Nora Roberts's Circle Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  The youngest let out a squeal that might have been delight, might have been terror as a gold dragon with a woman on its back soared down to the road.

  The young mother went pale as a sheet and stumbled back when the dragon shifted shape into a man.

  “Oh, blessed mother!”

  “Don’t be frightened.” Larkin spoke gently, added what Blair thought of as his thousand-watt smile. “Just a bit of magic, is all. I’m Larkin, son of Riddock.”

  “My lord.” Her cheeks remained colorless, but she managed a curtsey.

  “You’ve some trouble here. Your man is hurt?”

  “It’s me leg.” The man struggled to sit up, but could only moan. “I fear it’s broke.”

  “Let me have a look.” Blair knelt down. His face was gray, she noted, with a good-sized bruise along his jawline.

  “The axle, it broke. Thank the gods my family wasn’t hurt, but I took a bad fall. Then the bloody horse runs off.”

  “Might have a small fracture here.” Blair gave him a bolstering smile. “It’s not as bad as your axle, but you’re not going to be walking for a while. He’s going to need help, Larkin.”

  Larkin studied the wheel. “There’s no fixing that without some new wood. Where are you bound?” he asked the woman.

  “My lord, we were going to stop at the wayfarers on the road to Geall City, then travel on from there on the morrow. My husband has relations in Geall City. His brother, Niall, is with the castle guards.”

  “I know Niall well. If you’d get what you feel you can’t do without for the evening, we’ll see you to the wayfarer.”

  The older child, a girl of about four, tugged on Larkin’s tunic. “Where did your wings go?”

  “I’ve just tucked them away for now, but I’ll show them to you again. Help your mother now.” He gestured to Blair.

  “Can he ride?” he asked her.

  “You’d have to go at a walk. We can put a temporary splint on that leg, but I don’t think it should be jostled around. He’s in a lot of pain.”

  “All right then, it’ll have to be flying. It’s only a few miles to the inn.”

  “You take them. Two adults—one of them hurt—a couple of kids. That’s about all you can manage.”

  “I don’t like leaving you alone.”

  “Broad daylight,” she reminded him, “and I’m armed. I can head over, check out the next trap. It’s what, about a quarter mile that way, right?”

  “It is, but you could wait here. I wouldn’t be much above a half hour.”

  “Kick my heels by a broken wagon? I can check it out and be back here by the time you make the round trip. Then we can swing by the last of them, and maybe do a sweep of the area, see if there are any stragglers that need a hand. We’ll be back home before sunset, with time to spare.”

  “All right then, for you’ll go anyway the minute I’ve gone.”

  “Nice to be so well understood.”

  It took time, not just to load the family on, but to first convince the woman that it could be done. That it had to be done.

  “Now don’t worry a bit, Breda.” Larkin gave her full-power charm. “I’ll be staying as low to the ground as I’m able. We’ll have you and your family at the inn quick as a wink, and send off for help for your man here. I’ll see that someone comes and fixes your wagon in the morning, and delivers it straight to you. Can’t ask better than that.”

  “No, my lord, no. You’re so kind.” Still she stood, all but wringing her hands. “I’ve heard, of course, of your gift. All of Geall knows of it, but to see…And the idea of riding a dragon—”

  “Won’t your daughter have stories to tell? Come now, your husband needs help.”

  “Aye. Well, of course, of course.”

  He changed before she could balk, and left it to Blair to deal with the rest. She helped the injured man up, taking his weight as Larkin bellied to the ground. Using rope from the wagon, she tied him on.

  “I’m grateful to you,” he said to Blair. “I don’t know how we’d have managed.”

  “If you’re anything like your brother, you’d have figured something. He’s a good man. You get on behind him,” Blair instructed his wife. “Keep the kids between you. I’m going to tie you on his back. You’ll be secure, I promise you.”

  “I like his wings.” The girl clambered on before her mother could make a peep. “They shine.”

  When it was done, Larkin picked up the pack of possessions in his jeweled legs. Then turned his head to give Blair a nuzzle on the arm.

  And he was rising up. Blair heard the little girl shouting with absolute delight as they skimmed down the road and away.

  “Know just how you feel,” Blair said with a laugh. With the map in hand, she crossed the road and started across the first field.

  It felt good to walk, and to have a little alone time. Not that she wasn’t nuts about the guy, Blair thought as she brushed her finger over the flower in her buttonhole. But she was so used to being on her own. This whole business had all but eliminated her solo time.

  Since it started, she’d been part of a team—a circle, she corrected. People she respected and believed in, no question, but people who needed to be consulted.

  All in all, she was better at teamwork than she’d imagined she would be. Maybe, she decided, it was all a matter of who was making up the team.

  And somehow, through that team, she’d ended up being half of a couple. She hadn’t believed that was in the cards for her, not again. Certainly not with a man who knew everything there was to know about her, and not only got it, but valued it.

  She already knew it was going to rip her to pieces when they went their separate ways. No choice there that she could see, so there wasn’t much point in brooding about it, less point in wasting the time they had feeling sorry for herself.

  In any case, they both had to live first before they could be miserable and alone.

  It was better, all around better, to enjoy, and to cherish the time they had. When that time was done she could look back at it and know she’d loved, and had been loved.

  She glanced up at the sky, wondering how the farmer and his family were faring with their first—and if she was any judge of the mother of the brood, their last—dragon flight.

  Larkin would take care of them. It was one of the things he was good at. Taking care. When you added the fairy-tale-prince looks, the kick-ass attitude in battle, that quick grin and the excellent stamina in bed, he was just about perfect.

  She checked her map again, hopped over a low stone fence to the next field.

  Beyond it were a few trees, and the most direct route from the coast to the valley.

  They’d move through here, Blair thought, two, maybe three hours before they reached the stream with the blessed water. And at night, go quickly through this open area toward the shelter of woods another few miles inland.

  This route was logical, and it was efficient. Add in the scatter of farms, cottages sprinkled through, there was the possibility of fresh food.

  Oh yeah, Blair mused, this is the way she’ll come. Has to. In stages, maybe, leaving some at the caves, at various safe points along the way. For hunting, for ambushes, quick raids.

  “It’s what I’d do,” Blair murmured, and with a last check of the map, headed southeast into a small, thin grove of trees.

  She saw it almost immediately, and her first thought was some kid or passer-by had stumbled over the trap. And into it.

  Her heart bounced straight into her throat. She sprinted toward the wide hole, terrified she’d see bodies impaled on the wooded spikes below.

  What she saw was a scatter of weapons, and one very dead horse.

  “Moved up the schedule,” she said softly, and despite the sunlight, reached behind her to draw her sword.

  Moved things up, Blair decided, when the reports came in that they’d gone to the Dance with supplies and weapons. And vanished.

  She’d have known where they’d vanished, Blair thought
. So Lilith’s army was already in Geall, already on the march. And had already passed this point. The trap had worked. From the weapon count, it looked to have taken out at least a dozen—and the very unlucky horse.

  She crouched down, wishing she had some of the rope she’d used earlier. They needed to retrieve those weapons—waste not, want not—and get that poor horse out of there.

  She was puzzling over how she and Larkin might do that when she realized the light had changed. Looking up, she saw the sky overhead was black with clouds.

  As twilight fell in a fingersnap, she got to her feet. “Oh shit.”

  She backed up, backed away from the hole, and thought it wasn’t just a dozen vamps who’d walked into a trap. She’d just walked into one herself.

  And they came up, out of the ground.

  Chapter 19

  She took two out fast, an instinctive and wide sweep of her sword, before they were fully disinterred. But there were alarms shrilling in the back of her mind that said she was in big, bad trouble.

  Eight, she counted, after the two she’d dusted. They had her surrounded, cutting off any chance of retreat. And she’d walked right into it, all but whistling a tune. If she managed to live—and the odds were against it—she’d curse herself for it later. Right now since flight wasn’t an option, fight was all that was left.

  The one thing she had, Blair reminded herself, was a lot of fight in her. She pulled her stake, blocked the first blade with her sword even as she pumped out a back kick. She spun, swinging out with the sword, scoring flesh, buying time. Spotting an opening, she rammed the stake.

  One more down.

  But these weren’t green recruits who’d make many sloppy and fatal mistakes. What she was facing were trained and seasoned soldiers, and it was still seven against one.

  She envisioned the fire, sending it rippling down the sword Glenna had charmed. “Yeah, come on. Come on!” Hacking out, she sent one falling back, his arm ablaze.

  Then went flying as one caught her foot on the next kick and hurled her into the air. She slammed hard into the trunk of a tree, saw stars floating on a gray field edged with sickly red. But the one that charged her met fire and steel, and fell screaming into the trap.

  She rolled, and with pain bursting through her, struck out with the flaming sword. Her left arm was numb from the shoulder down, and she’d lost the stake. She hacked, thrust, sliced, took a hard punch to the face that nearly sent her into the trap. She managed to spring over it, fight for footing. And with vicious, screaming blows, beat back the next attack.

  One went for her throat, so she cracked the hilt of the sword on the bridge of his nose. She felt the chain that held her crosses snap as he fell back.

  No stake, no cross. And five of them left. She wasn’t going to make it, no longer hoped she could hold them back until Larkin got to her to even the odds.

  So she wouldn’t die in the valley, but here and now. But by God, she’d take as many as she could with her first so that when Larkin came for her, he could finish the rest.

  Her left arm was nearly useless, but she still had her feet, and kicked up, kicked out as she sliced out fire. They’d weakened her, breaking her form, her rhythm. She blocked an oncoming sword, but the tip of it scored a line down her thigh on the down swing. Her slight stumble left her open enough so that when another kicked, the blow plowed into her belly, stealing her breath as her body flew back.

  She went down hard, felt something tear inside her. With what she had left, she thrust up blindly, had the grim satisfaction of seeing one burst into flame.

  Then the sword was knocked out of her hand, and she had nothing left.

  How many left? she wondered. Three? Maybe three. Larkin could take three. He’d be all right. Head swimming, she struggled back to her feet. She didn’t want to die on her back. She fisted her hands, fought to get her balance.

  Maybe, maybe she could take one more, just one more, bare-handed, before they killed her.

  But they’d stepped back, she saw. Three? Four? Her vision was doubling on her. But she willed it to focus, and saw Lora glide over the ground.

  Weren’t going to kill me, Blair thought dimly. Just working me over, wearing me down. Saving me for her. Worse than death, she realized as her blood went cold. She wondered if she could find a weapon and a way to end her own life before Lora made her a monster.

  If she could manage it, she might be able to throw herself into the trap. Better staked than changed.

  “I’m so impressed.” Clapping her hands together lightly, Lora smiled. “You defeated seven of our seasoned warriors. I’ve lost a bet with Lilith. I wagered you’d take out no more than four.”

  “Happy to help you lose.”

  “Well, you did have a slight advantage. They were ordered not to kill you. That pleasure will be mine.”

  “You think?”

  “Know. And that coat? I’ve admired that coat since I first saw you on the side of the road in Ireland. It’s going to look marvelous on me.”

  “So that was you? Sorry, all of you smell the same to me.”

  “I can say the same about you mortals.” Lora beamed out a gay smile. “Speaking of mortals, I have to say your Jeremy was absolutely delicious.” Still smiling, she touched her fingertips to her lips, flicked them out as if reliving the moment.

  Don’t think about Jeremy, Blair ordered herself. Don’t give her the satisfaction. So she said nothing, meeting Lora’s laugh with stony silence.

  “But where are my manners? We’ve met, of course, but haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Lora, and I’ll be your sire.”

  “Blair Murphy, and I’ll be the one dusting you. And the coat looks better on me than it would on you.”

  “You’re going to be the most delightful playmate! I can hardly wait. Because I have admiration and respect for you, we’ll fight this out. Just you and I.” Lora pointed a finger toward the trio of soldiers, wagged it. “Back, back, back now. This is between us girls.”

  “So, you want to fight?” Think, think, think, Blair ordered herself. Think over the pain. “Swords, knives, hand-to-hand?”

  “I do love bare hands.” Lora lifted hers, wiggled her fingers. “It’s so intimate.”

  “Works for me.” Blair spread her coat open to show she had no weapons. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Bien sur.”

  “Is that accent real, or do you just put it on?” She unhooked the water bottle from her belt.

  “I was born in Paris, in the year fifteen-eighty-five.”

  Blair let out a snort. “Come on.”

  “All right,” Lora said with a laugh, “fifteen-eighty-three. But what woman doesn’t fudge a little about her age?”

  “You were younger than me when you died.”

  “Younger when I was given true life.”

  “It’s all a matter of perspective.” Blair lifted the water sack, twisted it open. “Mind? Your boys gave me quite a workout. Feeling a little dehydrated.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Blair tipped the bag back, drank. The water felt like a miracle on her dry throat. “If I take you, are your boys going to finish me off?”

  “You won’t take me.”

  Blair angled her head, said a quick prayer. “Bet?”

  And swung the bag so the blessed water splashed over Lora’s face and throat.

  The screams were like rusty razors slicing through Blair’s brain. There was smoke, the nasty stench of burning flesh. She stumbled away from it as Lora ran shrieking.

  A weapon, Blair thought, fighting to see, just to stay on her feet. Everything, anything was a weapon.

  She grabbed a low branch of the tree as much for support as a last-ditch effort. Calling on whatever she had left she pulled at it, felt it crack. With something between a sob and a scream, she swung it at the three vampires who charged toward her.

  The dragon dived out of the sky, tail lashing. Blair saw one of them fly headfirst into the trap as the man stood, dra
wing the sword from the harness that spilled around his feet.

  The last thing she saw before she fell was the bright flame of it cleaving through the dark.

  He fought like a madman, without a thought for his own safety. If they landed blows, he never felt them. His rage and his fear were beyond pain. There had been three, but if there’d been thirty he still would have cut through them like an avenging god.

  His dragon had swept one into the stakes, and now he hacked through the shoulder of another. The arm that fell went to dust, and the creature that was left ran screaming across the field. The third rushed to retreat. Larkin swept up a stake on the run, flung it. And sent it to hell.

  With his sword hand ready for however many more might spring out of the dark, he crouched to Blair. The words poured out of him, and were all her name. Her face had no color but the blood that streaked it, and the bruises already going black.

  When her eyes fluttered open, he saw they were glassy with pain.

  “My hero.” Her voice was barely more than a thick whisper. “Gotta move, gotta go, could be more. Oh God, oh God, I’m hurt. You gotta help me up.”

  “Just be still a moment. I need to see how bad it is.”

  “It’s bad. Just…is the light coming back or am I heading into that stupid white tunnel people talk about?”

  “The sun’s coming back. It’s all right now.”

  “Ten, there were ten, and the French whore makes eleven. My head—damn it. Concussion. Vision keeps doubling on me. But—” She couldn’t bite back the scream when he moved her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. A stór, a stór, I’m sorry.”

  “Dislocated. Don’t think broken, just out of joint. Oh God. You have to fix it. I can’t…I can’t. You have to take care of it, okay? Then…Jesus, Jesus. Go get a wagon. I can’t ride.”

  “You’ll trust me now, won’t you, my darling? Trust me to take care of you now.”

  “I do. I will. But I need you to—”