“Thank you,” she said again, voice quiet. “For everything. For helping me.” She turned to him in the dimness. “You didn’t know me, and…” Soft, breathy laughter. “Look at us now. It seems silly, but, right now, you’re all I have.”
“You have Emberthorn.”
She shot him a sour look. “That’s not funny.”
It hadn’t been meant as funny.
“Emberthorn is always… ever-so-close. I can feel him even now when separated from him. Even now, he calls to me. But…” She reached out laying a hand on Ahrn’s outstretched leg. He felt her warmth through the fabric of his cloak and pants. “…There is little warmth in his embrace.”
After a moment, she looked at her hand on his leg and it flinched away, hovering for a moment before sliding back under her cape. A part of him went with her.
“I’m sorry. I…”
“No, no need to be sorry.” He didn’t know where these words were coming from, but he no longer wished to stop them. He held out his hand from under his own cloak. “I understand.”
She smiled, her own hand emerging to take his. Then she shuffled herself over next to him, close, pushing him to one side of the crook in the oak tree. Oddly, it fit two much better than one. She lay her head on his shoulder, their joined hands between them, her body snuggled close, and that is where she drifted off to sleep.
For a moment, Ahrn struggled with his vows. Yet, nothing had happened. They were growing close, yes, but he was close with lots of women. Satisfied for the moment, he closed his eyes and found, now, the image of her face comforted him.
CHAPTER 8
Senia! Someone is coming, wake now!
Emberthorn’s call was clear and crisp in her mind, so much more than that first night, when it had seemed as if he’d been calling from a great distance.
She opened her eyes, finding her arms around Ahrn, remembering the comfort he’d offered, the warmth of his body.
Loss and sorrow surged through her, still keen-edged, but there was something fresh, something that had been blossoming over these last few days, something which was starting to soothe and dull the ache of losing her family.
Suddenly Emberthorn’s words struck home. Someone was coming. She rose quickly and, running to Emberthorn, called back to Ahrn, “Wake up!”
Every movement she made when not in contact with the sword seemed slow, moving through a dense wind or with enfeebled muscles. Also her senses were dim, the night too dark, the sounds and scents muted.
Yet as soon as her fingers touched the hilt power and strength rushed into her, and she plucked the blade easily from the ground. Her night-sight returned and everything lightened around her. A symphony of scents and sounds surrounded her: crickets keening, the tang of smoldering ash, Ahrn’s heady musk of earth and sweat.
She raised the sword, waiting, watching, listening.
Ahrn came awake. “What? Senia?” He peered around in the darkness before his eyes settled on her. “Is that you?”
“Yes, someone is coming.” As she said it, she heard them. Barely more than a rustling of the grass, but it was too regular to be the wind. Whoever it was, they wished not to be heard, nor seen. Her heart raced. This meant only one thing.
“Assassins,” she breathed.
With her next breath, they flooded out of the night, so many of them. Ahrn was up quickly. They reached him first, her a moment after.
Emberthorn cried out, enflamed by the attack, and she let him take control of her. She may not wish to kill, but ever so much more than that, she wanted to live.
Three were down around her with a quick step and a slash of the long blade. Others were moving around her.
She heard a faint sound, discordant, clicking.
She knew the sound, but it was a faint memory, Emberthorn knew it better. The crank of a crossbow.
“Ahrn, move!” she cried, and with a strength born from some as of yet unknown reserve, she launched herself high into the night. She’d been able to pinpoint the exact location of the crossbowman by the sound, and she landed many yards from where she had been, next to the man. He released his bolt too quickly, and she heard the thud of it impacting the oak tree. With a quick stroke of her blade, the archer was no longer a concern.
In the stillness between the beats of her heart, she listened intently. It was amazing. She sensed no other archers, just the one, and could locate everyone one of the attackers, sixteen remaining.
She ran, as a hunting cat rushes its prey, and pounced on a small group waiting to get close to Ahrn.
Two died with one slice, two more with the next. Again, she took a half-heartbeat to watch Ahrn fight, weaponless, using this opponents weapons and movement against them. He did not possess the preternatural senses and abilities she gained through Emberthorn, instead having spent hours upon hours for days and years practicing to achieve such fluidity and flow. She marveled at this skill.
The next moment she returned her attention to the attackers. It was a deadly dance, with Emberthorn as her partner, moving as one, beauteous in its devastation.
Something became apparent very quickly. These men had no idea how to fight a Scion. But from what Ahrn had told her, that made sense. Since no Guardians had fought on this earth for hundreds of years. No one knew how to deal with what she was. For an instant, she could understand how men must have feared the Guardians and why they rose up against them.
Another enemy fell before her as wheat before a thresher. She spun to seek more, but none were there. Ahrn was finishing with the last, the attacker’s short blade somehow reversed and thrust through his own stomach. He fell with a surprised look in his eyes.
I had forgotten the glory of righteous battle. Emberthorn sighed within her.
Still she wasn’t used to such carnage. But it only now, as the sword’s battle-fever ebbed, that it truly sunk in. Looking around at the scattered blood and gore, disgust and pity welled up within her.
She dropped to her knees, bile burning her throat. She stopped herself from being sick, but only barely. It was a moment later, when she realized that the warm ground beneath her knees was actually blood soaking into her skirt, then she was sick.
Afterwards, she rose unsteadily and staggered away into darkness. She needed to get away, someplace distant, clean and pure and where life and goodness abounded. She made it to just the other side of one of the hills around them before collapsing in tears.
That was where Ahrn found her.
He knelt next to her, laying a warm, comforting hand on her back. “Senia? Are you well?”
She shook her head.
“What can I get you?”
“Water, then away from here.”
“I’ll be right back.” He rose and walked away, and in that moment she realized what it was she had really wanted. Him simply being close to her. Now, in the cold of night, her emotions in turmoil, she wanted his warmth, his hand on her back as it had been, perhaps… more.
I don’t want to be around for that part, Emberthorn said warily.
What part?
I know what you’re thinking.
What was I thinking?
Not something I can repeat in polite company.
I hardly think you’re polite company. You just killed thirteen men. And she could remember each of them. Masked as they were, she knew not their faces, only their eyes, but each set was burned into her memory. Evil or no, they were still men, men she had killed.
Killing is one thing, but what you’re thinking is something else entirely. As I said, you can release me if that’s what you have in mind.
I still don’t know what you’re talking about.
Emberthorn gave an odd laugh. You are so very young and pure, aren’t you? You don’t even know what your own deepest desires are.
What are they?
Not my place to say, sorry.
Now you’re just being annoying.
She wasn’t quite sure how she knew, but Emberthorn was just smiling cryptically.
“Fine be that way.”
“What way? Or are you talking Emberthorn again?” Ahrn had returned. She groaned. “Here’s some water,” he said lowering a waterskin, kneeling next to her again.
She released Emberthorn, it seemed rather easy this time, perhaps it was her infuriation with him, and took the offered water.
The first sip she used to rinse out her mouth, spitting it out, and wiping her mouth. Then she took several long swigs, to refresh herself.
“Thank you.”
“Not really used to battle are you?”
“I was a normal girl before we met, remember? Where would I have gotten used to battle?”
“Understood. I’m sorry that this is being forced on you.”
She looked up at him then, eyes calm and kind. “What was your first time like?”
“I was ten.”
“By all the Gods, that young?”
He nodded. “I didn’t kill anyone in the first fight, but I broke a man’s leg. I can still remember the sound. I too was rather sick that night.”
She grimaced. “Thank you, that makes me feel a little better.”
Again his hand touched her back, this time stroking widely across her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He looked away. “This is all my fault.”
She let out a clipped, hard laugh. “You did bring Emberthorn into my village.” He tensed, his hand freezing on her back. “But you couldn’t have known what that would begin. This is not your fault Ahrn. This is Reisha of the Fates playing a game with all of us.”
He relaxed a little and resumed caressing her shoulders.
She pushed herself up from her hands and knees, sitting on her feet. She reached a hand to his face. There was a few days of beard on his chin, rough on her fingers. Again that deep feeling, which had mingled with and soothed her grief and loss, welled up within her. She felt a lump grow in her throat, tears in her eyes. Suddenly his nearness, his warmth was all that mattered to her.
“Ahrn, will you… will you hold me?” she asked around the lump in her throat.
He hesitated.
Finally, nodding, he gathered her up in strong arms, leaning her into him, her head on his shoulder. Even without Emberthorn’s advanced senses, this close, she could smell his deep scent of sweat and earth. He laid his cheek on her forehead.
“This will all be over soon. We’ll get to St. Antin Abbey, and you’ll be all right. You’ll be safe.”
After a moment, he added a soft, “hush now,” as he slowly stroked her back. She hadn’t even realized she’d been weeping again, so safe and warm she felt in his embrace.
She moved her head then, feeling the hot tears on her cheek shift direction. She tilted upward as he turned to her. So close their noses touched.
Her heart ached, longing, singing for him to be even closer still. She brushed her lips over his and felt them respond, pushing down onto hers, opening with hers, the kiss deepening an unfathomable connection.
The world faded and there was only warmth, perfection. Her heart gave itself over to the moment as everything within her joined with him. This was right, pure, filling the void within her.
She slid her arms out from her cape and under his cloak, feeling the hard muscles of his back move beneath his shirt as he shifted his arms. His soft touch caressed her hair, following its flow to her shoulder and down her back.
His eyes, golden suns, burned into her with their intensity. Her soul pulled, responded to his passion. Their faces pressed ever closer, lips wet. Her body moved of its own whim, folding into him, feeling the heat of his body as the bare fabric of their clothes brushed between them. The chill of the night was gone, there was only heat filling her from the core outward, pooling deep within and radiating to every pore.
She laid back, pulling him down onto her, their cape and cloak as entwined as their bodies. His hands molded to her, taking every sweep and curve of her body in their touch. His lips left hers and moved to her cheek, chin, neck, and lower still, his deft fingers pulling the strings on her shirt, to give him room to explore.
A moan welled up from the depths of her soul. An upheaval of grief, loss, sorrow, passion, and joy. With it everything released. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears run rivers down to her ears.
His lips froze, still pressed to the swell of a breast.
“No.”
He shuddered and drew back sharply. As he left, so went her breath, sucked from her. She arched toward him, lifting, needing his embrace. Her body strung like a fiddle, waiting to sing at his touch.
“No.” He pushed himself away, rising quickly. “I can’t.”
Air returned with a ragged, painful series of clipped gasps. Slowly, unwillingly, she laid back down, the heat and longing, the intense need burning within her, little cooled by a passing night’s breeze.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting next to her, but looking away. His voice was hoarse, torn. “I… I have vows to my God. I… I’m so sorry.” Choked, he rose quickly, striding several steps away.
Eventually, Senia steadied her breath, the intensity of the moment fading. The desire lingered, remaining, waiting, a hidden bonfire undisturbed by the raging storm of emotions around it.
She rolled to her side, collecting her cape around her. Tears gathered again, rolling down her cheeks, weeping quietly. She wouldn’t let him know her pain. He had his vows and she, for the moment, was left with nothing.
She pulled her knees up, hugging them tight, and wept silently until exhaustion took her. She sunk into dreamless oblivion which brought little release or relief.
CHAPTER 9
A hrn couldn’t sleep, though it seemed that Senia was soon resting.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected, protest, anger, tears, but he had expected something. Instead, she had quietly rolled over and gone to sleep.
His heart was torn, broken and seeping. He loved this woman who he hardly knew. He didn’t know how it was possible, but she had, within the span of a week, nearly caused him to throw away everything he held dear in his life.
The scary thing was, he still wanted to throw it all away. He wanted to go back to her, to shatter his life, his vows, and be with her.
He had thought for that brief moment she had felt the same way, that she would call him back. He would have come, given up everything. Yet she never did. So, with the passing of the chill breeze of the night, eventually his passion cooled.
He spent the night dealing with the bodies.
He remembered bits of the fight as he did, and from the remains of the bodies managed to figure out the rest. He had to admit that the battle-prowess of a Scion, even one who was untrained, was breathtaking.
It took him hours to dig a long low trench using a small spade he’d found on one of the bodies, but he didn’t mind the work. It was invigorating and took his mind off of Senia and his vows to Embreth.
As dawn began to seep into the east, he was mostly done filling in the grave. He finished as the sun rose, brilliant and clean, the sky fresh and clear.
He gathered up his pack and added a few small items, including the spade collected from The Blacklord’s men. He put together Senia’s small bundle as well and strode over the hill to where she slept, curled into a ball.
God her clothes were a mess. He hadn’t noticed, even with his extreme proximity last night. Mud and blood, so much blood, mostly long streams but some large pools, covered her in a patchwork.
He did not wake her but sat by her instead. He gazed upon her as the first rays of sun brushed her hair and cheek. The light brought out the red and shimmers of blond in her hair, her cheek, blushed and perfect, her lips…
He turned away.
He couldn’t even look at her now without feeling the passion rekindle. So instead, he watched the light spread over the countryside. The morning was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the woman behind him he could no longer even think of without flames licking his already burned heart.
Somehow he couldn’
t enjoy the splendor around him that day. He looked up at the sky and asked his God why she couldn’t have given him a dark and gray day to match his mood, to remind him of Her and his vows… his infernal vows.
He grew more restless as the morning wore on and had worked himself into a foul mood by the time Senia woke.
Silent, she rose and retrieved Emberthorn and her own belongings.
They left.
As they walked through the morning, Senia was cool, distant. He couldn’t blame her, but it did little to help his dark thoughts.
Late morning found them entering a stretch of woods, and shortly after noon they came to a river cutting through the forest. The road crossed the burbling waters at a shallow point, no more than a foot or two deep.
They ate a meager lunch at the ford, then Senia muttered something about needing to bathe and clean her clothes. She followed the river down and around a bend out of sight.
Since they had seen no other traffic on this road, which was now little more than a path winding northward, Ahrn saw no need to wander off to do the same thing. He stripped down, washing his shirt, pants, and cloak, setting them on a branch, which caught the sun, to dry. He splashed water over himself, trying as best he could with raw hands to scrub the dirt and sweat away. Then he dried himself with a small rag in his pack and tended to a few small wounds he’d taken last night, binding them tightly. He used the reflection in the water to shave as best he could then dressed in a second set of rough brown shirt and pants, his only other set of clothes.
He was just beginning to wonder what was taking Senia so long, when a high crisp scream echoed through the woods from her direction.
He sprinted, leaping roots, branches tearing at him, splashing through the banks of the river where no path in the forest was clear, to the bend in the river… and stopped, stiff.
There she was, naked, hip-deep in the river. The water, like a low-slung dress, flirted with the curve of her buttocks and played around the tops her legs. He drew his eyes upwards, over slender waist, high round breasts, long slender arms, and elegant neck, meeting her eyes as she noticed him.
The Last Scion (The Guardians of Light Book 1) Page 5