Vengeance Born (The Light Blade #1)

by Kylie Griffin

  Desperate, and knowing the Vorc would kill Kalan once he made it to the ground, she drove a second burst of energy into the female. The animal howled in pain then collapsed, her life energy quickly fading from the fatal blast.

  Nausea washed through Annika, closely followed by throbbing pain. Sucking in deep breaths, she pushed the female’s corpse to one side and rolled to her knees. Something warm and wet ran down her arm. She sat back on her heels. With a shaking hand, she touched her shoulder then stared at the blood covering her fingertips.

  “Annika? Are you all right?” Kalan’s bootsteps crunched on the pebbled ground. He appeared at her side, peering from her to the lifeless Vorc.

  “I’m fine.”

  Kalan’s gaze narrowed at how hoarse and strained her voice sounded. Shadows and darkness hadn’t let him see much of her struggle with the Vorc but he recognized the metallic scent of blood.

  Annika swayed as she pushed to her feet. “I told you to stay in the cave!”

  Ignoring her reprimand, he caught her arm and felt a hot stickiness soaking the sleeve of her dress. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “The Vorc need to be disposed of… can’t leave them to rot.” She pushed against him. “Their Masters will search for them when they don’t return… the river will wash them downstream…” Her slurred speech made his decision easy.

  “I’ll take care of them.” He urged her toward the ledge behind them. “Sit. Before you fall down. Tell me where you’re wounded.”

  “Shoulder… forearm.”

  Kalan tore strips from the bottom of her dress, wadded them and, using his fingers to feel along her arm, he pressed and tied the makeshift pads against the puncture wounds. Not exactly pretty but it would have to do for now.

  “Rest. I’ll get rid of the carcasses.” She didn’t argue. Kalan worked as quickly as he could.

  The sky was beginning to glow yellow by the time he’d dragged the Vorc to the riverbank. The swift-moving water would carry them well downriver before they snagged or were seen by anyone. Scattering leaf litter to cover the drag marks ate away more precious time.

  Annika was slumped against the cliff face, cradling her hurt arm against her body when he returned. Her eyes were closed but they opened as he approached. The irises glowed a dull red.

  “Your scent…” Her voice was thin, reedy.

  “Too late to worry about that now. How are we going to get you up to the cave?”

  Inhaling deeply, she slid off the ledge and peered upward. “I’ll manage.”

  The climb was going to require both of her arms. Kalan eyed the distance she was going to have to cover. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  Her mouth flattened and an inky blackness flashed through the red in her eyes. “I’ll make it.”

  He matched his pace to hers as they climbed; saying nothing more but watching to make sure she secured each grip and hold before pushing up. The light from the impending dawn was bright enough for him to see the taut, pain-filled expression on her face but beneath it he recognized the stubborn flex of her jaw. Her determination sparked his grudging admiration. Her attitude was one he expected in a seasoned warrior, not a healer.

  Annika’s breathing was harsh and ragged as they neared the top. The visible tremors in her limbs warned him she’d reached the limits of her strength. Covering the remaining distance quickly, Kalan scrambled over the final ledge and leant back over. “Take my hands.”

  Grasping her wrists he hauled her over the lip. She issued a muffled cry and slumped against him. Half sprawled on top of him, and even through two layers of clothes he felt just how cold she was. She started to shiver. All the symptoms warned him she’d lost too much blood. He shifted into a sitting position and reached for her healer’s pouch.

  “There’s fer-moss in the inner pocket. Pack it into the wound. It’ll stop the bleeding.” Her words were slurred, thick, as if she was struggling to focus on forming every word. “The jar tied with red string. I need to sip the liquid…” She slumped against him.

  Cursing under his breath, Kalan eased her to the ground. With the dawn light he could see fresh blood seeping from the puncture wounds in her forearm and shoulder. Little remained of her sleeve, and four long tears shredded her dress just below her left breast.

  “Annika?” He tapped her cheek and frowned when she didn’t respond.

  One-handed he riffled through her pouch, looking for the fer-moss and jar she’d mentioned. Placing both beside him, he packed the soft, springy moss into each wound, making sure the delicate fibers began to swell with the congealing blood before retying the bandages. Then he picked up the jar and pulled the cork with his teeth.

  A heavy, minty odor filled the air, one he’d smelled many times in the healing halls and on the field after battle. Vaa’jahn. Every warrior knew the benefits of this broad-leafed plant. The roots were dried and ground up into a powder then brewed into a thick liquid that could be applied directly to a wound or swallowed to aid in the fight against infection. He placed the edge of the jar against Annika’s lips. She swallowed reflexively as he dribbled a small amount into her mouth.

  That done, he moved her into the cave, surprised to find it well provisioned, lending credence to her earlier claim she’d used it before. Blankets lay folded on a flat-topped rock and wood had been neatly stacked near a shallow depression dug into the floor of the cave. As much as he knew they both needed the warmth of a fire, he decided against starting one. He had no idea how far they’d traveled from the fortress, and he couldn’t risk the scent of smoke giving away their position.

  Spreading out one of the blankets, he laid Annika on it, shook out another to cover her, then hesitated. Blood coated her upper body and soaked the material of her bodice. He should check the claw marks along her ribs. All his efforts so far could be wasted if he didn’t see to those wounds.

  Kalan paused, his fingers tangled in the laces on the front of her dress. Usually the sight of a naked woman didn’t bother him but the memory of her disrobing earlier during their escape from the underground prison had aroused and unsettled him.

  He smoothed a long strand of hair away from her pale face. Fighting his aversion to the skin markings, he lightly traced those trailing down the side of her face. Other than in battle, this was the first time he’d seen the demon markings up close.

  Annika’s were less prominent than those he’d seen on Na’Reish warriors, darker than freckles and smooth to the touch. Curious, he nudged her top lip up a fraction. She hadn’t inherited her father’s pointed teeth; hers were as square and white as Kalan’s.

  The Blade Council’s archives contained accounts of demons siring children with human-slaves but they’d been based on rumor and speculation, not fact. She was living proof that those rumors were true. Hesia and Annika had hinted at the existence of other Na’Chi and both had mentioned the Na’Reish’s intolerance for her heritage.

  Kalan ran a hand over his face. Lady of Light, her existence would shock many, including those on the Blade Council. No, shock was too mild a word. History and centuries of beliefs would be challenged, maybe even threatened, by her existence.

  Her actions of the last few hours had left him feeling confused and unsure, a state he’d rarely allowed himself to fall prey to and one he disliked intensely. Her compassion and her Gift from the Lady were traits he’d never expected a demon to possess.

  Kalan grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. Her motives in helping him were self-serving, but assisting others seemed to be an innate part of her nature. There was more to her than there appeared on first glance.

  How had she survived past childhood? That she had survived hinted at an independence bolstered by an incredibly strong will, one developed from a very young age. Logic told him her father had to be Na’Reish, a demon lord. The whim of raising a child of mixed blood belonged to the upper caste, not underlings.

  How much of an influence had her father had on her? How Na’Reish was she? And there lay the problem
. How would her presence affect his people? By bringing her back to Sacred Lake, he could be risking not only the safety of his people but the stability of their culture, too.

  He sighed. The unknown was too much right now for his tired mind to grapple with. Perhaps if he was more sure of her, trusted her more, the future wouldn’t seem as uncertain. But he wasn’t sure if he could learn to trust someone like her.

  She healed you, helped you escape. She is Na’Chi, not Na’Reish. He shivered, the difference not as reassuring as he’d hoped it would be. Mother of Mercy, he’d drive himself insane trying to solve this now. Perhaps after some sleep he’d think more clearly, but first he had to deal with Annika’s wounds.

  Inhaling, he plucked at the knot in the laces of her dress. Getting it over her head wasn’t an option, not without reopening her shoulder wounds, but with the top of it torn he’d be able to slide it off her body and down her legs.

  He tried to keep his gaze averted as he tugged the dress downward over her shoulders but he couldn’t avoid touching her when the fabric stuck. Even though his fingertips barely grazed her breasts, he knew they were soft and full, and from the corner of his eye he could see dusky nipples puckering and hardening in the cold morning air. His groin started to ache and throb. He had no control over his body’s response, and that confused him.

  Careful not to touch her more than was necessary, he eased the material over her abdomen and hips. He couldn’t stop himself looking at her. The pale glow of dawn lightened bare flesh at the junction of her thighs and her skin took on a tawny hue. She had curves in all the right places, undeniably a woman, but her limbs were lean like a female warrior’s. There was strength in her well-toned muscles, even while relaxed. He swallowed dryly as his arousal increased, and tried to fight it.

  Merciful Mother, give me strength. Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he forced his thoughts back to the task in hand. He’d treated female warriors on the field of battle, stripped them to tend wounds. Not once had he had this sort of instant physical reaction. Now should be no different.

  Checking the claw marks scoring her ribs, he saw that they were red raw but not bleeding. Thank the Lady. She couldn’t afford to lose any more blood. Rolling her onto her side, he checked her back, and was surprised to see a myriad of pale scars marking her skin, mingling among the twin trails of her body markings; old ones and none of them claw marks.

  Back in the tunnel there hadn’t been enough light to see them. He traced one of the longer ones with his finger. It had been made by something thin and straight, perhaps a cane or very thin belt. She’d been beaten. Disturbing.

  Quickly cleaning the blood off her body he spread a little vaa’jahn over the scratches to ward off infection. Her skin was smooth, silky, and as soft as it looked. And ice cold.

  “Fool of a warrior,” he hissed under his breath. Here he was staring at her while she froze. His arousal tempered by his thoughtlessness, he jammed the cork back into the jar and quickly drew the second blanket over her.

  Wrapping another blanket around himself, he sat against the cave wall and leaned his head back. Old bruises throbbed and his limbs were beginning to ache. He longed to lie down and sleep but, in unknown territory, instinct warned him to keep watch.

  Kalan pulled Annika’s healing pouch closer. The leather was soft but well crafted. He ran his fingertips over the sun etched into the flap. The symbol was a familiar one. It belonged to the Lady, an image used to remind believers of her power and goodness.

  Again the incongruence of the situation caught him off guard. The symbol was a reminder that a demon believed in Her. He had no doubt She had preordained Annika’s healing Gift and faith, but who had encouraged and guided her? The old healer, Hesia? Other human-slaves?

  The Na’Reish certainly wouldn’t have encouraged her. They ridiculed the Lady and desecrated any temple they found, murdering and obscenely displaying the bodies of any Handmaiden or Manservant discovered within.

  Kalan flipped open the pouch flap and peered inside. It was well stocked. He sifted through and examined various bags, jars, vials, bandages, and small instruments.

  “The tools of a healer,” he murmured, setting them on the ground beside him.

  Spotting a small pocket sewn into the side of the pouch, he felt inside, eyebrows lifting as his fingers brushed against something cold. It felt like a necklace. The feeble morning light caught on a small sun charm dangling from the silver chain. It was a Light Blade amulet, similar to the one that hung around his neck.

  Smoothing his thumb over the etching, he wondered at the woman who’d worn it. Had she been taken in battle? Annika was young, perhaps in her early to mid-twenties, several years younger than he, so that gave him a rough idea of when her mother had lived. The Council had records going back half a millennium of all the Light Blades killed or lost in battle against the Na’Reish. He had little doubt the warrior would be listed among them.

  Should he make it back home, Annika’s presence there would certainly cause uproar, but worrying about his people’s reaction to her should be the least of his qualms. They’d yet to get safely away from the fortress. He should be more concerned with how long it would be before she was ready to travel and whether they’d remain undetected in the cave until then. Staying in one place increased the chance of being discovered.

  He placed the amulet back in the pocket, repacked the pouch, then checked on Annika. She seemed to be resting peacefully. Her skin felt much warmer. A jaw-splitting yawn caught him by surprise. Exhaustion dogged him now that the adrenaline of their flight had worn off. He rubbed his burning eyes. Sleep was something he’d had little of in the last fourteen days.

  Bowing to the inevitable, he settled down beside Annika and ar-ranged his blanket over both of them. With a short prayer to the Lady to keep them safe during the coming daylight hours, he let sleep claim him.

  Chapter 5

  ANNIKA roused, driven from sleep by a sharp hunger. Saliva filled her mouth as she scented a human close by. Knowing the need would only get worse the longer she went without feeding, she fought the encroaching signs of blood-fever.

  In the past she’d always been careful to feed well before they appeared. Her reputation among the human-slaves was dubious enough without fuelling their fears by turning feral as she treated them.

  She moved closer to the warmth pressed along her side, hoping the pangs would ease. Pain lanced through her wounded shoulder, dulling the pangs until only a lingering nausea remained. Grateful for the reprieve she opened her eyes.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Curled up beside her, a blanket covering them both, Kalan was the source of the warmth. She held still, not wanting to wake him, unsure of how he’d react when he realized he slept so close to her.

  Asleep he no longer seemed as fierce or intense. Up close, his expression was relaxed yet captivating. Dark locks of hair fell over one half of his face. Without thought, she reached out to brush them behind his ear. The strands were soft and smooth beneath her fingertips.

  Full and expressive, his lips were parted slightly as he breathed evenly, oblivious to her scrutiny. Several days of stubble shadowed his strong jaw and high cheekbones. A pale, razor-thin scar ran across the lower edge of his jaw, from his chin to his ear, but in no way did it mar his masculine beauty. She smiled, liking what she saw. All that was missing were the distinctive markings and he’d have passed as a Na’Reish lord.

  But he wasn’t. He was human, a Light Blade warrior. Her smile faded. Hesia had regaled her with tales about the legendary human warriors, of their dedication to the Lady and sacred oath to protect and defend those who needed their help. Her friend’s faith in their reputation was unswerving.

  Annika chewed her bottom lip. Had she been fully human, trusting them wouldn’t have been an issue. With cursed blood running through her veins, Kalan’s recent actions had only strengthened her doubt. For the moment they shared a common goal and a temporary truce, but how long that would last remained uncer
tain.

  Blinking, she found herself staring at his throat, at the pulse throbbing just beneath his skin. The hunger stirred inside her. This time her stomach cramped. It took several heartbeats for them to subside.

  She had to feed, and soon. As reluctant as she was to wake Kalan, they had to move on. It would be dangerous traveling in daylight but no more so than her ignoring the warning signs of blood-fever.

  Shuddering, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Kalan?” She gasped in surprise as his eyes opened, instantly alert, a warrior trait.

  “Annika?” The sleep-roughened voice was deep. His head rolled toward her. She averted her gaze as he sat up. The blanket slipped from her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  She flushed, and clutched the blanket to her as she realized she lay naked beneath it. “Where are my clothes?”

  “I had to treat your wounds.”

  Her cheeks burned with the thought of him examining her despite knowing she’d have done the same for him. He rolled to his feet and fetched her dress where it lay on her pouch, then helped her to a sitting position. Dropping it over her head, he supported her until she tugged it into place under the blanket. Her shoulder throbbed.

  “You’ve lost color.” He pulled the blanket over her again, made sure it was tucked securely around her. The gesture touched her. “You should rest.”

  Sleep would aid her healing but Annika shook her head and peered toward the cave mouth. The slant of the sun told her it was late afternoon. Gritting her teeth, she flung the blanket aside and reached for her boots. They stood beside her healer’s pouch. “We need to move on. If we follow the river out of the valley, we might reach Whitewater Crossing by morning.”

  “Why now? It’ll be dark in a couple of hours. There’ll be less chance of being seen if we wait until then.”

  Shadows were filling the cave and the temperature was dropping. She fumbled with the bootlaces. “It’s too dangerous to stay. There’ll be Patrols combing the forest tonight. We have to get farther away.”