by Tenaya Jayne
Martia narrowed her eyes at Netriet. "Merick is Tek's oldest and best friend, but he's very private. He'll have to tell you those kinds of things."
Netriet backpedaled quickly. She didn't want to seem overly interested in Merick. "Of course. So, the Aluka Circle—what do they do besides create converts?"
Martia shook her head sadly. "They're terrorists... Awful, unspeakable crimes." She shivered. "So many innocents have died… It's a 'join us or die' kind of thing. Forest will track them all down, have no fear."
"You seem very dedicated to her."
"All of us are, dear… Bless her, she's the reason I finally have a real house. All this change here at the Fair is her doing. We are now recognized as a legitimate town. And we have no fear of being punished for past offenses against us."
"She pardoned you all?" Incredulity crept into her voice. "I hope you'll forgive me, I too have a price on my head, but a blanket pardon seems a little…crooked."
To her surprise, Martia laughed. "Nothing about Forest is crooked. It would go against the very fabric of her personality. Now, she dabbled in some shady business with Tek before she became Hailemarris, it's true, but not abusing her power is everything to her now."
"So how?"
"She reviewed everyone's cases. Those of us that were outlaws, one by one. Some charges were trumped, those were cleared. She did arrest Simon, actually. He'll be out and about again soon enough. He didn't even mind that much. But it was the status she officially gave the Fair that protects all of us and those who come here. We are a City of Refuge. We screen those we let in to our community. If they pass, they are protected and can live in peace so long as they don't leave. Of course, anyone can leave at any time, but once outside the community, they will no longer have the Fair's special protection."
"I'm not sure I really understand."
"You will, if you remain."
"Am I to be 'screened'?"
"Of course. But since we are having a party tonight, it will have to wait until the morning."
She thought about it for a second, contemplating. The world she was sent away from, to Philippe, had been reconstructed. Christiana's court no longer existed. Her death sentence might no longer stand. She needed to figure out who she wanted to be now. Was she Netriet? Or was she Nettie? All at once, the nickname Philippe had given her felt disgusting. Why had she ever used it? So long as the shadow lived in her, she couldn't go home to Halussis, but she didn't need to hide her identity.
Stupid. These people will never be your real friends. Don't tell her who you are.
Netriet clenched her teeth together, refraining from answering the shadow.
"Netriet. My real name is Netriet, not Nettie."
Martia leaned back in her chair and smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Netriet."
She exhaled raggedly. The adrenaline required to say her own name began to slide away.
"Will you be our guest tonight? The bed in our spare room is wonderfully comfy."
The shadow writhed with panic.
"I'd love to."
****
Merick acted as he always did. He talked reservedly to his friends about nothing, politics, nothing, the upcoming bazaar, and more nothing, before the group began chanting his name over and over, to persuade him to juggle for them. He obliged, taking up the pile of daggers people laid at his feet. He moved into the center, everyone giving him room before he began tossing the blades into the air in basic columns, getting the feel of them in his hands, before shifting the pattern into a reverse cascade. The crowd clapped and loudly egged him on until he upped the danger and began backcrosses. All the while, his mind was on Nettie. His heart had held nervously still after he'd told her to go around the front, afraid she would climb over the wall and never come back. But she did, and Martia swept her away. He was pretty sure she wouldn't reject Martia's hospitality. He would let her be for a few days, maybe. The bazaar was coming. How could he watch over her with all that chaos? Would she run away?
Her lips dominated his mind. Save me…Save me…
He'd promised he would. How was he supposed to do that? Why did he want to? Why did she matter? She was broken. There was something wrong with her, something wrong inside her. She looked the way he felt. His mind drifted away from the here and now. His eyes drifted out of focus as the metal he juggled flashed the firelight over and over on his face.
Save me…Save me…
"Give it up, Merick," someone muttered as they walked by him, bringing him back to reality. Everyone was gone. The bonfire was languishing, the night growing cold. And he was still tossing blades in the air, his mind gone on autopilot, and the time had slipped away. He stopped and left the blades in a pile, feeling sheepish.
Merick walked to his tent, trying to recapture the contentment he'd had just the day before. He sat on his cot and put his head in his hands, still plagued by her lips. Damn, he wanted a taste. The desire bemused him. No one had made him want all these years since Geanna died, no one. He'd been through hell, spilled the blood of vengeance, and lived in the quiet sadness of his memories, but deep down he was still much of the same man he'd always been. He'd always taken action when he felt the urge or necessity.
Merick stood and walked back out into the night, unsure what action he planned to take but unable to deny there was definitely an urge.
****
Netriet couldn't sleep. She'd slept too long in Merick's bed to be sleepy now. Martia had been right about the comfort of the guest bed, but not even that coupled with her large dinner could make her tired. She stood, the hem of the borrowed nightgown falling down over her toes, and looked out the little window. Clouds smeared the moonlight. The wind sighed, and so did she. It seemed as though the shadow slept. Netriet had never had that feeling before. It was silent.
Netriet inhaled sharply. He was out there. She didn't hear anything, see anything—she just knew. He summoned her with nothing but the inherent knowledge of desire. She followed his silent call, down the stairs and out into the night without making a sound.
Her dark eye found him quickly, a short distance away, standing in the middle of a clutch of trees. She walked steadily to him, his gaze holding her again in the silence, only now it wasn't warm like before. It was hot, smoke, flame, and fever. She came within arm's reach and stopped. She opened her mouth then closed it again. Words were redundant. Everything about him spoke clearly. I want.
A low growl rumbled in his throat before he reached out, wrapped his arm around the back of her waist, and pulled her against him. She looked into his eyes for one second, and then he leaned down and took her mouth.
Merick's kiss wasn't hard, hurried, or clumsy. It was perfect. It was perfect until he ran his tongue across one of his fangs and she tasted his blood. If such things really were a battleground between men and women, in that one move, Merick won. Netriet hadn't tasted blood since the night she’d killed Philippe. Merick's blood tasted so good, full, and sweet, she wanted, needed more right now.
****
Oh, yes, hell yes! Merick thought as he kissed her. He hadn't expected her to just yield to him and then give back like she did. He savored, in no hurry for anything else at all. She pushed against him until she backed him into a tree. Now captive, she climbed him and sank her fangs hard into his neck. He was frozen in shock for a moment. Whoa! That's not really what I had in mind but…all right.
Her mouth pulled so hard, Merick became dizzy. Her mouth found his again, and she strained against him, desperate and begging to be touched. What had he done to make her so crazy? She was trying to eat him alive. Her passion excited him, but it also rattled. Being pinned against a tree by a woman was hardly his style. He switched their positions and sank his teeth into her neck.
She gave a little cry and put her feet back on the ground, digging her fingers into the back of his hair. The first taste of her blood was sweet, but the aftertaste came quick, inky toxic, almost burnt. He wouldn't have swallowed, but it was too late. Then came the lau
gh. Faint like a whisper, someone or something laughed mockingly from inside him. From her blood. Shocked and scared, Merick pulled away from her. She came after him, clinging.
"Stop, Nettie…stop…slow down." He held her back.
She panted, and the dark in her strange eye moved and grew new tendrils. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"What's wrong? You tell me." He watched her eye move and change.
Abruptly, she shoved away from his hands, took a step to the side, and wrapped her arm around herself as though cold. She closed her eyes, her face pained. Inner turmoil played on her face before she snapped her gaze back on him, accusing and cold.
"Why did you come here tonight? Why did you kiss me like that if you didn't want me?"
Didn't want her? It had all been wonderful for one minute, now it was ruined beyond repair. What could he say? It was a mistake? Before she attacked him, she'd rocked him. Her sweetness sparked life into his atrophied heart. But now, he couldn't admit she scared him. He wouldn't. He needed to figure out what the hell was really going on with her, and until he did, he was too scared to touch her again. Whatever possessed her might possess him. Safer to cover it. When in doubt, act like a bastard.
He shrugged and crossed his arms. "You said I had no bite."
Her look of shock turned to embarrassment and then slowly shifted into cool rage. She took another step away from him. "Well, you sure showed me."
He watched her run back to Tek and Martia's house, hating himself.
Chapter Five
The crossed swords over Forest's head bore down. She pushed back with all her strength on the broadsword she held. The metal slid and scraped together. Her muscles shook. Sweat began to run down her back.
"Come on!"
With the last of everything she had, she cried out, a guttural yell, gritted her teeth, and pushed again against her attacker's blades. He was too strong. Dropping to the ground, she kicked out, sweeping his feet out from under him. She approached him, kicking his blades away. Forest pointed her sword at his neck, placing one foot on either side of him.
"It's not working," he said.
She thrust the sword into the ground next to his head. "Don't I know it."
He reached up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down on him.
"Thanks for trying, again," Forest said, leaning down and kissing Syrus on the mouth.
"When you find the right sword, you won't have to go for cheap shots."
She nipped at his bottom lip. "I wouldn't be alive if I didn't fight dirty, love."
"So what's next?"
She laughed darkly. "I've gone through every new blade you've brought me. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying this."
"Of course I am! You've been working so much I don't get to see you as much as I want to. And playing around with swords in our garden brings back memories." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You know what memories."
She kissed him again, deeper. She knew what memories. "I'm so blessed to have you. Swordplay makes you hot."
He gave her ass a slap. "Swordplay with you makes me hot," he corrected.
She laughed and moved to get up. He grabbed her as he stood and whisked her into the house.
"It's my day off, not yours. I thought you had a meeting this morning?" she protested.
"It can wait. The whole world can wait."
****
Forest padded around in her robe for a while after Syrus finally left for work; he had all but rendered her totally useless for the rest of the day. She brewed coffee and contemplated her weapon problem. Losing her silver sword had felt like the death of an old friend, but now she was almost happy to be parted from it. It was tied to the pain of the past. She remembered the time and effort it took to make the blade, and its sole purpose: to kill Leith. Oh, she'd used it to inflict pain and death on more than a few vampires, but she never did hit her target. Syrus killed Leith. She wasn't really sorry his death hadn't been by her hand. She had rescued Syrus once; Syrus rescued her in return.
Forest put her hand on her stomach where Leith had stabbed her. She didn't think it meant anything, but sometimes she could still feel Syrus' electric healing power inside her body. It intensified when they made love. She wouldn't ever complain about that. It was fabulous.
She sipped her coffee and sighed. She needed to think about a new sword, but her mind wouldn't pull itself away from Syrus. After a few more minutes, she began to realize she wasn't just mooning over her love. He had the answer to her problem.
She dressed quickly and casually and used her personal portal to send herself to the Obsidian Mountain. Being the Sanguine's mate gave her the ability to go the mountain without invitation, but all the masters grumbled anyway whenever she showed up. It amused her. Menfolk and their little club secrets. She wasn't a vampire, and thus could never be a master, but she'd studied the Blood Kata, along with every other fighting style in existence. There was nothing done on the mountain that she didn't understand on some level.
She dropped into the mountain's portal chambers, kept by the ogre, Len. Huge and scary looking, Len smiled at her and jerked his head in a little bow.
"Nice to see you, Forest. The masters are doing forms right now."
"Gotcha. What do you think they'd do if I jumped into the middle and joined them?"
Len barked out a laugh. "Are you going to? I have to see that if you do."
"I was just kidding, but now, I think I have to."
She turned invisible and walked up the rock steps to the wide-open space where the masters, both accomplished and novice, moved in sync from their hands and feet down to their breathing. Syrus was leading them, his back to her. She knew there was no way she could sneak up on him. He felt her wherever she went. He continued leading the group without missing a beat until she slid up behind him and pinched his butt.
"Hey, sexy," she whispered in his ear. "Don't lose concentration."
Before he could turn on her, she darted away and maneuvered through the group, taking a spot right in the middle. Syrus smiled as she made herself visible again, mirroring his movements as everyone else did.
To their shame, it took ten seconds before anyone noticed her. Pandemonium ensued. The masters closest to her shouted in surprise and attacked without thinking or realizing who it was. She turned invisible again, ducking the punches flying at her, causing one master to hit another in the face. Shouts of confusion rose up from the masters around the edge of the group who hadn't seen Forest at all. She jabbed one in the chin with her elbow, sending him flailing backward. He roared and charged in her general direction. The entire group rushed around her like a mob. She picked her target, kicking him in the gut hard enough to send him falling into the master next to him, who tripped into the next… The entire hoard fell like bowling pins, leaving Forest standing in the center. She made herself visible again.
Syrus' commanding shout drew everyone's attention. "The lot of you are a complete disgrace! An unseen enemy came into your midst and routed you all in one move! You call yourselves masters? Every one of you will spend the rest of the morning in meditation. Now get out of my sight!"
"Yes, sir," they all mumbled, shooting her mutinous looks as they left the room.
Forest walked slowly up to Syrus. His face was stony, his arms crossed. When the sounds of shuffling feet and slamming doors died out, a small smirk pulled at the side of his mouth, then he snorted and laughed out loud. He grabbed Forest around the waist and kissed her hard on the mouth.
"That was hilarious, but don't do it again."
"Sorry, Len egged me on. I couldn't help myself." Forest looked around and spotted Len peeking around the corner, tears of mirth running down his rough cheeks. "Did you see that?"
"I sure did!" he chortled. "I appreciate your mate, Master Sanguine. She makes things interesting around here."
"Disruptive minx is what she is," Syrus grumbled.
Len chuckled more and went back to his post. Syrus took Forest to his apartments and
shut the door behind them.
"I'm sure you have a good reason for coming here and ruining my class?"
"Sorry," she said lightly. "I came here for my new sword."
"What?"
"I had a brainstorm after you left this morning. A normal sword isn't going to be good enough for me against this new enemy. I need something special, and I need to make it myself. But I want your help."
Syrus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Thank you. It means a great deal to me that you want my help."
The emotion in his voice sent her into his arms. She nestled against his chest. "I need you…" Her tone was soft and intimate. "I need you to protect me."
"You know I will."
"I know. What you don't know is, I'm going to let you."
Syrus grunted. "Huh. We'll see if you stick to that. I'm going to remind you what you said."
"Oh, I'm taking this threat seriously. I need a weapon stronger than my last. I thought if I could take some of the mountain… Would that be okay?"
Syrus frowned and ran one of his fingers over his lips thoughtfully. "That's quite an idea. I certainly don't have a problem with it. I'm sure Ithiel won't either. You're wanting the glass, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Syrus continued to frown for a moment before he nodded, and his eyes went bright. "No one has ever tried to weaponize it before. It's brilliant, Forest!"
"I was hoping I could take my time, find the right piece?"
"I'll keep everyone out of your way."
Forest wasn't sure what she was doing at first. She walked slowly around the walls, touching every place the obsidian glass broke through the black matte rock. The power of the mountain vibrated through its core like sound waves in a pitch impossible to hear. When she found it, she knew it. The jagged glass sliced her finger as she ran her hand over it. The small cut burned like she'd rubbed poison into it.
She closed her eyes and placed both her palms flat against the black glass. Power slid up over her skin to her forearms. She absorbed it. Concentrating, she attempted to will something of herself back into the rock, as though she might be able to commune with it in some way. Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. She didn't know. She imagined the lines of the blade she would create from the hunk of glass. One thin vein snaked through the center, reminding her of a bolt of lightning.