First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (7 page)

He hopped backwards, dragging her along. Ciara threw her weight into him and Scar-face went down, the air whooshing out of his lungs as she landed on top of him. He lost his hold as he fought for breath and Ciara rolled away. She scrambled to her feet, only to find herself face to face with his toothless companion.

"Leave her for me," Scar-face said, coughing.

"She might be too much for ya, Gart. Mebbe I gotta tame 'er a bit first."

Ciara angled around so she could see both men. Scar-face had gotten to his feet. He rubbed his ribs, and pointed a grimy finger at her. "Yer gonna pay, mouse."

She backed away, and looked for Fane. The gelding had wandered off to graze at the side of the road, and the two men were now between him and Ciara.

Scar-face followed her gaze and grinned. "Try it. I'll even give ya a head start."

Ciara couldn't even work up enough spit to wet her lips. She took another step back, her palms slick with sweat as she curled her fingers into fists. She reached inside for her earth magic, and wrapped it around the words she spoke, "Leave. Me. Alone."

The toothless man cocked his head, and a look of calm settled over him. Ciara held her breath, but Scar-face just stood there, amusement playing across his face.

"Go," Ciara said, with extra emphasis and another push of earth magic. She could see it as it left her and glided around the toothless man, but it skittered past his companion like water on ice, leaving him unaffected.

The jagged, white scar twitched as he chuckled. "Now, you and me are gonna have some fun."

Ciara jerked her knife out of its sheath. "Not as much fun as you think." But her voice wavered like the blade in her hand.

The toothless man turned to move slowly away, a gentle blanket of earth magic guiding his steps. Scar-face paid him no heed. Instead, he reached down to his waist and slowly undid the wide belt, his hard stare locked on Ciara. He swung the belt, buckle down, next to his leg, and nodded toward her knife. "You thinkin' of usin' that thing, mouse?"

Goddess's light, if he only knew she'd no clue how to use a knife to do anything more than skin a rabbit. "Try me and find out," she said, before she could stop her tongue. And find out what? That fear had just run rough shod over every ounce of common sense she'd ever had? Damn fool. She risked a glance at his companion.
Go, go, go,
she wished him silently, pushing with her earth magic to keep him walking away.

Movement jerked her attention back to Scar-face too late to do anything other than stumble away as he rushed her. She brought up her knife in a desperate slice that found only air. Scar-face swung the belt at her, and she cried out as the heavy buckle struck the backside of her hand. Her fingers went instantly numb. The knife fell to the ground, and Ciara whirled to run, but Scar-face wielded the belt like a whip. Pain erupted in her leg as the buckle caught her below the knee, and she felt a warm trickle of blood slide down her shin. She managed another faltering step before he wrapped his arms around her waist, and drove her to the ground. Dirt filled her mouth, and stones cut into her palms as she thrust out her hands to break her fall. He sprawled across her back, pinning her, and slid the belt around her throat, tightening as he jerked her head back.

"Tryg," he yelled. "Get over here."

Ciara gasped for air and clawed at her neck, trying to get her fingers under the leather to loosen its hold. She couldn't keep the threads of her earth magic pushing at the other man, not when she couldn't even breathe. Scar-face put his head next to hers, the course hairs of his beard scratching her skin as he reached beneath her and grabbed her breast.

"Keep fighting. Gets me stiff." He ground against her buttocks and grunted. "Feel that?"

He shifted his weight back and rolled her, and Ciara lashed out. A frustrated snarl tore from her throat as the belt loosened, but he caught her wrists and held them until his partner joined him.

"Keep a tight hold 'til I've had my go."

Ciara clenched her jaw; her breath came hard and fast. Toothless Tryg pulled her arms up over her head, and leered down at her. His tongue flicked between broken and blackened nubs of teeth to lick spittle off his cracked lips. His partner still straddled her. A pungent smell assaulted her nostrils, an odd mix of wet sheep and hay. Scar-face jerked her tunic up to get at the laces on her britches, his fingers rough against her stomach.

"Ya wear pants like a man," he said, and shoved a hand down between her legs. "But yer no man, are ya, mouse?"

He started to undo his own britches then, and spit landed on her forehead as his partner cackled. Ciara twisted, and he gave her arms a yank, sending pain searing through her shoulder.

"Stop it!" she yelled.

"When I'm done," Scar-face said.

He grabbed her cheeks, squeezed her mouth into a pucker, and covered her lips with his, drooling onto her face. When he pulled back, Ciara spit at him, and he laughed. Something stirred inside of her. As fear gave way to anger she reached past her earth magic, and grabbed hold of the wilding. The world around her went to black, split by shards of red and silver, like broken glass. Scar-face had both hands on the waist of her britches and had started to yank them down when he froze. His eyes locked on Ciara's, and she felt the corners of her mouth curl upwards in a wicked smile.

"I told you to stop," she whispered, but it didn't sound like her voice.

The sound Ciara made didn't resemble anything human as Scar-face started to climb off her. The force of it caught him full in the chest and sent him hurtling backwards through the air, limbs flailing. Ciara tipped her face back. The toothless man still held her wrists on the ground above her head. He gaped at his companion, and then turned that wide-eyed terror on her.

"You're next," she said, in someone else's voice. Someone cold and deadly.

He tried to let go of her wrists, but the wilding seeped from Ciara's fingers and tightened around his arms. Ciara yanked, and threw him in the direction of his partner. The force of the wilding propelled him into a tree with a sickening thud, and he landed on the ground, his neck twisted at an obscene angle. She stood slowly, and hitched at her pants as she walked toward Scar-face. Her earth magic begin to swirl around her, around the wilding, and Ciara watched as though from somewhere outside her body. Watched as she drew closer to Scar-face. He pushed himself to his feet, and glanced at his companion, then turned to look at her. His face contorted, the scar twitching noticeably. Ciara sniffed the air like an animal. The acrid scent of his fear hung between them, though he curled his lip and spat at her in feigned defiance. He edged back and reached down without taking his eyes off her; searching with his hand until he found his friend's sword, and pulled it from beneath the lifeless body.

"I'm not afraid of you, witch," he said, the sword held ready as he took a fighting stance.

"No?" She cocked her head. "I think you should be."

Ciara reached a hand out to the side, and the belt he had used against her rose off the ground and snaked towards him through the air. He angled the sword that way, eyes flicking between her and the belt. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and sweat beaded his forehead. Ciara's earth magic became more insistent, buzzing around her like an errant fly.

Her aunt's voice seeped into her head,
magic should never be used to harm
. Ciara hesitated. The belt wavered in its serpentine dance. Her glance shifted to the man lying on the ground and her breath caught. She had done that -- had killed him -- with no more remorse than swatting a fly. Ciara began to tremble, the rage fading as her earth magic drew the wilding down.

Scar-face lunged forward and Ciara's hand snapped up without thought, palm out. The gesture rendered him motionless. An inner voice screamed at her to let him go and walk away, but the wilding pushed it aside. Ciara motioned, and the belt continued its journey. It twined itself around Scar-face's throat, slowly drawing tight with nothing but a gentle motion of Ciara's fingers through the air. Panic crept across his face, then fear, finally anger as his eyes bulged and his mouth worked silently; the scar showed brilliant white as blood forced into his face gradually darkened to a hideous shade of purple.

Ciara turned away. She heard him hit the ground behind her a moment before she collapsed.

* * *

Donovan watched the events unfold from a secluded spot off the road. He could have stopped it at any time, but he needed to be certain this girl possessed what he had been searching for. The two ruffians definitely earned their coin, though it had taken a bit more than he suspected to push the girl into using her real power. The Goddess, bless her righteous hide, would rather allow the rape and murder of an innocent before she condoned killing in the name of self-defense. He would be able to use that fact to his advantage.

For now, he needed to play the benevolent stranger. So he walked quietly to where she lay in the center of the road, stooping beside her, and touched her on the shoulder. She startled, and scrambled away on hands and knees, turning to face him only after she put distance between them. Her eyes were wide and her breathing hard. Donovan held his hands up, palms outward and stood. He did his best to hide his irritation and radiate only calm assurance.

"I mean you no harm, I assure you."

She blinked him into focus, and surveyed him closer as her panic visibly ebbed. Eyes of brown, tinged with inner fire, swept over and through him, as much as he would allow. He showed her only what he needed to gain her trust; that he commanded power similar to hers and wanted only to help her. She chewed at her bottom lip as she pondered that, and then reached for the hand Donovan offered and let him help her up.

She broke the contact instantly, and backed a step. Not in fear, Donovan noted with a small bit of satisfaction, but wariness. Her eyes slipped past him, and her hand went to her mouth, a look of horror distorting her features. As the color drained from her face, a fresh bruise across her cheekbone stood out like blood on snow.

Donovan turned to look over his shoulder, following her gaze. "Ah."

"Are they . . . "

"Dead?" he finished. "I do believe so. That was your intent, was it not?"

"No!  I didn’t mean to kill them," she said, her voice a whisper. "I tried to make them leave. It should have worked. I just wanted them to leave."

A tremble worked through her body. She turned away, leaned into the bushes and threw up. Donovan wrinkled his nose. No taste for blood then. The stink of the Goddess clung strongly to her. He waited while she composed herself, which she did by wiping her mouth on her forearm and pushing strands of sweat dampened hair off her face.

"What do I do now?" she said.

"Do?"

She tipped her head toward the corpses but kept her eyes averted. "With them?"

"Leave them for the carrion crows, I would imagine. They deserve no better."

Fire flashed in the depths of her eyes. "They're people. They deserve some sort of rite of passage."

"To guide them to the hells of the damned?" Donovan laughed. "You are far too forgiving. These men intended you harm, and yet you desire to give them a proper send off? By the Emperor's own law, they have received just punishment for their crime."

"But they didn't-"

"Rape you? They would have, had you not stopped it."

"I shouldn't have. Not like that."

"Had I arrived in time to intervene, their fate would have been no different." He cast a look upwards. The sky between the trees had begun to darken. "A shame your companion was not here to aid you."

Her face scrunched. "My companion?"

"I noticed your casting," he said. "I assumed you were waiting for someone. Or was it that you preferred not to be found?"

She slid her gaze to the side. So.
I could assure you are not
.

Donovan knew she heard his unspoken thought by the way her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Assure I'm not, what?"

"Let us forego this dance," he said, and it took all his carefully cultivated self-control to keep his voice level. "Our kind knows one another when we meet. It was not by mere chance I came upon you here. Your power called to me across the leagues."

The frown deepened. She didn't hide her emotions or her thoughts well -- undisciplined in more than just the use of her power. Like a wild thing, kept bound and caged, given just enough training to make her a house pet. It sickened him, and Donovan scowled. "My apologies, you are undoubtedly shaken and I have been remiss. My name is Donovan. I live not too far east of here. If you would do me the honor of accompanying me to my home, you will find it more than comfortable." And he added only the slightest mental push for her to trust him.

"We can't just leave them."

"And what would you do? Is there a shovel in your pack? Would you care to collect wood sufficient to construct a pyre?" This time he failed to keep the annoyance from his voice. "I am not inclined to dirty my hands for the likes of them. The forest will reclaim them, as it does all who fall here."

She shook her head, and drew her lips inward against one another. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she winced as her hand brushed the bruise on her cheek. Donovan watched her expression edge toward horror as the memory of what caused that injury played out behind her eyes.