Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1)

by Coreene Callahan

  Staying low, she set her balance and, dagger raised, moved toward the fire pit.

  A vicious growl came from between his teeth.

  She shook her head. “Not today, my friend. Go find your meal elsewhere.”

  He blinked and, nose twitching, angled his head to the side.

  Goliath.

  The name whispered through her mind. Afina’s heart shuddered. The voice again. Who was that? She wanted to look over her shoulder—to check if a woman stood behind her—but didn’t dare. Real or imagined, the voice could wait. Every moment counted. One wrong move would seal her fate.

  The pack leader inched forward, around the tall stone column.

  “Goliath,” she said, uncaring whether the name was a figment of her imagination. It suited him; made him seem more like a pet and less like a beast. Tame, she could handle. Wild and unmanageable, she could not. “I know you are hungry, but you cannot have me or the one I protect.”

  He snorted and, muzzle crinkled, took a step back. Then another.

  Her jaw went slack. Impossible. He was retreating, inch by precious inch.

  Dagger at the ready, she scuttled sideways until she reached the pit. A branch, free of fire at one end, pointed heavenward, as though begging for divine intervention. Afina echoed the sentiment, grabbed the stub, and swung left, placing the flames between her and the wolf.

  Panting now, he stared at her, ears forward, a perplexed look on his furry face. Perplexed? Good goddess. Her imagination was definitely getting the best of her.

  Slow and steady, she set the burning branch on the ground between them. “Off you go, then. The moon is high, Goliath. You still have time to hunt tonight.”

  Goliath made a sound she thought might be disgust.

  Afina bit her bottom lip. She shouldn’t feel like laughing. The wolf could still come over the rocks and tear her apart. But she didn’t think he would. They had come to an understanding...insane as that seemed. But then, she refused to quibble. Crazy sounded better than dead.

  The wolf pivoted, took two steps, and swung back. A death grip on the knife, Afina held her breath and waited. Goliath gazed at her, head tilted. Time hung like smoke in the air before he dipped his snout and yipped.

  Instinct guiding her, she whispered back, “Good-bye.”

  White fur became a silhouette then passed from shadow into nothingness. Clawed feet scraped against stone as the pack followed Goliath’s retreat. Muscles gone liquid, Afina’s knees gave out. She landed on her behind with a bump. The bone-deep chill came next, blowing through her like an ice storm. Releasing the knife, she held out her hands. Her fingertips trembled, casting long shadows on the dirt.

  She should be stronger than this. Shouldn’t be so afraid, especially after...

  What was happening to her? The whole mind-throwing-the-hatchet incident along with the headaches and strange voice were terrible enough. Now she talked to animals. And they understood. How was that possible?

  Sorcery.

  The dark word slithered up her spine, dragging a shiver in its wake. Her mother had often spoken of black magic. She’d been adamant—obsessed—telling the awful stories with relish, as a warning to her and Bianca. What had her mother known but not shared? Had she tested the darkness she loved to lecture about and been drawn too deep? It would explain the violent outbursts at the end, along with her mistake. No one in her right mind would believe Vladimir fit to rule Transylvania.

  So many questions.

  Her mother’s love of secrecy had left her ill prepared. She wanted to believe her new skills were expected of a high priestess, desired even. But the opposite side of the equation must be examined. Good could not exist without evil.

  “Well done, lass.” The deep voice came from the shadows, just beyond the circle of stones. “I have a liking for wolves and had no wish to destroy him.”

  With a gasp, Afina reached for the knife and shot to her feet. Her bruised ankle protested, upsetting her balance. Right boot planted to compensate, she recovered from the wobble and spun to face the intruder. He paused at the cornerstone, a bow notched with an arrow in one hand, the reins of his horse in the other.

  Dagger raised, Afina stepped right, placing herself between the stranger and the cave entrance. “Stay back.”

  Stepping into the light, he frowned, his focus straying to her leg. “Are you hurt?”

  “Do I look injured?” Afina adjusted her stance. Pain ghosted up her calf. She ignored it, refusing to show weakness. This man was more dangerous than the wolves. He bled power, the same kind Xavian and his men did. Was he one of them?

  Afina toyed with the possibility. He looked like them: dark hair cropped short, dressed in black, his muscular build and towering height, the directness of his gaze, and the amount of weaponry. All spoke to an aggression they wore like armor. She bit the inside of her cheek. Could she trust him? Xavian lay helpless just behind her. If she made the wrong decision, he would never wake up.

  “Be at ease, sora.”

  Sora? Had he just called her sister? Afina didn’t know much, but one thing was certain, she didn’t look like a nun. Not in a ripped gown and covered in day-old blood. She tightened her grip on the knife and turned the blade sideways, warning him she wasn’t a weakling.

  Tugging on the reins, he brought his warhorse forward to tuck his weapon into a quiver behind the saddle. Hands free, he held them out to the side, palms up. “See? I’ve no intention of hurting you.”

  “And Xavian?”

  His gaze sharpened. “Ram is here?”

  “Who are you?” She wasn’t a fool. His bow might be stowed, but the daggers sheathed on his chest were within easy reach and his big hands were no doubt lethal. “One of his men?”

  “Henrik, at your service.”

  Afina breathed a little easier. He knew Xavian. Even so, she needed more information before she dropped her guard. “What brings you here?”

  One corner of his mouth curved up. “You do not trust easily.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “’Tis one of our hidey-holes, lass. A place to rest before continuing on to Drachaven.”

  She stared at him. He wasn’t lying—exactly—but something wasn’t quite, well...right.

  “Take a look around.” He swept one hand out to the side. “Do you think the wood piled itself? Or the pallets inside and the trunks filled with foodstuffs appeared by magic?”

  Afina huffed. He was teasing her. The dolt. Of course she’d seen the supplies. She’d been using them to treat Xavian and feed herself.

  “You’ve naught to fear,” he said, taking a step closer. His horse followed, frosting the air over his shoulder. “Not from me or anyone else who comes here. ’Tis a hidden place, one that’s secret is well-guarded.”

  What Henrik said made perfect sense. How would he know of the preparations inside the cave unless he helped maintain them? Afina lowered the dagger. She needed help, and holding Xavian’s man at knifepoint wouldn’t solve anything.

  The warhorse bumped him with her nose. With a murmur, Henrik stroked the beast’s muzzle. “What is your name?”

  “Afina.”

  Henrik nodded and looked away. The horse nudged him again. He patted his steed one last time and unbuckled the halter before moving to the belly strap. Metal rattled as he lifted the saddle from the beast’s back and set it down beside the fire.

  The strain of the last day pushed tears into her eyes. With a helpless shrug, Afina gestured with the knife. “Sorry about before, but...it’s just...Xavian is ill and I—”

  “Ill?” Henrik glanced away from his saddlebags and raised a brow.

  “Snakebite.” A pang hit her chest level, making her heart feel hollow. It was her fault. He wouldn’t be sick if she hadn’t taken a fall. “He was protecting me.”

  “A viper?”

  “H-how—”

  “They are common in this area.”

  “I am treating him, but it’s been a full day and he’s yet to awaken.�
� She kicked at the dirt, making a hole with the toe of her boot.

  Crouched beside the pit, Henrik selected an enormous log and reset the fire. “If the venom went deep, ’twill take more than a day.”

  To what? Kill him or for his body to expel the poison? Afina swallowed, praying it wasn’t the former. If Xavian died, she couldn’t...

  No, she refused to acknowledge the possibility. He was strong and the medicine would work. It had to. Besides, Henrik was here now, and he would protect them.

  Halál plucked the scrap of paper from the dead girl’s hand. Two fingers were missing, the ragged ends little more than shriveled stubs. The stench of human decay a living thing, she lay supine, eyes wide open, the horror in their vacant depths easy to read. His gaze drifted to the bars anchored in the cave walls. Twisted, the gate hung from one hinge, a visual reminder of the monsters it had imprisoned for almost twenty years.

  Magnificent creatures. If only they would obey him. If only...

  Halál returned his attention to the girl. He flicked at the shreds of her bodice. Dry blood drew interesting patterns on her skin, the gaping wounds astonishing even to him.

  A day, mayhap two, since The Three had made a meal of her.

  He shook his head and pushed from a crouch. Clever, clever Shay. He’d used the whore to save his own skin.

  The realization lightened Halál’s mood. It was a worthy play, one only a full-blooded assassin would make. The brutality of the girl’s death was proof enough of that.

  Halál ran his thumb over the piece of parchment. His skin stuck, blood and decay impeding its progress across the once-smooth surface. Using spit, he wiped the stickiness away to reveal the looping scrawl. Uneven words jumped into focus. Halál cursed. The handwriting was not his own; neither was the message.

  He crushed the paper in his hand.

  The bold bastard. Shay had altered the incantation. Now The Three were on the hunt and he was left with little choice.

  Halál half-turned toward the cave entrance. “V.”

  “Aye, master?” Valmont shifted from his position near the lip of the cavern, his height throwing long shadows on the jagged stone walls.

  “Castle Raul...do you know it?”

  “Vladimir Barbu’s keep.”

  “Yes.” Halál smoothed the creases from the parchment. He would need it. Preserving the message was the only way to undo what Shay had set in motion. “Within his lands to the south lies the White Temple. Bring me the High Priestess of Orm.”

  Boots whispering over stone, Valmont turned to leave.

  “One other thing.”

  Poised in the mouth of the cave, his new apprentice glanced over his shoulder.

  “Choose six others to ride with you.”

  “Seven,” Valmont murmured, quiet reverence in his voice.

  Engrained in the hearts and minds of his men, the number seven symbolized the strength of their order. It was in everything: from the walled sides of the Pit and their crest to the number of daggers each wore, and the chronicles of Al Pacii. A mystic long ago had written about the group of seven...a divine force so brutal none could defeat them. Superstitious nonsense, mayhap, but Halál allowed his assassins their illusions.

  Fear and rage only got a man so far. Faith and magic, however, drove men past their natural limits into the soulless places he wanted them to go. His assassin believed in the power of seven, and so he would use it. He must stop The Three before they found Xavian. Otherwise he would hold an advantage Al Pacii could ill afford.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  On his haunches beside the pit, Henrik stirred the fire with a thin stick. Sparks snapped, rising to greet a jet-black sky. He watched the embers float, lost in the whisper of tree limbs and night sounds. Afina’s voice drifted from the cavern, tone soothing as she tended Ram. Henrik glanced over his shoulder at the cave entrance. When would she be finished?

  He had so many questions. Useless wonderings. The sum of which didn’t amount to much.

  Deep down, he already knew the answer to the most important one. Bianca was dead. He’d felt the fragile bond he shared with his twin sister snap nearly two years ago. While he’d been in Poland, doing Halál’s bidding.

  With a silent curse he jabbed at the coals. The logs shifted and flame roared, sucking air in and spewing smoke out as it fed on the wood. He wished he could do the same: explode and find some small measure of relief.

  Damn the old man and his infernal ways.

  Had he been at Grey Keep, he would have heard of the trouble, and Bianca would still be alive. But then, Halál knew of his attachments and used them to effect. His sisters were the bastard’s only leverage. A way to keep him in the fold after he reached maturity and Al Pacii could no longer contain him. If not for Halál’s promise to leave Bianca and Afina untouched in return for his service, he would never have stayed.

  “Henrik?”

  He pivoted on the balls of his feet. Afina stood in the mouth of the cave, bucket in hand, the firelight casting shadows on her face. Christ, she looked so much like their mother. The only true difference was her coloring. Mother had been blond and fair, like Bianca. Afina shared his dark hair and hazel eyes, though hers were touched with green and his, with gold.

  He stood, pushing memories of his mother’s betrayal to the back of his mind. Like ghosts rising from the ruins, they rushed back, grabbing at him with greedy hands. Goddamn, he’d only been eight years old, but that hadn’t stopped her. He’d been naught more than an abomination; a male born in a place where only females were accepted.

  Afina took a step back as he approached.

  Henrik tucked the fury deep and stopped a few feet away. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. Fear didn’t belong in families. Honesty, however, did. But truth wasn’t his forte. Deception fit him better. With a history like that, how could he dispel his mother’s lies and make Afina believe him—treat him like a brother instead of a stranger?

  She thought him dead, he knew that; just like he knew she would be better off if he left her alone. Problem was, he couldn’t. Despite everything, she was his sister, and blood ties were too important to ignore.

  He cleared his throat. “More water?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  He held out his hand to take the pail. “How is he?”

  “Better...cooler.” After relinquishing the bucket, she pressed her fingertips above her eye then shifted to rub her temple.

  His grip tightened around the rope handle. “You need to sleep.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You will be no good to him if you exhaust yourself.”

  “Arrogant, aren’t you?” She huffed. The small sound mixed with laughter, lightening his heart a little. “You and Xavian are cut from the same cloth.”

  “Mayhap, but we are often right.”

  “So you believe,” she said, tone full of exasperation. “I need to mix more medicine before I rest. One more dose, and mayhap...I’m hoping it will help him wake.”

  He nodded and, with a wave, motioned Afina back inside the cave...to heal his former friend. What the hell was he doing? Ram was defenseless, and yet here he stood, ready to fetch and carry. He should be in there helping him die, not aiding his little sister while she tended him.

  Henrik glared at the fire. Life or Death. Kill or be killed.

  It wasn’t that simple anymore. Afina cared for Ram. Mayhap strongly enough to call it love. He could see it in her eyes, in her determination to see him healed. Did he have the right to take that from her? From either of them?

  The code by which he lived said aye. But then, he no longer needed to appease Halál or walk a fine line with Al Pacii. The bastard had lost his leverage. For the first time in his life, Henrik was free to make his own choices. The realization tugged at the tight knot in the center of his chest as he took the path toward the stream.

  Reaching the river’s edge, Henrik filled the bucket. Water spilled over the edge, washing the rest of his tension aw
ay as he retraced his steps. The future seemed brighter somehow. Al Pacii was a thing of the past. Now all he had to do was keep his sister safe.

  What was Ram up to? Did he still intend to hand Afina over to Vladimir? Or had he changed his plans—his feelings for Afina dictating a new path?

  Half of him hoped not. No matter how much he wanted to see his sister happy, he couldn’t forgive Ram. His betrayal stung too much. Loyalty mattered. And years of training—of believing revenge was everything—were hard to ignore.

  The urge to unsheathe his dagger and bury it hilt-deep in Ram’s chest pressed in, making his head ache. Henrik shook it off. He needed to be patient. Accidents happened all the time, and what Afina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  Xavian dreamt of hazel eyes and a soft, lilting voice. It pulled him toward the light, away from the violence and bitter cold. The warmth came next, drifting over his shoulders and chest. Wispy strokes, barely there, yet combined with the scent of mint and woman.

  Hmm, paradise.

  Years of training told him to deny the pleasure and reach for a weapon. Instinct softened by the haze of slumber stilled his hand. The heat and gentle touch played on the fringes, present but not quite there. ’Twas like lying in the long field grass, arms and legs stretched wide as the sun’s fingers drew warm patterns on his skin. With a sigh, he settled into the rhythm. A moment more, just to drift and enjoy, then he would...

  The stroking moved south over his rib cage and across his abdomen. Xavian murmured, lifting his hips to keep contact a little longer.

  “Xavian?”

  The voice rushed over him, husky warm and sable rich. His eyelashes flickered. Afina. He should have known. No one else sounded like that, naughty and innocent at the same time. He whispered her name and let his eyes drift closed again, clinging to his dream. If he woke, she would disappear. And he needed her to stay.

  “Hello.” Something brushed across his temple then twirled gently in his hair. “Open your eyes for me again.”