Beatrice’s face had taken on a gaunt, hollowed look, the skin tight over her high cheek bones. Veins stood out blue against her pale skin. Worst of all were her eyes. They were coated with the white glaze of death. Reaching out, he touched her then, his fingers stroking the cold flesh of her forehead and temple. Had he not seen the tears sliding down her face or the rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought her dead. He was still deeply struck by horror—never had he seen such lethal, hideous power—but her tears roused sympathy.
“Beatrice, it will be all right.” He pulled her unresisting form against him and whispered soothing nothings in her ear.
Her power reached into him, dragging a good portion of energy from him. Adrenaline raced through his blood and his heart continued its mad pounding inside his chest. But Beatrice needed a mentor, so he pushed his own fear away even as she continued to harvest power from him. Considering what the acolytes had already took, he should be dead.
He couldn’t claim to know what she was doing, but it wasn’t killing him. So either her Larnkin wanted or needed him alive.
When the remains of his pack bonds that she’d severed earlier flared to life, he started to understand. Her Larnkin needed to feed. His own agreed. Together, the two Larnkins were using the links which had once tied him to his pack to share power, drawing strength from each other and then returning it purified and magnified.
Strength slowly returned to his body.
He was just processing that not-so-small miracle when Beatrice sealed her lips against his and kissed him. Shock slowed his mind and at first he didn’t react, but after a few moments of her soft assault, other instincts rose within him and he returned her kiss. Her lips began to warm against him, her skin heated back to a natural temperature. His own Larnkin stirred awake and communicated in his silent way, commanding hers to stop, telling her that it was safe, the acolytes were destroyed, to rest now.
Slowly the flow of death magic ebbed.
When she broke away at last, he noticed her eyes were no longer that disconcerting, milky hue. They were her normal gray-blue again. Likewise, her hair and creamy skin had returned to what they’d been before she’d called her death magic.
Beatrice touched her lips and ducked her head, murmuring apologies.
For what? The kiss? For destroying all the acolytes? Or for her Larnkin somehow feeding from him, but giving back the strength tenfold?
“Easy,” he whispered. “There is nothing to apologize for. Your Larnkin did what she had to do to save us.” He continued to stroke her hair and then her cheeks.
She didn’t shove his hands away, so he pulled her back into his lap and nuzzled his face against her shoulder, comforting her like he would a fellow lupwyn. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and started to sob, he knew he’d done the correct thing. Clearly in the past, Beatrice had only herself to rely upon, but her power was too great, too fierce for her to master alone.
Was her Larnkin even intended to work alone? His gut told him no. That power was too great for one host body to sustain. Somehow their Larnkins shared a link, their powers complimenting each other, allowing Beatrice’s to draw fuel from more than one host.
He dragged his fingers along her sides and then down her back, rhythmic strokes he hoped would soothe her emotional and physical trauma. Sensing Beatrice would’ve pulled away, he locked his arms around her and trapped her in his embrace. She continued to shake with cold or some other form of misery, as if her body was going into shock from all the resources her Larnkin had stripped to fuel her magic.
Ah, a piece of the puzzle fell into place. Her death magic used her own body as fuel, but somehow, when they were together, their two Larnkins could link through the conduits created by his pack bonds and share power, alleviating the worst of Beatrice’s physical symptoms. What he’d first taken for an attack upon his pack bonds was actually her Larnkin’s attempt to seek help.
His pulse raced anew as another thought occurred.
Just what would she be capable of doing with an entire lupwyn pack adding their strength?
Perhaps it was for the best his pack bonds had been damaged by the acolytes. There was no telling how far her death magic would have spread with an entire pack to fuel it before she’d reined it back in.
Her power was a great weapon against the acolytes, but it was far too dangerous to use until she’d learned control.
“Life and death and balance,” she whispered drawing him from his own thoughts.
“Balance?” he asked.
“Life and death. They are the two sides of my power. Healing others has always strengthened me. But the death magic feeds from my body, draining it of all life, aging me, perhaps even tapping into my soul.”
She shuddered again in horror. And he felt a little horrified on her behalf.
“But you somehow balanced the two powers within me. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to take from you without your permission.”
“Larnkins don’t always ask permission. Certainly not when their hosts are at risk.” He leaned back so there was enough room between them that he could tuck his finger under her jaw and tilt her head back. When she met his eyes, he continued. “We survived. The acolytes are dead. We will get through this together. I had planned to mentor you myself, but now I think we will need someone to mentor us both. When we make it back to my people, I’ll speak with the elders. They will assign us to an ancient. We may have to go to the city of Grey Spires to be trained.” He reached up and dragged a few strands of her bangs from her sweaty forehead. “But I promise we will find the help you need.”
Beatrice nodded her head and then buried her face against his shoulder again.
Not knowing what else to do for her, he settled her more comfortably in his lap and shared his body heat with her while whispering soothing words, things like how much he respected her for her bravery and her selflessness. And if he sounded a touch like a love-struck fool, he did not care. The woman in his arms needed to hear them. He sensed the great ache in her soul stemmed from the fact that she had never belonged anywhere or to anyone. She was an outcast among her own people.
Well, from this point forward, he’d do all in his power to make sure she knew she belonged.
“Rest easy, little healer,” he whispered. “You are pack to me, and as long as my heart still beats, you will always have a place to call home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Silverblade jerked awake and quickly glanced around, taking in his surroundings. It was morning again. The forest was as it had been before, only broken underbrush and the hoof prints of horses showed where a battle had taken place. While the forest was still silent, it was no longer ominous. As he watched, a squirrel scurried down a tree trunk to start foraging in the underbrush and a few of the braver songbirds had already made their way back to this part of the forest.
While his body was telling him it would have liked another day or two of sleep, his mind sharpened. There was no damned way he was staying in this spot. As he watched, a breeze rustled a clump of grass just a body-length away and kicked up a small cloud of ash. All that remained of the acolytes.
He rolled to his knees. Everything seemed in good order, if a little stiff and sore from battling the acolytes. After scanning the clearing one more time, he scooped the still-sleeping human up in his arms and stood. She shifted and mumbled something uneasily, but didn’t wake. Good. If she was awake, she’d likely demand to walk and he could move faster carrying her.
She felt lighter than he remembered, as if using her magic had burned away some of her mass. He glanced down and studied her again. It was just fanciful thoughts on his part. After a good scrubbing, she would look much the same as she always had.
Perhaps it was he who was stronger?
It wasn’t likely to last. Whatever their Larnkins had done to save them, it had also severed his link to his pack. Without the pack bonds, he would weaken and die. As soon as Beatrice realized that, she would act to reestablish the b
onds permanently.
And there was only one way to do that without his pack.
Becoming mates was a complication he wished to avoid.
With a new sense of urgency, he left the scene of battle behind and struck out in the direction they had originally been heading. When he came upon exceptionally large hoof prints, he grinned. It seemed likely their horse had survived and, wise creature that he was, had fled away from the battle.
Ahead, he knew there was a river and good grazing along its banks. With luck, the horse would follow the scent of water.
He kept up a brisk pace for well over a candlemark, determined to eventually catch up with the gelding. It was likely wishful thinking on his part, but they’d lost all their supplies, so he hoped they could at least find the horse for Beatrice to ride. The faster they could reach his people, the better.
Silverblade glanced down at Beatrice. While he could survive in the forest with nothing but his claws and the fur on his back as it were, humans were a much more fragile species. He didn’t like the idea of trying to keep the human alive when they ventured into the mountains.
He had another reason for making for the river. One of his stashes was hidden in a cave behind a small waterfall there. If the acolytes hadn’t found it—which he couldn’t be sure they hadn’t, since the spell net trap had been uncomfortably close—he could use those supplies to keep Beatrice alive.
It was possible they’d somehow found his stash, determined it belonged to a magic wielder, and had set their trap nearby hoping to catch the owner. Well, if those supplies had been destroyed, he’d just find another way to keep the healer alive.
While he’d been mulling over his options, Beatrice awoke and started to struggle in his arms.
“Easy, it’s me. Silverblade.”
She raised her head. First looking at him and then her surroundings. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“I’m faster on foot. Speed is of the utmost importance at the moment.” For three whole beats of his heart, he thought she would deny his words.
But then she surprised him and wrapped her arms around behind his neck. “You’re likely right, but you’d move even faster without me.”
Silverblade didn’t even bother to dignify her words with a response.
He carried her for most of the morning, stopping to rest around midday for a candlemark and then starting out again. He kept his brisk pace for most of the day.
It was close to evening by the time he smelled the river, and he heard it long before he saw it. If not for the dull roar of the river rapids, he might have heard the sounds of a horse grazing before he practically tripped over the gelding.
The big, placid gelding merely flicked an ear in their direction as he grazed. Occasionally, he swatted a fly before taking another slow step forward. The horse’s body language told him there were no predators here that he needed to worry about.
“Well, I suppose it’s good to see you,” he commented to the horse. “You couldn’t have waited for us? We’ve only been following you all day.”
He put Beatrice down, went over to the horse, and looked him over. “Damn. The horse is lame, his right hind hoof is hot. Come have a look.”
Beatrice examined the gelding and found what Silverblade pointed out. She sent her healer’s magic to work upon it, but already knew it wouldn’t be a quick fix. “It’s an abscess. Just about any other kind of injury would have been better. I can heal open wounds, cuts, bruises anything along those lines swiftly. But this is an infection inside the hoof and without a sharp farrier knife I can’t cut my way to the infection to allow it to drain. I can still heal it, but not as quickly as if I had the proper tools.”
“Do what you can. He can rest tonight and we’ll see how he is tomorrow.”
Beatrice nodded but was already working on the gelding. After a quarter candlemark of intensive healing she straightened. “There. I’ve killed off the infection. That should help with the pain. But it will take at least a day to heal fully even with my magic’s aid.”
After gently patting the horse, she turned to study the area around them. “Where are we?”
“If we were riding, we’d only be a few candlemarks from the waterfall where my supplies are stored, but the light’s fading, and the gelding needs to rest, so we’ll have to stop here for the night.”
“I’ll start gathering firewood and get a cooking fire going if you want to see if you can round up something to eat.” She glanced sidelong at his claws. “We lost the hunting knives. Will that be a problem?”
“No. But don’t go far from the river and keep an eye on the horse. I don’t want to lose the gelding again.”
Beatrice nodded in agreement. “I’ll see if I can fashion a lead and reins out of some vines. It won’t be pretty, but it might be better than nothing.”
Silverblade glanced at the setting sun. He wasn’t concerned about catching dinner or cooking it, and if they followed the river, water wouldn’t be a problem. But the nights were still cold and blankets were not something the forest could provide.
He only hoped that his supplies stash was intact or that his own people managed to find him before he and Beatrice had to make the mountain crossing. The mountain passes were not likely to see snow this late into the spring, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t possible.
With that unhappy thought, he went in search of dinner.
*****
Beatrice jerked awake and bolted upright, panic making her heart pound, but slowly the nightmares fell away. She was alive. A glance around showed that she was lying next to a fire and the big gelding was grazing a short distance away.
Something else became immediately apparent. Her front was warm where she faced the fire, but her back was cold and she was in desperate need of a bath. She sat up and contemplated the stream. Unfortunately, it looked anything but warm. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d bathed in ice-cold water. But she was also hungry and peered around hopefully, then reaching out with her healer’s gifts, she searched for Silverblade.
Her magic soon located him, and after a moment she knew he was returning to her. If she hurried, she’d have time for a quick scrub in the river. She didn’t have soap, but the river had a sandy bottom and she was likely to come out cleaner than she went in. Anything was an improvement over her present condition.
*****
Beatrice sat close to the fire, warming herself after her dip in the river, and stared into the flames. As always, she found their slow flicker mesmerizing. When Silverblade returned, she looked up and smiled a greeting at him, then stood. He had dinner with him. Rabbits again, but she didn’t care. She was so hungry, she was almost tempted to eat them raw.
“Here, let me help you with those.”
As if he understood her last thought, he grunted in obvious amusement.
Together, they set about building a small cooking spit for the rabbits. The task wasn’t as easy as normal. They had to find some long-dried grass to tie the twigs together with and they didn’t have a blade to cut the branches down to size, but they managed. While the rabbits were cooking over the fire, they sat and watched in relative silence, neither of them mentioning the battle with the acolytes or her terrible magic. For which Beatrice was grateful.
But even that thought was enough to remind her of all that had happened. Her mind still didn’t want to process it, was in fact trying to block it, but the memories wouldn’t stop unfolding.
She had murdered. Yes, it was necessary, and perhaps in a way she was freeing those acolytes from their dark master. The thought gave her little comfort, for it wasn’t only the acolytes. Her magic had slain many an innocent forest dweller, too.
She was supposed to be a healer, not a death dealer.
Tucking her head against her knees, she used the ruse of trying to stay warm to hide the slow trickle of tears down her face. Silverblade respected strength and she didn’t want the lupwyn to see her as weak.
“Beatrice?”
She didn’
t respond, silently wishing him to go back to tending the fire.
Instead he settled next to her, hip to hip, and placed an arm around her shoulders. He dragged her closer until her face was pressed against his chest. He nuzzled her hair.
“It’s all right to cry. Taking a life is never easy, even if it is required so the vast majority can survive. But it does not mean it makes it any easier to kill. I imagine it is especially hard for one who is a healer.”
His voice rumbled over her head, deep and soothing. Something she could listen to for endless candlemarks, she decided.
“Beatrice, there is no weakness in tears. It takes far more strength to show compassion than it does to distance oneself from one’s emotions.”
She nodded against his shoulder, running her finger along his back, finding it strangely comforting.
Still, she wasn’t expecting it when Silverblade’s other arm went underneath her knees and scooped her up into his lap. Before she had a chance to protest, his large fingers with their deadly claws were delicately tipping her chin up so she was looking into his two-toned eyes. His ears came forward, the expression on his face gentle and full of compassion.
He rubbed the back of one finger along her cheek and picked up one, shimmering tear.
“I can say with authority that these are strictly tears of strength. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a time, Beatrice relaxed, simply enjoying Silverblade’s acceptance. She found his warmth, strength, and compassion almost addictive. In her defense, it had been something she’d craved long before she’d met him. With him, it seemed possible that she might have finally found the one thing she’d searched all her life for.
He didn’t need to know that, though. Once she was strong, she could wean herself off his addictive compassion. She would be strong later.
Her eyes drifted closed again, her tears drying as the shivers racking her body slowly subsided. Something else registered. Silverblade’s gentle touch. The entire time she’d sobbed on his shoulder, he’d been gently touching her—soothing caresses which stroked along her hair or just a light touch running down her arms.
Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) Page 11