She took a step back, mouth opening to stammer out her groveling apologies. No! The steady voice was not her own.
Maximilian’s eyebrows inched up as he heard the unspoken words, too. He smiled, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking just over her shoulder.
I have chosen. My champion stands before you and still you hinder her path? You are fortunate I like you, musician. Stand down and let me have her. The woman’s voice vibrated in the back of Ursa’s head. She sounded youthful, but with a definite edge of command.
Spinning, Ursa followed the man’s gaze to the case. There sat Victorious, in her cage.
A swell of relief washed over her, and cool green filled her head, blotting out everything for a moment. She smelled fresh grass and what she imagined the fragrance of sunlight would be. Safe! Safe! Safe! It wasn’t words exactly, but the sense of protection and security.
Maximilian laughed heartily at the reaction. “Well, I have been properly scolded!”
The sword shimmered as though light ran down the dark steel. It projected relief that Ursa was there. It was ready to be taken off the satin pillow. Ready to be worn! Ready to sing and dance.
When Ursa started forward, he reached out a hand and covered her shoulder to stop her. “You are fearless. This is serious, Ursa Myller. Do you not question the responsibility and price that will come with this sword?”
With an effort, she pulled her eyes off the blade and focused on the big man. “What?”
He chuckled. “You have no idea. Take care, Ursa. Do you really want to take this step? It will change everything.”
“Does Beatrix have the responsibility now?” Ursa asked, forcing herself to question.
“Ah. No. She obtained the sword and it never properly changed hands.” His voice was flat; she saw the meaning between his words. Obtained. An interesting term for taking it by deceit. He’d chosen his comfort and turned a blind eye, as he always did with his wife. Easier to avoid Beatrix’s wrath and keep the peace than do what was right and earn years of torment from her.
He looked away, raking a hand through his hair as Ursa processed the information.
“I can’t even pretend to know what it’s like. You must have—”
“Don’t use your compassion on me, messenger,” he said in a heavy voice. “I…don’t think I can stand it right now. Please. Leave me to my guilt for what I’ve done. That sword is not a toy or a trinket. Beatrix keeps it to control the flow of communication. She thought it would force Guntram to come home.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured softly.
“That much is obvious.”
If you please, the sword thrummed impatiently. She comes.
“If you take the sword, there is no going back.” He moved to the case and drew the keys from his pocket and fitted it to the lock.
“It might not even work with me. I’m just human. I’m normal. I’m—”
The delight from the sword swelled through her. No. Not normal. Extraordinary, champion. You have an untouched reservoir of ability. Not a single rough diamond, but a mine waiting to be properly tapped.
Ursa laughed aloud at the absurdity of that idea. “Me?” She glanced around, expecting to see her friends pop out and reveal the gag. Reality crashing in brought a sting to her eyes. She stuttered out her apology, old Ursa taking over.
The green light filled her head, brightening until it turned golden. You are safe with me. I am safe with you. Free me, messenger. I will let none harm you and yours, night-huntress. You may pass me to the next champion if you must, but…do not leave me here! I beg you.
The glass case opened. Maximilian reached in to draw out the scabbard and belt, quirking a smile at her shocked expression. “The choice is yours.”
The green stone gleamed fiercely, and she sensed the sword pulling toward her. Adventure awaited her, but terror gripped Ursa’s domesticated heart. Her choice? What did she know about such things?
Even with those choose-your-own-adventure books, Ursa always picked the careful path. The story would end before it even began. The would-be hero went home instead of setting out to complete the journey. She regarded the giant with his life of comfort and safety. Caged and fettered, his wings clipped, if not crippled, and his heart frozen. Was that how she wanted to live?
Beatrix was coming.
“Okay,” she blurted, smothering the screaming panic with raw determination. She snatched up the elaborately tooled belt and scabbard, fumbling with them.
“Put it on.” He chuckled and helped her, his experienced hands deft with the heavy leather. A poignant smile curled his lips. “I haven’t done this since Gun was a little boy. I know what you’re thinking, it seems obvious, but no one will see her if she doesn’t want them to. Too tight?”
“Sword space?” she whispered, feeling unbalanced with the belt over her expensive dress. His brows drew together in question, but she shook her head and waved a hand. “Never mind.” It was insanity to imagine no one was going to see the wide belt and elaborate sheath.
He reached in and drew the sword off the pillow, muscles cording with the effort it cost to lift it. The weapon was not only heavy, but also much larger than she’d expected. Even his enormous hands struggled with it. It made an angry sound, like a kettle boiling over at being touched.
Get your filthy hands off of me!
“Easy, Victorious. Let me hand you over properly.” Maximilian smiled grimly, using both hands to heft the weapon. Knuckles white, he gripped it as though it fought against him. His voice sounded strained as he said formally, “I, Maximilian Roswald Engel the third, hereby witness the selection of Ursa Myller as the rightful wielder of Victorious, first sword of champions. By the blood of my mother, I usurp the authority of Beatrix Camille Adler-Engel, and sever the illegitimate bonds forged by treachery.” With an effort he shifted his hold of the weapon, grasping the rippled edge of the blade, ignoring the cuts he earned as though the blood were part of the ritual.
Witnessed! the sword sang. Her voice trembled with joy as both words and blood released it from the wrongful enslavement.
He offered the hilt to her. “Take up your sword, Lady Myller, and do your bloodline proud.”
Ursa stared at the weapon quavering before her. The huge man could barely hold it. The blade edge was razor sharp. She could not leave that weapon with Beatrix. This isn’t for her! Victorious was a hostage she had to free. Her mind tried to reason through, but her heart took over and made the choice. She reached out and closed her hands around the smooth wood hilt, careful of the green stone set in the pommel.
With her small fingers wrapped safely behind the guard, she struggled in vain to lift it, but it was immovable. Maximilian’s smile faltered at her impotent straining.
A lifetime of childhood taunts crushed her. Her? A champion? Who was she kidding? She was a mortal. She was a child. Too small and weak. How dare she assume she could be something so important. The mocking took on a harsh, grating sound in the back of her head.
Her shoulders sagged, and her grip faltered. “I’m sorry. This is obviously not—”
Aaahhh! Victorious let out a sweet, musical sigh as though a long-held breath was finally released. Green light swept around and through Ursa, along with a giddy sense of euphoria.
The sword suddenly became light as laughter. When the resistance vanished, the blade sliced up through the air. She stumbled backward, slipping and nearly falling on her ass. A grace she had not possessed before saved her as she pivoted to catch herself.
Maximilian jerked back, narrowly avoiding being sliced open and sank down to one knee. Pressing his bleeding hands together, he grinned at her. “You were saying?” He glanced over one shoulder and winced. “Never mind. Put the sword away and go. Go out through the dining room and kitchen.”
“But your hands.” She sheathed the sword as though she’d been doing it her whole life. Later she would marvel over that. When she wasn’t deafened by her heartbeat and the desire to escape!
He shook his head, and when he held up his hands, she could see the cuts were not deep. “It is nothing. Go! And, Ursa Myller, should your new responsibilities ever cross paths with my son…have mercy on me. Tell him this old man finally understands. Tell him I got his message and I am so proud of him and want him to stay safe and far from here. If he should be in danger…” he whispered, blue eyes flashing. “I would do anything to aid him. Do you understand?”
We will tell him, grandfather, the sword said with a crisp finality and then nudged Ursa. Go!
“W-what?” Maximilian stammered and looked as if someone had hit him in the back of the head.
The sword didn’t explain. The need to get away consumed every last heartbeat of Ursa’s focus. They’d used up the last moments of time with the ritual. The last she saw of Maximilian, he was gawking after her as she ran out of the room of relics and into the hall of pictures.
She nearly tumbled into Beatrix Engel where she stood scowling at the portrait of her son.
The first thing Ursa expected was for Beatrix to zero in on the sword strapped to her hip. It was over before it even began.
Ssshhh, Victorious whispered in the back of her mind.
Beatrix was focused on something else. When Ursa looked up into those ice-blue eyes, she heard the roaring in her ears and saw the great shadow rise above the woman’s shoulders. Darkness loomed over her head like a cobra, weaving back and forth with hypnotic interest. Beatrix looked statuesque and ethereally beautiful. Long white hair glinted down her back, her arctic-blue eyes piercing.
“Your parents were in law enforcement, weren’t they?”
“What? Uh. Yes. How did you know?” Ursa asked through a throat tight with dread. She never even talked with Leo about her parents. Yes, he knew they had died, but nothing more. He knew the topic was sensitive and told her when she was ready to talk about it, he wanted to hear. Gentle, sweet Leo never pushed too far.
This woman with her emotionless eyes didn’t have the same ethics. “I make it a point to know my employees and who they are getting involved with.”
The subtext was there in Beatrix’s gaze—I am watching him, and I know everything about him. Do you?
“They died in the line of duty,” Beatrix continued. It wasn’t a question. Respect filled the words as she seemed to review what had happened. “They were honorable, brave warriors, Miss Myller. I believe you are, too.”
Ursa didn’t want to replay the horrible details for anyone, particularly not this woman. The memories were packed away so she didn’t get smothered by them. It had been weeks since she’d had the nightmares, but not long enough for her to drag out the records of what had happened.
Through the distorted sound in her head, Ursa swore she heard the clank of metal and imagined shackles rattling. The woman wanted to sink her talons into her! To make her part of the collection with the rest of her employees, her husband, Victorious, and so many others.
Ursa’s warrior heart quavered. The woman had her cornered. In a panic, she imagined throwing up her arms, shoving hard toward the phantom claws coming to grab her.
Beatrix gasped, and her head whipped to the side as though she’d been slapped. Lifting a hand to her cheek, she stared at Ursa, eyes wide. Full, crimson lips pursed as she realized Ursa saw the horror under her pretty mask.
“I’m sorry,” Ursa whispered and tried to duck around her.
Beatrix was faster, blocking her escape. Her voice matched her eyes—cold and emotionless.
“Congratulations on winning the sword; however, I fear there was a mistake. Victorious was never for bid. That should have been Victory, the jeweled blade, not the sword of champions.” Her tone tried to cut into her, but Ursa deflected it as she had the claws.
Beatrix’s eyes widened and then narrowed to slits. “Victory is much prettier, Ursa. A girl like you deserves diamonds, not an ugly old antique.” The smile curling her mouth was a horrible illusion of compassion. She was not going to let Ursa leave the house with that weapon.
I keep what’s mine! Her expression said it clearly without words. “I think you understand,” Beatrix continued when Ursa didn’t respond. “We will make it right with you, of course. I will add a little something extra for the confusion.”
“That’s fine. Whatever you think is best,” Ursa said, willing her heart not to hammer out of her chest. She just wanted to get away from that woman, get Leo and leave! The sooner she was out of there the better. How could Leo, Marcie and Travis work for that creature? “I should find Leo. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to get a drink.”
Ducking around the woman, she strode down the hall and made a turn directly into the first door she hit. As luck would have it, it was the dining room. She would run through the kitchen as Maximilian suggested.
A long table stretched across the room, set to host the executive dinner. She walked toward the door leading to the kitchen. Her skin tickled along the nape of her neck and she glanced past the table, at the tapestry filling the wall.
There, mounted on a black horse, was a woman in full armor, her expression filled with longing. She held her fist aloft, and on it sat a flaming bird about to fly. Her guard stood around her, a mixture of men and beasts, but none of them could bring back the one she most wanted.
Longing gripped her. Ursa could hear a sweet, keening call.
Like the sword, the woman didn’t belong there, trapped in the Adler house, under the claws of Beatrix. Ursa changed her path and moved toward the tapestry, searching for where it was attached to the wall. It couldn’t be difficult to roll it up and take it with her.
She pushed her fingers into the soft threads as she stood on tiptoes, reaching up to find the hooks. Of course, she wasn’t tall enough to reach them. Maybe she could have Leo help her—
An image of a huge blood-red tree with silvery-green leaves filled her mind, blotting out everything. She tasted tart pear under her tongue, breathed in honey-scented blossoms. Ursa didn’t need to worry about the woman. This was a warning for those who thought to harm her beloved.
The threads of the tapestry curled around Ursa’s fingers and wrists like the roots of the tree. They were silvery at first and then turned golden, glowing brightly with a rush of joy. In her mind’s eye, she saw images of people—some she knew, but others were strangers. The woman’s voice whispered to her. She could smell the floral sweetness of her breath and it tickled her skin. The tone overflowed with kindness and understanding. They are all allies.
Allies!
The tree and the widow.
The king and the queen.
The lion and the lioness.
The phoenix and the jaguar.
The knight and the butterfly.
The fool and the maiden.
The siren and the hanged man.
The bear and the honeybee.
The scoundrel and the thief.
The prisoner and the empress.
The warrior and the guard.
The—
“Wait!” That was her and Leo! “Oh, God!” Ursa jerked her hand away but a thread still wrapped around her finger. When she drew back, the motion pulled loose a single, flame-red thread. “Shit! Shit! Fuck!” she gasped. Her head swam with images as the warm voice thrummed through her.
A bright ruby gem dangled from the thread like a hot ember and when Ursa danced back, the wriggling string whipped against her palm. The burning sensation raced from her fingertips, up her arm and straight into her heart. Her legs slipped out from under her and she crumpled to the floor.
You are the light in the darkness, the woman’s voice whispered softly into the black that consumed her.
She didn’t know how long she lay there but she woke curled on her side, clutching her hand against her chest. The sword remained silent as she climbed to her feet. No prickle of warning didn’t mean they were safe. Straightening her dress, she strode to the kitchen.
The room was full of activity and her arrival drew several curious gla
nces as she dashed through. Someone called out, “Hey, you can’t be in here!”
Ursa, already halfway across the room, broke into a run, imagining chefs throwing knives at her to prevent her escape. She almost collided with a steaming pot and a server balancing a tray of pretty canapés. Somehow, she managed to make it out without burns, cuts or ruining her horrifyingly expensive dress.
She ran!
“Ursa!” Leo’s voice came from the far end of the room. He watched her run with his eyebrows lifting in silent question. A steely tightening of his jaw replaced his shocked expression as he sensed something wrong.
He looked illegally handsome in his tux. The fine lines of the tailored jacket fit across his broad chest and shoulders and the slacks accented his long, powerful legs. He only got better as he drew himself up to his full height and looked past her shoulder, ready to combat whomever, or whatever, caused her to flee.
“Leo!” she cried out his name and charged toward him. When she flung herself into his arms, he caught her and swept her off her feet.
“Princess! What on earth is wrong? What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He held her off her feet, scooping his arm under her knees to cradle her against him.
“You would never believe me,” she whispered, twisting to glance back. No angry chefs followed her. Leo didn’t seem to notice the sword or the belt. The hairs on her arms prickled up in a rush of adrenaline as the image of the tree on the hillside swept over her.
He kissed the corner of her mouth and pulled something from her hair, offering her the little pink blossom. “Out in the garden? Something you want to tell me?”
“N-n-no. I-I…I—” She blinked into his dark eyes, her throat squeezing all the words into broken stutters until he stopped her with a soft, loving kiss.
Chocolate warmth spread across her tongue as he parted her lips with a forceful plunge into her. Her moans were muffled against him as she pressed into his chest. One big hand cupped her ass and squeezed her backside, encouraging her to rock her hips toward him. It didn’t matter if everyone saw. She actually enjoyed the idea that this wanton kissing would scandalize some of those uptight people.
Heart Bound Page 2