Blake reached out and grasped Katrina by the shoulders, her eyes wild as her chest heaved with each deep breath. “Katrina,” soothed Blake in an attempt to calm her down. “Listen to me. You’re acting crazy.”
Katrina felt her sanity slipping, and indeed, she was crazed. The one thing she wanted more than anything in this world, they were trying to take from her.
“You bastard, I hate you,” Katrina started striking Blake with all her might, all the pain and anger she had smothered since their meeting on the island surfacing in an all-consuming rage. She could no longer distinguish between emotions as they all jumbled together inside her in a ball of fire.
Blake carefully fended off her blows and he recalled John’s words: “She is like a wild animal, wounded …” Indeed, Blake saw the pain and anger, the hatred spilling from her like blood from a wound.
“Katrina — please understand. I can’t let you do this. I could not bear it if you were hurt.”
She twisted free and turned on Blake. “You’ve hurt me in every way you possibly could — I can take no more. Tell me, what is it you want? Last time we met, you wanted to kill me. Which is it? Kill me — or love me? Am I your whore — or your lover?”
Blake tried to step toward her, but Katrina picked up an object and hurled it through the air at him. “Control yourself — you’re hysterical.”
“No,” Katrina shook her head back and forth in denial, a strange smile twisting her lips. “I am anything but hysterical. I am furious — so much so I can hardly bear it. I am hurting — not from the bruises and cuts, but from the terrible hatred inside me. I hate Langsford!”
Her agony was so apparent, Blake grew uncertain of what to do or say. “I know you hate him, little one. It is only natural after what he has done to you.”
Katrina felt light-headed and hot. Her voice rasped hoarsely as she shook and stammered. “This hate inside me … it is evil … I know. But it’s powerful and consuming … possessing me. For ten long years, the memories have haunted me.”
She closed her eyes as if to block out the visions before her and continued to whisper, “The nightmares … they’re so real … there is no peace … no silence.”
In a trance, she opened her eyes, glazed and unseeing. “I can hear my mother crying,” Katrina put her hands over her ears as if to block out the noise, but the noises inside her head deafened her.
Dry-eyed, she stared, beseeching them to understand. “Dear God — I cannot wipe the memory from my mind. Every detail, I, I can smell it. Did you know death has a smell? I can feel the warm stickiness of my father’s blood on me … turning my white party dress red … seeping through to my skin …”
Katrina fell silent and stared forlornly at her hands, as if seeing the blood staining them. When she continued, her whispered words were so soft David and Blake could barely hear them.
“I remember the fear … I ran as fast as I could, just as I promised my mother. I ran until I thought my lungs would burst … but someone came after me. He found me and I had nowhere to go. Like a giant, he stood over me … his sword raised in the air … I knew I was going to die. I was afraid … but, so was he.” Katrina paused as her mind flashed back. “It was so strange … suddenly, all my fear vanished. I wasn’t afraid any longer, of him or of dying.”
She drew a ragged, weary breath and pushed the hair from her face. “I no longer have fear inside me; he stole it from me that night. Just as I’ve had no tears since to ease my pain. There is only hate. Blake, I cannot live with it any longer — it will destroy me.”
“I won’t let it destroy you, little one.” Blake was tremendously shaken by what he witnessed, his own heart tormented by her pain.
Silence engulfed the room and Katrina stared into the fire. Blake said nothing more, unable to find the right words. David left the lodge to give them time alone.
Confused and aggravated by his ineptness, Blake turned away and looked out the window, unseeing into the darkness. Immersed in his own tortured thoughts, he was unaware of Katrina’s movements. Silently, she lifted a piece of wood from the pile near her and crossed to stand behind Blake. She brought the stick down on his head.
Blake crumpled to the floor and Katrina knelt beside his unconscious form. “I’m sorry. But no one can stop me. Not even you.”
Acting quickly, she dragged him into another small room, tied him up and carefully placed a rag in his mouth. Within minutes, David entered the outer room.
“He’s coming, Blake. I see the signal John’s cousins were going to light when Langsford passed by.”
Looking about, David called out again, “Katrina — Blake?”
Katrina ran into the room and cried, “Quick, David, he has hurt himself.”
David ran into the dark room and Katrina stepped up behind him, a pistol to his back. “I am sorry, David. But you give me no choice.”
Seeing Blake’s still form, David realized what Katrina was doing. “You must not do this, Katrina.”
“It is what I have to do. There is no other way.”
He turned his head to look into her darkened eyes and asked, “You wouldn’t shoot me, would you, Katrina?”
“I wouldn’t kill you, my friend, but I would shoot you. I’m sorry, but my need for revenge is much stronger than anything. Langsford is coming and I will be the only one waiting for him. I will not be denied.”
“It is wrong,” he argued.
“No. It is right — so very right,” cried Katrina. She raised the pistol and delivered a sharp blow to the back of David’s neck, sending him into oblivion.
“It is time, Langsford.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
KATRINA WAITED PATIENTLY IN the shadows, alert and ready. She could hear some scuffling in the other room and knew Blake and David were awake, and most likely, fuming. By the time they freed themselves, it would be too late.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged and heavy. She could feel the beat of her heart in her head, a strong, steady rhythm, loud and constant. Suddenly, she heard a noise and her heart fluttered; her eyes flew open. A shadow moved across the window, silently stealing its way to the entrance in the dark. The door slowly creaked open and Lawrence edged into the lodge, pistol in hand. By the light of the fire, he spotted the bed and stealthily walked across to the sleeping figure.
Langsford pointed his weapon at who he thought to be Katrina Easton and poked at the lump beneath the blankets.
“Looking for me?”
Katrina stepped out from the shadows, her own gun leveled at his back. He stiffened and cautiously turned to face her, his hands reaching into the air when he spotted her weapon.
“Where are your men? You usually travel well escorted,” sneered Katrina.
Lawrence’s eyes were dark and ominous, his lips set in a thin, grim line. His jaw muscle twitching in barely suppressed fury and his voice echoed it clearly. “I wanted the pleasure of killing you myself, bitch.”
“So, you thought to catch me asleep. Perhaps dreaming sweet dreams? What a pity — each and every attempt failed because of your obtuse mistakes, Langsford. “
Katrina’s voice was sharp and sarcastic, nettling Lawrence’s anger further.
“What mistakes?”
“First of all, I don’t dream sweet dreams anymore.” She walked forward, her pistol steady, her voice deadly calm. The shadows from the fire danced around her, keeping her face hidden. “I only have nightmares — nightmares of the night you murdered my parents. You do remember, don’t you?”
Katrina baited Lawrence. He gritted his teeth and answered her question, his eyes evil and dangerous as he played her game. “Yes, it was one of my better moments, until you suddenly appeared from the dead. Not once, but twice. What kind of witch are you, Katrina? You have proven difficult to kill.”
“I’ll not die with a sword in my back, not like my mother. And unlike my father, I know better than to trust you.” Katrina’s voice literally resounded with disgust a
nd hate.
“Your father was a fool — weak and honest. But, Camray was his, until I took it from him — and from you.”
Lawrence looked nervous under the point of her gun, sweat popping out on his forehead and upper lip.
“And now,” Katrina smiled wickedly. “I am taking it back. Camray will be mine again, as it should be.”
“You bitch,” hissed Lawrence. “It should have been Randolph’s, but you killed him.”
Katrina laughed, “Just like I am going to kill you.”
Fear stirred within him as he stared down the barrel of her pistol. “So, you are going to shoot me. Seems rather cold-blooded of you.”
“I am not in the habit of slaughtering helpless people — that’s your game, not mine. Put your gun on the table — over there.”
Lawrence did as told and put the gun down. “What now?”
“You and I — we have a score to settle, but I’ve waited too long for it to end quickly, with the pull of a trigger. No, I want to see your fear as I drain your life away, bit by bit.” Katrina’s pulse raced wildly, power surged through her, giving her uncommon strength and control. “You have a sword — defend yourself.”
Katrina set her gun aside and drew her own blade.
“You’re insane,” Lawrence did the same and for the first time saw the vicious glint in her dark steel-blue eyes. Katrina’s casual, uncaring smile unnerved him more.
“Perhaps,” Nimbly, she lunged forward, catching Lawrence off guard. She neatly sliced several buttons from his coat and brought her blade across his cheek, drawing blood. Surprise and anger twisted his face as he dabbed at the drops oozing down his chin with his coat sleeve.
“Bitch,” Lawrence spit; his anger surged forth. “You stupid bitch! I am going to kill you, just as I should have long ago. I should have never depended on others to rid me of your presence.”
“Yes, another mistake,” goaded Katrina.
“Well, I shall rectify my error right now,” yelled Lawrence as he charged at her, out of control.
His blows fell with full strength on Katrina, striking again and again. She toyed with him by holding back, allowed him to think she was on the defensive, barely able to keep up her guard. She intended to draw it out, to enjoy the elation of her ultimate revenge to the fullest extent.
“You should have shot me when you had the chance — now you will die.” Lawrence smiled, confident of his swordsmanship. But when he pressed his advantage, a strange sensation touched him when deadly, calm blue eyes faced him. There was no fear or desperation, only cold-blooded calculation. “I must admit, girl, you do handle a sword well. I am surprised, but unfortunately for you, your ability is not enough.”
With a smug smile, Lawrence made his move to disarm and kill his opponent, but in an instant found himself outmaneuvered. Deft and lightning swift, Katrina turned the tables on him, and he found himself besieged by a hell-cat.
“Another mistake,” Katrina said. “You underestimate me, again and again.”
Her sword was quick and accurate, slicing, hacking, drawing bits of blood from his flesh. Slowly and deliberately, Katrina slashed over and over. Lawrence backed up against her onslaught, but she continued to attack, untiring, her strength fueled by the hatred he saw on her face.
Her physical abilities shocked Lawrence; her slender arm wielded the sword expertly, never showing signs of weariness. He clumsily defended himself and true terror pricked his weary mind. His arm grew heavy but she continued to dominate; cutting him at every turn. Like a deadly snake, her blade struck, hissing as it incised the air. Sweat rolled into his eyes and his breathing grew ragged, lungs burning with each gasp. Death threatened, looming closer with each calculated blow.
“What’s the matter, Langsford?” taunted Katrina, her ever-present smile widening. “Getting tired?”
Her sword came down on his left arm, gouging deep to the bone, rendering it useless. Numb, Lawrence could only stare at her in disbelief.
“You are going to die, you bastard, inch by inch.” Promptly, she brought her blade around and scored his leg cruelly. “I gave my word to my dying father I would kill you … and tonight I will finally be free of that promise.”
Again, she drew blood, and Lawrence’s attempts to defend himself were futile. Katrina continued her deadly game and seeing the end near, she disarmed him. He slumped to his knees, covered in blood, the tip of her blade at his throat.
“Oh, God,” Lawrence blubbered. “Don’t kill me, Katrina — please, I beg you, I don’t want to die.”
Having finally freed themselves, Blake and David broke through the bolted door. Blake took in the scene, Langsford groveling at Katrina’s feet. He spoke to her, drawing her attention for a brief second. “Katrina, look at him. You’ve won — isn’t that enough?”
Katrina looked down at Langsford. He continued to cry and beg for mercy.
“Shut up,” she screamed, the sight of him sickened her. “Die like a man!”
David and Blake eased toward her. “Don’t kill him, Katrina,” Blake said. “Look at him — he’s not worth killing.”
Blake’s words had no effect on her, so David tried to get through. “We heard every word. He will hang for the murder of your parents. What more do you want?”
“No,” Katrina cried out. “I want to kill him myself. That is what I want.”
David inched nearer. “Let the law do it. There has been enough killing, Katrina.”
In a second, Blake stood next to her, his hand clamping onto hers. Their eyes met and Katrina whispered hoarsely. “No … please. He deserves to die.”
Blake forced the sword away from Lawrence’s neck, and he crumpled to the floor trembling, his sobs loud in the silent room. “He is pitiful, little one. Leave him be.”
Katrina turned and walked away, leaving Blake standing near Langsford. She was tired. For the first time, she realized a tremendous pain shot across her back and blood soaked her shirt from the newly opened wounds. Lawrence’s sniveling disgusted her and she glanced his way.
Terror struck her when Lawrence’s hand reached for the pistol he had discarded earlier, Blake’s unguarded back to him. Katrina reacted just as Lawrence brought the loaded pistol up.
“Blake,” she screamed, fear scorching her mind. She shoved Blake out of the way the same second the gun fired. The bullet ripped into her shoulder as she thrust her sword straight out with the last of her strength. The blade plunged deep, piercing Langsford’s heart. Katrina stood in front of him as he slithered lifeless to the floor.
No one moved. Katrina continued to gaze at the dead man; the other two men in shock at what they had just witnessed. Blake was the first to move, realizing with astounding clarity she had just saved his life. He touched her shoulder tenderly. “Katrina.”
She did not acknowledge his presence. “Katrina, it’s over. It’s all right now.”
Katrina continued to stare, her lips moving soundlessly; finally forming intelligible words. “He knows … see … he is smiling because he knows.”
Glancing down at her feet, a chill rushed over Blake, for indeed, Lawrence Langsford smiled, blood trickling from his gaping mouth. He looked back at Katrina, alarmed by the paleness of her face. Gently, he turned her to face him. “What does he know?”
Katrina swallowed and licked her lips, her mouth dry. “He knows he has killed me, too.”
Fear pricked Blake’s mind as he looked into empty blue eyes, and taking her by the shoulders to question her further, he stopped, horrified. Beneath his hand he felt the warm, dark blood, and glancing down, he saw the wound in her shoulder.
“He has killed me,” Katrina repeated before she collapsed into his arms.
Blake lifted her and cried, “No, Katrina. I won’t let you die.” Desperately he hugged her to him and kissed her softly. “I won’t let you die.”
KATRINA OPENED HER EYES, unaware any time had passed, conscious only of the pain in her shoulder, shooting down her arm and across her chest. Blake remov
ed her bloodied shirt with care, but a moan escaped her lips with the movement of her arm.
Confused, she looked about and focused on Meg’s worried face.
“’Tis all right, honey,” cooed Meg. “We will take good care of you, so don’t you be worryin’ ’bout anythin’.”
After Katrina passed out at the cabin, Blake bundled her up and rode like a demon out of hell to the village, rousing Meg and her family. When Katrina’s eyes moved back to Blake, she noticed the lines of worry etched on his pale, drawn face, his eyes bloodshot and tired. She continued to study him as he washed the blood from her and cleansed her wounded shoulder, his touch gentle on her tender skin.
“B-Blake,” Katrina’s voice cracked, her throat dry and parched. Her bloody finger reached out to touch his cheek.
Blake grasped her hand in his and whispered, “What is it, little one?”
“Why did …? Katrina stopped, pain shooting through her, scorching its way to her dulled mind. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Catching her breath, she swallowed hard and tried again, aware of Blake’s intense golden gaze watching her. “Why … did you follow me?”
A fever had taken hold and perspiration covered Katrina’s face, its fire burning through her. Fear pried its way into Blake’s mind, past the agony of watching her suffer from intense pain, her face frail and tortured. Katrina had lost a tremendous amount of blood and grew weaker by the minute. He wiped her forehead and answered her question. “I have a lot of explaining to do, Katrina, but it will have to wait until you are better. David has gone to get a doctor and will be here soon. It’s best you sleep now.”
Katrina reached up and pulled Blake closer, her lips seeking his in a frail kiss and whispered softly, “I love you, Blake … even when I wanted to hate you, I loved you.”
Her strength gone, Katrina eyes fluttered shut, the darkness closing in on her, Blake’s words distant and vague. “Sleep, little one — sleep. I will be here when you wake up. I promise.”
“Where the hell have you been?” grumbled Blake when David walked into the room. He stopped halfway across the floor when he realized David came in alone.
Angel in Black Page 35