by Donna Grant
His gaze was filled with agony as he stared at her while he tried to remain vertical. For the first time, Leoma got a good look at his eyes. They were a deep, fathomless indigo, like the sky right before sunset.
“You should’ve stayed away,” she said.
He gave a shake of his head and parted his lips.
“Nay,” she said when he attempted to talk. “No need to waste your energy. We have to get out of here. Now. Before Brigitta returns. The witch has plans for you.”
Braith clamped his teeth together and issued a single nod. When he tried to stand, she took his right arm and slung it over her shoulder. Even then, he kept most of his weight from her.
“We need to move, and fast. I’m sturdy, so lean on me as much as you need,” she said after he sheathed his sword.
She led him toward the path she had taken into the Grove. The Gira shifted away from the trees as she and Braith walked past. His breathing quickened when he saw them.
“Do not look,” she whispered.
He gave a grunt. Whether that was agreement or not, she didn’t know. The Gira seemed to be taking a curious interest in Braith, not that she blamed them. He was strikingly handsome. And strong. But in his weakened condition, it would take very little for them to call him to them.
And once in the clutches of a Gira, there was no coming back. The tree would surround him, consuming him for the Gira to play with or torture as they pleased.
The tip of Braith’s boot caught on his other foot and pitched him forward. Leoma managed to move quickly enough to get in front of him, catching him before he fell. He was heavy, and they still had a ways to go.
“We’re almost out,” she told him. “You have to stay upright until we get out of the Witch’s Grove. Can you do that?”
It took him two tries, but he managed to straighten. She gazed at his ashen face and knew her time was running out. If she didn’t stop the magic in his blood soon, it would be like a beacon for Brigitta—or another witch.
Worse, the longer the magic remained in his system, the more damage it would do. It would continue to weaken him, and could eventually kill him if left untreated.
He gave her a nod. Leoma draped his arm around her shoulders again, and they set off once more. She moved him as quickly as she could without causing him to trip and fall. With her gaze on the border of the Grove, she watched her goal get closer and closer.
“Nearly there,” she told him.
His arm tightened, causing her to glance his way. That’s when she saw the mist on either side of them closing in. No doubt, it was behind them, too.
It was Braith who quickened their pace. She gladly matched his steps. Unable to stop herself, Leoma glanced behind her. It was a mistake. As soon as she saw the mist rising up to take shape, she knew that whatever it was, intended to keep them trapped in the Grove.
The Giras’ whispers had gone silent. That should’ve been a warning, but she had been too intent on getting Braith out to notice.
She and Braith burst through the Grove’s barrier and were soon drenched in sunlight. There was a smile on her face, but it vanished when Braith fell forward. Leoma tried to catch him again, but his unconscious body was too much for her. He ended up dragging her down with him.
Giving herself a moment to catch her breath, she rolled him onto his back and pushed herself up before rubbing her shoulder that she’d jammed into a rock when she fell.
She rummaged through the bag attached to her waist and pulled out a small leather pouch. As she knelt beside him, she began talking, more for herself than him since he was unconscious.
“These are herbs,” she said. “I hate to say this since you’ve just been introduced to this unknown world, but you’ve magic in your blood thanks to Brigitta. This will draw it out.”
She unfastened his leather jerkin and pushed it aside, along with his sliced linen tunic so she could pour the herbs into the four wounds.
“This is Edra’s magic. It’s going to burn a little, but that’s the herbs fighting to cleanse you.”
Leoma put away the pouch when she finished and wiped his brow before looking around. They were still much too close to the Witch’s Grove for her liking, but she wasn’t sure how far she would be able to drag Braith.
She got to her feet and scouted around until she found an area easy to navigate. It led down into a small valley with trees protecting them. She hastened back and hooked her arms under his. Then, with a deep breath, she began walking backward, dragging him.
Halfway there, she looked up to find a horse following them. She recognized the dapple gray from the night before. The stallion remained with her even after they reached the valley. She stretched her back and caught her breath before she checked on Braith’s wounds.
He had stopped shivering, which was a good sign. And his sweating had lessened. She sat back on her haunches and closed her eyes.
That’s when she heard the trickle of water. Leoma jumped to her feet and quickly traced the source of the sound to a small stream. She bent and gathered handful after handful, drinking until her thirst had been quenched.
Then she filled her waterskin and made her way back to Braith. She lifted his head and poured a little water on his lips, but he wouldn’t drink.
With his tunic ruined, she took out her knife and cut off a few strips that weren’t stained with blood. She soaked one and wiped his face to help cool him.
Unable to help herself, she smoothed aside a lock of his dark, lustrous hair, the deep chestnut brown color reflecting the light. Her finger trailed across his brow, noting the lines permanently furrowed by either worry or his constant frown.
She gazed at his face, wishing she didn’t find him handsome. Now that she had touched him, she couldn’t seem to stop. She enjoyed the feel of his stubble against her skin.
It wasn’t long before her eyes drifted to his chest. Before, when she had been intent on healing him, she hadn’t taken the time to look. She intended to do that now.
Her hands shook a little when she pushed open his sliced tunic to reveal an upper body corded with muscle and honed to utter perfection. She wanted to touch him, craved to feel his warmth against her palm, but she held back.
The smattering of dark hair across his chest did little to hide his various scars. He appeared to look at life as if it were one long battle. His body reminded her of a blade forged in fire and pounded, again and again, to take the correct shape before being thrust into cold water to harden—making Braith the perfect weapon.
She wiped his face again before trailing the cloth down his neck to his chest and then his shoulder. Gently, she cleaned off the dried blood to better see the healing wounds. All the while, her thoughts remained on him.
Who was he? What was his story? She wanted to know all there was.
She took out the leather pouch once more, thankful that it didn’t look as if she needed to use more on his shoulder. That left his hand for her to tend to. She carefully gathered his hand in hers and turned it over.
The skin was blistered badly. It was time she took care of that, as well. Gently holding his fingers open, she loosened the pouch strings with her teeth just enough to pour the herbs onto his palm. He jerked against her, causing her hand to open the bag fully.
“Easy, Braith,” she said. “Maybe I should call you ‘my lord’ since the witch said you were an earl.”
She spoke slowly, making sure he was calm before she brought the pouch over his hand and began to pour. No sooner had the few herbs fell upon him than he sat up, knocking the bag from her hand and sending it flying.
Leoma stared into his deep blue eyes that were filled with rage and hate. “No one is hurting you. I’m tending to your wounds. Lie back.”
“Brigitta,” he ground out in a hoarse voice.
“We’ll find her.”
His lids lowered as he fought against sleep. “Have...to.”
“I know,” she assured him. “I heard. But you have to get well first. Now, lay back.”
Finally, he did as she said. Once he appeared to fall asleep, she moved to where the pouch had fallen and stared aghast at the spilled contents.
“Nay,” she whispered in dread.
The only way for her to get more would be to return to the abbey, and that would take time away from locating Brigitta. But fighting witches without some way to heal her wounds would be like walking into battle without a weapon.
She lifted the pouch cautiously so as not to spill any more. When she looked inside, she realized there was enough for her to heal Braith’s hand. Or for her to save it for herself.
Without hesitation, she returned to Braith and tenderly applied the last remaining herbs to his palm. She could only hope and pray that she remained unharmed. The one thing she didn’t want was to suffer a wound from a witch and be far away from anyone who could help.
She tucked the empty pouch back into her bag and then took the other strip of cloth, wetting it before bringing it to Braith’s mouth. After a few dribbles had made it past his parted lips, she repeated the process several more times.
Her eyes became heavy. It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d slept, and it was taking a toll on her. She checked on Braith’s wounds again and then curled up on her side, using her arm as a pillow.
With her eyes closed, she went over everything she had seen and heard in the Grove. If only Helena would’ve stayed, Leoma could have enlisted her help. The witch’s power would be useful in the fight against the Coven.
That was if Helena continued to stand against them.
Most witches didn’t have the gumption to fight back. They joined the Coven out of fear, but it didn’t matter why a witch joined. Each new addition brought the Coven more power.
They seemed intent on growing their numbers, but for what purpose? No matter how much Edra and everyone speculated, no one had anything solid to go on. Yet there was a mounting unease within Leoma. She felt that whatever the Coven was up to, it would be devastating to everyone.
The Coven had gone unchecked for too long. And there were so few Hunters. If only more witches would stand against them as Edra and Asa and Helena were.
Leoma sighed as her body began to relax. Helena had fought. That was something.
Chapter 6
The first thing Braith thought of as he came awake was her eyes. He lifted his lids and looked at the tree limbs above him and the soft gray of a morning sky beyond, but that’s not what he saw.
His mind was locked on her. The warrior with deep pools of dark cinnamon eyes seized him with the raw emotions that blazed in her beautiful orbs.
She could’ve left him behind, but not only did she get him out of whatever that place was, but she also tended to his wounds.
The reminder of his encounter with Brigitta made him take stock of his body. It was the lack of pain that confused him. The agony he’d endured was the worst of his life. How did he feel none of that now?
He raised his right hand to look at his burns. Shock went through him when his gaze landed on his palm—without a mark on it.
Turning his head, he looked at his left shoulder but saw only four pink lines of healed skin. He sat up and took stock of his tunic that had been cut. There were slices through the linen and the leather of his jerkin, which was proof that he hadn’t dreamed his encounter with Brigitta.
He spotted two strips of material lying across sticks that had been gathered. Then his gaze caught sight of the woman.
She was on her side facing him, her arm tucked beneath her head, and her cloak over her like a blanket. Her lips were parted, her breathing that of someone deep in sleep. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
In the sunlight, he was able to see the full glory of her dark locks. Her hair reminded him of the rich soil of his land after a heavy rain. Strands as black as midnight fading to rich, decadent shades of brown with every hue in between.
He was so lost drinking in the contours of her face that it took a moment for his mind to register the song of birds. Braith lifted his gaze and spotted the creatures flying from branch to branch, their cries music to his ears after the silence of the day before.
So much didn’t make sense. Not what he’d seen Brigitta and the other women do in the clearing, not the strange beings in the forest, and certainly not that he was healed.
His gaze scanned the area. The female had chosen a good place for them to hide. He heard something behind him and turned to find his horse staring at him with dark, soulful eyes.
Braith climbed to his feet and quietly made his way to the top of the hill. From there, he was able to find where he had stashed his saddle and bridle. He brought them back to the camp and set them aside.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been a while since he last ate. He rummaged through his pack and found what little food was left. The bread was stale, but it would fill his stomach.
He tore off a large chunk and slowly ate it while sitting against a tree. Again and again, his eyes returned to the woman. He wasn’t sure what question he wanted to ask her first since there were so many.
Halfway through eating his portion of the bread, she inhaled, signaling that she had woken. Her eyelids lifted. As soon as she saw that he wasn’t where she had left him, she rose up on her elbow and turned her head until their gazes clashed.
And just like that, he sank into her eyes once more.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she fastened her cloak into place.
“Like my palm wasn’t burned and Brigitta’s nails didn’t slice into my shoulder.”
A slight smile pulled at her. “That’s good.”
“Who are you?”
She crossed her legs and raked her hands through her long locks to get the hair out of her face. Gathering her mane in her hands, she pulled the thickness over one shoulder and braided it. “My name is Leoma. I’m sure you have many questions.”
“I do. Tell me how you healed me. And where did you learn how to move as you do during battle?”
Leoma drew in a deep breath and placed her arms on her legs as she finished her hair. She studied him a long moment before she finally spoke. “I healed you with magic-infused herbs. As for my training, I was taught several different fighting techniques.”
Those responses only raised more questions. Braith tossed her the other half of the bread as he chewed and swallowed his food.
After she had taken several bites, she said, “Let me start from the beginning.”
“Please.” His mind was still reeling from the mention of magic.
Then again, there were those creatures that looked to be part of the trees. And the green mist.
Leoma gave him a skeptical look, as if already determining that he wouldn’t believe her. The truth was, he wasn’t sure what to think about anything he had seen the day before.
She wiped her mouth and began. “First, you need to understand two truths. There are witches among us, and magic is real. Brigitta and her friends from yesterday are witches. They are part of a Coven that forces other witches to join them.”
“Like the woman with her hands tied,” he interjected. “Helena?”
Leoma nodded. “Helena is like the woman who found me on the streets and took me in. Edra is also a witch who refused to join the Coven. She and her husband, Sir Radnar, created their own coven—a Hunter’s Coven—to stand against evil witches.”
“You hunt witches? Yet you were raised by one?”
“You misunderstand,” Leoma replied. “We Hunters are after those of the Coven. Witches like Helena, we leave alone.”
He tried to remain calm at the easy talk about witches. Then again, he had experienced several things the previous day that he couldn’t wrap his head around no matter how hard he tried.
Leoma’s lips twisted. “By this time, most people are telling me I’ve gone daft.”
“Aye,” he murmured and rubbed his hand over his chin, feeling the stubble. He was in need of a shave. “Your words are difficult to belie
ve.”
“But you saw for yourself.”
He couldn’t disregard that fact. “Brigitta being a witch is why you tried to stop me from finding her?”
“It is.”
His gaze lowered to the ground while his mind went back over his encounter with Brigitta. As soon as he recalled thrusting his sword into her back, he also remembered how she hadn’t died.
Braith’s gaze jerked to Leoma. “Brigitta should be dead. My sword went through her.”
Resignation filled Leoma’s face. “The witches’ power makes them very difficult to kill. No matter how many times you struck her with your sword, she would not have died.”
“You killed a witch. I saw it.”
Leoma’s hand went to the weapon lying on the ground beside her. “My sword was specially made for me. When the steel was forged, Edra added magic to it. Every Hunter has weapons with magic to kill witches.”
“I want one of those.”
Her answering smile made his stomach flutter. “Knowing Radnar, he would happily give you such a blade.”
“You were raised to hunt witches?” he asked, still unable to fathom such a life. Then again, how different was it from his? He had been raised for battle, as well.
Both of them were trained to kill.
“It was my decision to become a Hunter,” she replied.
“Can you do magic, then? You said it was magic that healed me.”
Her eyes crinkled with her wide smile. “Nay, I’ve no power. It was Edra’s magic mixed with the herbs. Had I not administered them, Brigitta could’ve used your wounds to track you. She wants you for something, and anything the Coven wants, we make sure they don’t get.”
“The pain of those wounds was...terrible.”
“They could’ve killed you if left untreated.”
He swallowed and gave a bow of his head. “Thank you for helping me. Even if it was to keep me out of Brigitta’s and the Coven’s hands.”
Leoma glanced at the ground and rotated what was left of the bread in her hand. “I’m sorry she hurt someone you loved. Josef?”