back.”
Tristan swirled the wine in his goblet, watching the burgundy liquid slosh against the pewter sides. He set the cup down on the table, a little harder than necessary. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me go after them. Sam had her sword at Braeden’s throat—”
“Tristan,” Sander said. There was a gentleness to his voice that Tristan had never heard before. “You’re a smart man. If you think about it, you’ll know you need to let them be.”
Tristan stared at Sam’s vacant chair next to him, and then his eyes moved to Braeden’s seat. In his mind, he replayed her passionate plea to force Braeden to stay. Would she have held Tristan at sword point if it were he who threatened to leave? He remembered his ill-fated marriage proposal, when he’d mentioned casually that Braeden was gone. It was like she’d forgotten that Tristan had proposed, or that he was even in the room. “Gone? Is Braeden okay?” she’d asked.
“She loves him, doesn’t she?”
“I know only what I observe,” Sander said. His gaze held something akin to pity.
It was more than Tristan could bear. He finished his wine in one gulp and pushed back from the table. He stood, bowing first to the Duke of Haywood and then to Sander. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said.
“Of course,” Sander said.
Tristan fled, but not before he heard the duke say, “What’s this about Samantha? My daughter is betrothed.”
As soon as he was free of people, Tristan found the nearest space of empty wall and sagged against it. He hadn’t realized he still harbored a hope that Sam would change her mind. That hope was dashed, now. Sam loved another man. Braeden. Gods.
A delicate cough let him know he was no longer alone. With great effort, he tore his eyes from Addie Branimir’s impressive bosom to her lovely face. Her forehead creased with worry. “Are you quite all right, Master Lyons?” she asked.
Tristan forced a smile. “Quite.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Don’t lie to your doctor, Lyons.” She knelt down beside him and wrapped two fingers around his wrist, as if taking his pulse. “As I suspected. You, sir, are gravely ill.”
“I am?”
She nodded and stood, offering him a hand up. “I have precisely the cure. Follow me.” With a rustle of her skirts, she swept away, not waiting for his reply. Shaking his head, Tristan trotted after her. Better that than wallow in his own pathetic loneliness.
She stopped at the infirmary but didn’t ask him to come in. “I’ll just be a moment,” she said. She returned dressed in a long, hooded cloak of white ermine.
“We’re going outside?” he asked.
“Aye.” Addie gave him a once over. “Will you be warm enough, dressed like that?”
“I’m warm blooded,” he said. “Where is it you are taking me?”
She smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see.”
It was dark outside the Beyaz Kale, and Tristan felt the bite of cold, despite his claim to Addie. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he plodded along beside her. Addie held onto his elbow for balance; she wore those flimsy silk slippers that were all the rage for women these days but highly impractical out-of-doors.
They passed by several buildings till Addie tugged on his elbow, drawing him to a stop. “In there,” she said, pointing towards a bright red door. The sounds of music, boisterous laughter and clinking glasses were audible from the street.
“A tavern,” he said slowly. “You’ve brought me to a tavern. Why?”
“Because, Master Lyons, I’ve diagnosed you with a broken heart.” She pulled up her hood, hiding her face, and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Lyons, drinks are on me.”
CHAPTER 47
It hadn’t been easy for Sam to tell Sander that she would be leaving with Braeden. It was the right decision for her, she knew, and yet she felt a little ashamed of it. But Sander was a singular man and had been remarkably understanding.
She’d told him together with Braeden, and somehow during the telling of it their fingers had wound together. Sander’s gaze fell upon their interlocked hands and his mouth had twitched, not into a disapproving frown but into an amused smile.
“It is not an either or,” Sander had said. “As Uriel, you are not bound to this soil, only to the principles that guide us. Duty. Honor. Loyalty. Belief in the goodness of man.” He put one hand on each of their shoulders. “Do what you need to do, and come back to us. I told you this once before—the Uriel always have room for courageous men.” He grinned at Sam. “Or women.”
Telling Tristan did not go as well.
Sam knocked on the door of his chambers in the Beyaz Kale—which was awkward in itself, since he shared the room with Braeden—and asked if he would be amenable to a walk outside. She didn’t invite Braeden; she owed Tristan that much.
It wasn’t as though she’d accepted another man’s proposal after turning his down, but it was close enough. And in the days following their first exchanged I-love-yous, she and Braeden had done a shockingly poor job of hiding their affection. Twice, Braeden had pulled her into a discreet corner and kissed her senseless, and twice Sam had accosted him. She blushed just thinking about it.
And thus for the sake of her friendship with Tristan, Sam thought it best she break the news herself.
In uncomfortable silence, Sam and Tristan trudged down the snowy slope to the Uriel training grounds, stopping when they reached the tree line. They stood apart, watching the Uriel men spar with swords and fists.
When Sam could stand it no longer, she said into the silence, “I’m leaving.”
Tristan faced outward into the trees and did not turn. “With Braeden?”
“Aye.”
The wind played across his hair, blowing overlong strands into his cobalt eyes. “Where will you go?” he asked.
“Across the ocean,” she said, “to Yemara. We’re going to pay a visit to the old orphanage where Braeden first met the High Commander. Maybe we’ll find some answers there.”
Tristan stiffened. “That’s . . . far.”
“I’ll come back,” Sam promised. “Both of us will. The war will not be over so soon.”
“I don’t suppose it will,” Tristan said. He looked at her then, really looked at her
, his gaze intent on hers. “Is this what you want, Sam? To follow a man halfway around the world on what may amount to a wild goose chase?”
“I love him,” she said simply.
Tristan responded with a single nod, and they fell back into quiet. “I could have loved you,” he said finally.
She didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to lie to him either. “In another lifetime, I could have loved you, too.” She offered him her hand. “Friends?”
Tristan stared at her extended palm. His eyes, blue and wintery, drifted up to her face. “No.” The single word shot like an icicle through her heart.
Tristan whipped around, then, and with straightened shoulders, began the long trudge back to the Beyaz Kale. His pride was wounded, not his heart, and one day he would see it.
A quarter of the way, he halted. Slowly, he turned, the frostiness in his stare melted into something else. “Ask me again when you return.”
Sam and Braeden rode out early the next morning on borrowed horses. The horses would carry them as far as Southport, and from there they would need to hire a ship with a willing captain and crew to take them across the Rheic Ocean. The horses would find their way back home, Sander had assured them.
But before they could leave Luca, a small troop of armed men blocked their exit at the east archway, where Sam had first crossed into the city months back. They weren’t Uriel; they were her father’s men.
Sam drew her horse to a halt, and Braeden brought his stallion to a stop beside hers. “What does His Grace want?” she asked the leader among them, a stocky man with a broad, red face.
The leader shifted on his mount. “He didn’t say, milady. He only said to ask you to wait here for him till he arrives.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “He asked?” The Duke of Haywood did not ask; he ordered.
“Those were his words, milady.”
Sam nudged her horse forward. “Move out of the way,” she said, “or I will make you.” She didn’t have time for her father’s nonsense. Whatever he wanted, it wouldn’t be good.