Warrior's Curse (Imnada Brotherhood) (31 page)

She smiled. “It’s telling me I’m a fool to doubt you. But then again, my heart’s never been the best guide. It told me once I should dye my hair raven black and it ended a horrid shade of green.”

He laughed. “I remember when you did that. The duke was horror-struck.”

“Not half so much as I was. It took six months to grow out and a year to recover from the humiliation.”

“If it’s any consolation, I prefer your hair color just the way it is. It suits you.”

She grinned. “Not too light. Not too dark. Not too straight. Not too curly. I’ve resigned myself to ordinary.”

“You couldn’t be that if you tried.”

Jamie and Estelle followed a path from the garden into the park, the boy’s strength returning and his white-eyed nightmarish panic receding under their hostess’s care. They disappeared near a grove of pines, and Gray was left without a focus for his gaze, a distraction from Meeryn’s unnerving presence. There were things he wanted to say to her but reticence had been his watchword too long. Besides, there was little to be gained by offering her his heart when in a few short months it would cease beating. She would be alone . . . he would have left her again.

No, best to keep silent. To keep still. To deaden his feelings as he’d always done. But it was harder now. Returning to Deepings had created the first cracks in his granite façade. Meeryn had been the slow incessant drip of water forcing her way into the dead places where nothing had lived but ghosts and regret. She offered him his past back. Then she offered him her love.

She felt no such reserve. She took his good hand in her own, threading her fingers with his, their shoulders brushed, her thigh warm beside his as she leaned against him. “You’re strong, Gray. Far stronger than your grandfather ever realized, but you can’t carry the world on your shoulders. Sometimes you have to
admit you need help. Sometimes opening yourself up to hurt is the only way to gain love.”

“And if it’s too late?”

“It’s never too late.”

Her lips touched his, her breath soft in his mouth as he opened to take her deeper, to own her in a long desperate kiss of claiming. He cupped the back of her head in his good hand, smelled the windswept freshness of her hair and the salt of her skin. She was lush against him, a feast for his senses. He caressed her breasts through her gown, felt the gasping catch of an inhalation, heard the sigh as she surrendered to his touch. He leaned her back against the chimney as she skimmed her hands down his chest, freeing his waistcoat, sliding up under his shirt. He shivered. Groaned her name as she circled a nipple with her fingertips.

Arousal dragged the blood straight to his groin. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her tight hot muscles close around him, to taste the slick wetness between her legs, to hear her cry his name as she found her release. He wanted to feel this rocketing runaway desire so that when the end did come, he would remember what he had and what it felt like and how close he had almost come.

“You won’t let me fall, Gray. I’ll not let you drown.”

He smiled as his fingers found the bud between her legs and she jolted and arched against him. He strained against his breeches, wanted her straddling him, wanted her riding him. She fumbled with the buttons on his breeches.

The first gunshot broke them apart, breathing as heavily as sprinters. The second brought them lunging to their feet. But it was the wolves erupting from
the treeline that had Gray stuffing his shirttails in as he headed for the stairs. “Fuck all, they’ve found us!”

*  *  *

Blood leaking from her shoulder, Lady Estelle stood over the dead man, following the stealthy movements of the enormous black panther stalking her. On the ground in front of her, the severed head of the young enforcer Kelan stared up at her with sightless eyes. No way to tell what other information besides Gray’s location he might have given up before he was slaughtered.

“Run, Jamie. Get out of here now,” she hissed as the young half-breed crouched behind her, his face pale but set. His body shuddered as the power overtook him.

Meeryn stood at the edge of the garden wall. She didn’t need to touch the enforcer’s mind to discover clan or signum. The panther’s savaged right ear was identifier enough.
Leave them alone, Wesh
, she pathed.

The panther froze, swinging his catty green gaze her direction. Lips drew back from long white fangs, claws extended in anticipation of a fresh kill. Meeryn stepped from the shadows, sensing the shapechanger’s shock and dismay as his gaze traveled the length and breadth of her aspect. She stretched wide her mouth, allowing a glimpse of her own gleaming teeth, flicked the tip of her orange and black striped tail in pensive deliberation. A deep threatening growl rumbled up her throat.
Leave them and leave Marnwood
, the tiger warned.
And I might let you live
.

You might assume a fearsome aspect, woman,
Wesh sneered
. You’re still a pampered kitten where it counts
.

With the enforcer’s attention on Meeryn, Lady
Estelle dashed for the dubious safety of the house. Of Jamie, Meeryn saw no sign, but for the fleeting brown tail of a lynx disappearing into the shrubs. Where were the others? She’d not seen Gray since the chaos of the Ossine’s arrival. He’d charged down the stairs ahead of her, his shouts lost amid the pounding of her heart and the roaring in her ears. She’d chosen to face the threat rather than hide praying on her knees behind a locked door. A threat that sized her up from ten feet away, his long muscular body a ripple of black, ears pressed close to his head, eyes alive with hate.

You’ve not the guts to kill me, you treacherous cunt. I’ll rip your throat out then I’ll fuck your dead body, beast and man
, he snarled.

Nice language. Do you eat with that—

He sprang, a move designed to throw her back on her hind legs and on the defensive. Caught off guard, she might have retreated, but prepared for such a move, she beat him off, her enormous paws enough to swat the smaller panther away. He skidded over the ground on his side with a screech of defiance.

Care to try again?
she growled, uncertainty hiding behind bold-faced bravado.

Wesh came at her again, sizing her up before launching himself at her, claws reaching to rake her throat, her chest, her ribs. She knocked his blows aside, her massive size giving her an advantage when skill failed her. She might wear the temporary skin of a tiger, but the enforcer bore the true soul and the fighting ability of the panther. He drove under her guard, lunging for her throat. She scrambled to counter his attack, but only managed to deflect his blow, not avoid it. His teeth sank into her skin, his claws raking her
side. She screamed her rage and her pain, as she shook him off, but circling, she knew she had only so much time before he wore her down and the advantage fell his way. He drove again, but this time she connected with a bone-crushing blow of her own, her fangs crushing down on his skull.

He struggled, but her hold was too strong. She felt him thrash as she clamped down, felt his body jerk and spasm as he sought to escape. A slamming blow dropped her to her haunches, but she refused to loose her hold. Instead she tightened her grip, feeling blood slide down her throat, the iron tang of it dancing hot and greasy on her tongue.

The panther growled and twisted, but even these movements grew less violent, death throes as his skull splintered and cracked under the monumental pressure of her tiger jaws.

Pain sizzled up her leg and into her spine. She screamed and let go, whipping around to face this new foe. The pistol’s muzzle was a black hole staring her right between the eyes. She heard the roar of the gun, saw the blinding, singeing flash, and the dark dragged her under.

*  *  *

It missed her. For the love of the Mother, please let it have missed her. Throwing his rifle away, Gray ran toward the hot whirl of light and wind as tiger gave way to woman. Meeryn’s skin shone white as marble against the pool of spreading scarlet beneath her. Her honey-blonde hair spilled around her, matted and sticky.

One enforcer lay half beneath her, his naked body
shredded, his head a pulpy unrecognizable mess. The second lay sprawled beside her, a hole blown through his back where Gray’s shot had torn into him, his spent pistol a few feet away from his outstretched hand.

“Meeryn, forgive me,” Gray whispered, his breath trapped in his lungs.

Time’s run out, my treasonous friend.

The hair at the back of Gray’s neck prickled and his skin crawled. He drew a knife from his waist as he swung slowly around.

There were four of them. Great shaggy wolves of the Viyachne, eyes narrowed in vicious savagery. They closed around him, mouths pulled back in grimaces of triumph. One stepped forward, eyes alight with a dark fire.
The Arch Ossine will reward us well for this day’s work.

The words slithered like ice over Gray’s fevered brain. “I’m not dead yet,” he spat.

The wolf lunged at the same moment Gray flung his knife. The blade buried itself in the animal’s gut. It dropped, writhing in agony. One down . . . three to go.

He fought to reach his feet, body braced for their attack when an enormous shadow blotted out the sun and a bear tore into the pack of hunters, tossing animals aside like tavern spillikins.

Go, de Coursy.
Lucan’s path scraped the inside of Gray’s head with a voice hard as nails.

“To hell with that. I can’t leave Meeryn,” he countered.

It is too late for her. Save yourself.

Gray wanted to throw up, to scream. His eyes burned. His face was tight and hot with rage and anguish. He looked to the house. None moved behind the
windows. No shouts of alarm or cries for help. No way to know if anyone yet lived. Estelle, Delia, Jamie . . . they might all be dead. Would he have to face Estelle’s new husband and offer his condolences? Would he have to send word to Jamie’s grieving parents that the son he’d saved he’d then killed? How many would die because of him?

No more if he could help it. He’d too much blood on his hands, too much weight upon his conscience. Sir Dromon was the key. There would be no concessions, no conversations, no peace until the man was dead. That would be Gray’s final legacy. He might not offer the Imnada a peace. But he could offer those who survived a chance for peace.

And he would be the bait to lure the snake.

Lips curled in a tight hysterical smile, Gray scrambled in search of a weapon to replace the lost knife. Yanked at the dead enforcer’s sword that was trapped beneath him. His movements caught the attention of an enormous black wolf, its muzzle tipped in white. Blood dripped from its jaws and spattered its thick fur. It approached slowly, warily, cutting Gray clear of Lucan’s protection, stalking him toward the garden wall where he would have nowhere to run.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Gray slid a hand along the edge of the sword.

Your death or ours, Fey lover,
the wolf growled deep in its throat.

“These people are not your enemies.”

But you are, fucking whoreson bastard.

An explosion sounded from the house. He lost his sword as a slashing burn spun Gray to the ground just as the wolf lunged. Who the hell was firing at him?
Had he miscounted? Was there another enforcer on the loose? Shit all!

He threw up his throbbing bloody arm in the last moment before the animal fell on him, driving him into the ground. Branches snapped under the crush of weight, jagged broken pieces of dead wood scraping along his ribs and digging into his shoulders. The wolf snarled and struck, teeth inches from Gray’s throat. A claw raked his chest. Another slashed at his stomach.

The beast within him bore up under the onslaught. The cool killer instinct of the predator focused his mind and controlled his muscles. For every move the wolf made, he was there ahead of him. For every slice of his claws or close of his jaws on Gray’s body, he was able to grapple himself free. Lungs filled and emptied, blood pushed through his arteries and veins, his movements as natural and effortless as a heartbeat. But neither his otherworldly strength nor his battle-hardened body would sustain him for much longer.

Gray reached for the sword, his fingers just grazing the pommel before it was knocked from his grasp. Instead his hand fell on a short splintered branch, which he gripped in a tight shaking fist. The wolf evaded his weakening grip and sank his teeth into Gray’s forearm. He screamed and with strength born now of desperation, he drove the branch up into the wolf’s belly.

The animal yelped, blood spilling hot over Gray’s face and chest. He drove it in deeper, turning the makeshift weapon, forcing the animal off him. It collapsed in a chaos of death throes, Gray barely dodging the maddened animal’s final spasms.

Muscles shaking and stomach churning, he sucked in gasping lungfuls of air, afraid to return from the
cold empty place where he felt nothing and cared for no one. Where anguish fled and sorrow was a memory. Blood leaked from a half dozen wounds, but he was unaware of any sensation even close to pain. Tears burned his eyes and his throat closed around a tight knot.

As the hot charring wind of shifter magic engulfed the dead wolf, Gray rose stumbling to his feet. He was back at Deepings on the day when his world had been stripped from him in fire and agony. Once again searching for a face he both desired and feared to find.

Lucan stood at the portico steps. He wore the shape of a man, nude, blood-soaked, but whole. Two men lay dead upon the gravel; one almost ripped in half, the second pulsing blood from a gaping wound in his side.

Delia was at the front door, a musket in her arms.

Then his eye fell upon Estelle laying a blanket over the naked body of a woman.

“Don’t,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and cracking as he stumbled, half ran toward them. “Don’t . . . please . . . don’t cover her up,” he begged.

He collapsed onto his knees, hands and fingernails caked, chest heaving. His fingers shook as he took the blanket from her. Pushed the heavy fall of hair from her face.