Allegiance Sworn (17 page)

With a turn of her head, her cheek brushed the sleeve of Arek’s shirt. She closed her eyes and inhaled, letting his scent fill her. An earthy blend of heated male and the outdoors mixed with the faintest trace of human blood.

Her nostrils flared and saliva flooded her mouth. Only a single layer of cloth separated his skin from her mouth, her teeth. It wouldn’t take much to tear and shred it. She could feed.

Imhara shuddered and fisted the blanket, fighting the primal response.

“You’re cold.” Arek shifted, letting her head rest against something soft as he moved away from her. She opened her eyes to see him placing wood on a small fire.

The rock walls around them provided a much-needed distraction. “Is this a cave?”

“We’re still in the dead end gully, in a shelter, part natural, part built.”

The space was small, barely big enough for both of them. Kneeling by the fire, Arek’s blond hair almost touched the roof. Within a foot of her blanketed feet was another wall, this one also made of woven branches. The base had two armor chest plates tied to anchor it into the ground. The thick leather would keep snow and draughts out, while a small hole near the top drew out the smoke of the fire. Dead needle-leaves strewn across the floor kept the damp of the ground from them.

Despite the warmth coming from the flames of the fire, Imhara shivered again. This time she was truly cold.

The colder she became, the more intense her hunger would be.

Light
, not a good combination.

Closing her eyes, she released a slow breath and added concern to her list. Not for herself, but for Arek.

“Imhara, stay awake, don’t go back to sleep.” His tone was light, cajoling, but the acrid odor coming from him betrayed his concern. His compassion made for a welcome change from bitter hatred.

“It’d probably be better if I did.”

“Why say that?” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until he responded. “I might not be able to wake you next time.”

Grimacing, she opened her eyes to stare at the fire, listening to the flames crackle and snap as they consumed the wood, and wished she could crawl among the embers. The cold racking her body was bone deep.

“I’m just so tired.” The truth, enough for the moment. Beneath the cloak, she flexed her good hand, trying to get warm. Perhaps the hunger pangs would ease if she could do that.

Arek placed more fuel on the fire, then returned to sit beside her. He nodded in the direction of the woven wall. “The armor worn by those
Na’Reish
don’t have Clan markings on them. Nor could I find any on their weapons. Did you recognize them?”

“No. And we can assume none of the archers will be wearing anything identifiable, either.” She shifted to look up at him. “Arek, what happened to the caravan? The others?”

“I don’t know.” The flickering shadows darkened his twilight eyes to ebony. A small frown creased his brow. “The first few wagons were pinned down. Rassan was calling orders to your
Na’Hord
when we saw you go over the edge of the roadway. I was the closest, so I went after you.”

Only a few had fallen under attack? That hinted the ambush had been sprung too early. While steep, the hillside above The Overhang was accessible. Any wagons near the bend that hadn’t reached the campsite were in a position to take advantage of that. Her
Na’Hord
could climb the slopes and work their way around to the forest from there. Rassan would have that knowledge.

“There were three, maybe four archers.” His firm lips thinned. “Your
Vorc
took half a dozen arrows. You took two and your armor deflected a third. They were determined to kill you.” Darkness stirred in his gaze, and a bitter heat crept into his scent. “The taller one, Jedir, mentioned they’d been warned about you. That means someone else ordered this ambush.”

“Assassins for hire.”

“You say that so calmly.”

“It comes with the territory, Arek.”

“I suppose it would.” He blew out a short breath. “Will Rassan kill or capture the archers?”

“I doubt any will let him take them alive.” Another uncontrollable shudder ripped through her.
Merciful Mother
, would she never feel warm again? She tried to snuggle deeper into her cloak.

Arek’s hand smoothed over her forehead, his palm furnace-hot. A quick tug and his hand delved beneath the edge of the cloak and found hers. “You’re wearing two extra layers of clothing, the air is warm from the fire, and you’re still a block of ice.” His frown deepened. “You could have cold-sickness.”

Unlikely.

Should she reveal the true reason?

Imhara chewed her lip. No. Not unless she had no other choice. Arek had enough to worry about without an added complication.

“I’ve seen healers give hot drinks to those affected by it. We have water and fire but nothing to heat it in.”

“It’s all right.” Her chattering teeth distorted the words almost beyond recognition. “You’ve done as much as you can.”

“No, I haven’t.” He grimaced, then his expression hardened and blanked, all except his eyes. The deep blue within blazed, heated, and the pupils dilated.

A familiar odor of spice filled her nostrils. Arousal. There was no mistaking it in such close quarters. Her pulse beat harder and a shiver raced down her spine.

What was he thinking?

With a sharp inhalation, he pulled the cloak from around her and helped her to rise into a sitting position. “Not everything.”

“What are you doing?”

“Warming you up.” He shifted, moving behind her to lean against the wall. Her eyebrows lifted, but his answer made more sense when he slid his long legs either side of her and cradled her back in against his chest. One arm curled around her waist to steady her as he tucked the cloak back in around them both. A muscle in his jaw flexed and his scent dissipated, as if it had never existed.

Lady’s Breath
, even with three layers of clothing between them, Arek’s body heat reminded her of being next to a smithy’s forge. It was almost painful on any exposed skin. She shuddered and smothered a groan, soaking it in.

He covered her hands with his. Calloused fingers began to massage hers, surprisingly gentle, stimulating the skin until blood rushed into them, making them tingle and hurt. Her arms were next, his hands stroking then moving in slow, circular motions up each limb, avoiding her wound, working on the muscles he could reach across each of her shoulders without leaning her forward.

Imhara relaxed into his touch. It felt good. This close to him, she couldn’t escape his scent. Tangy wood smoke blended with the subtle odor of spice. Not as strong as before yet present once more.

She took a slow breath in through her nose, letting it fill her lungs, savoring it, mulling over what it meant, and found she had to bite the inside of her cheek to contain a smile. Ever since that unexpected kiss between them, she’d been wondering what it would be like to feel his hands on her again. Now she knew.

The ache building inside her wasn’t just a reaction of her cold limbs responding to his warmth, and she took a moment to enjoy the sensation. She should feel perturbed finding pleasure in his touch, and for wanting more, but couldn’t resist being selfish just this once.

And no matter how much Arek wanted to deny it, he was far from immune to her. An attraction between them existed. Willing or not. She understood his dislike for her, his need to resist, she even respected his struggle, but couldn’t help wonder what would happen if he dared to accept what was growing between them. She expected it would be explosive, much like their kiss had been.

Flint to tinder.

Oil on flame.

The raw promise of passion; the provocative images that flashed into her head almost took her mind off her hunger.

Almost.

“You’ve stopped shivering.” Arek’s breath hit her forehead in warm puffs, his voice husky. “Warmer?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The hunger had subsided to a tolerable level, but more concerning was the insidious lethargy swamping her senses. Sudden and swift, it was hard to resist. Her head dropped back onto his chest and her eyes closed of their own accord.

“Don’t let me sleep.”
Lady
help her, her body would shut down if she did. She blinked hard. “I have to stay awake. Talk to me.”

Her plea sounded slurred.

“When we arrive at the Gannec fortress, how do I tell all you
Na’Reish
apart?” Beneath her ear, Arek’s voice rumbled in his chest. “Each Clan has a crest, but how do I differentiate between the castes?”

Her sleep-fuzzed mind took her a moment to process his question.

“Look at the way we dress.” She pointed her chin at the armor opposite them. “Garsh’s clothes, his weapons and armor. Simple styles. Worn. Basic designs. He was probably once
Na’Reisha
, the working class, and then joined his Clan’s
Na’Hord
. A male’s status improves once he becomes a fully trained warrior. He becomes
Na’Reishu
, and any mate or blood-kin are elevated with him.”

“Jedir was also
Na’Reishu
?”

“I assume so, although he definitely held some sort of rank, maybe a Commander.” She wet her lips. “You’ll have no trouble discerning which of us are
Na’Reishi
. Males wear Clan markings and colors on their armor or their finery. Any females with them will be kin or of the same status. You’re either born into the rank or take it by force.”

“And
Na’Reisha
are the working class?”

“Menial labor and grunt work are left to human-slaves, but
Na’Reisha
are tradesmen, merchants, other skilled workers such as tutors. Some remain in that caste all their lives, some are demoted to the rank because of age, lack of connections, disgrace, or disfigurement. Most try and improve their status by joining the
Na’Hord
or earning the favor of others in a better class than them.”

The hypnotic flickering and dancing of the flames drew Imhara’s gaze. Her eyelids grew heavy again.

“How do
Na’Reisha
earn favors?”

A gentle squeeze of her hand and the question centered her. She forced herself to focus and answer. Arek asked question after question and, while she knew he was doing it to keep her awake, the queries weren’t random. He was methodical in the topics he chose, seeking clarification and details when needed, then going back over the information to check his understanding.

Twice the fire burnt down to embers before he stoked it up again. It was the only measure of time they had for their conversation.

“Would you mind going back over the names of the Clan
Na
again . . . ?”

Cramps twisted her gut, fast and hard. Imhara gasped, her inhalation a guttural cry. Arek’s voice faded to the background. Every muscle spasmed, then a ferocious heat blasted through her, head to toe, adrenaline chasing in its wake.

Pulse hammering, she sucked in a breath as every nerve fed her an overwhelming cacophony of sensation and sound. The hard thud of Arek’s heart became the pounding of a drum. His scent in her nose an overpowering reek that made her gasp. The coarse rasp of her cloak against her skin an unbearable irritant. Everything so grossly amplified or perverted it hurt.

She shuddered and would have doubled over if Arek’s arms hadn’t tightened around her.

“Imhara? Are you all right?”

She tried to speak but groaned instead as another wave of nausea ripped through her.

“Imhara?”

“Don’t. Move.” She winced at the gravelly sound of her voice.

He stiffened, every muscle in his body hardening like steel. She pushed at the cloak covering her, unable to stand it against her skin any longer. Another surge had her writhing in his arms.

His hand pressed against her forehead. “Now you’re burning up. What’s wrong?”

With a sinking heart, she couldn’t ignore what was happening.

“I need . . .” She broke off, cursing, wishing anyone but Arek had tracked her down.

“Water?” He reached for the canteen sitting beside them. “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Would he let her explain before reacting?

“Blood.” She had to feed or risk slipping into unconsciousness. She had to convince him. “I need . . . your blood.”

Chapter 21

“M
OTHER
of Light!”
None too gently Arek jerked away from Imhara, ignoring her cry of pain as he scrambled back from her.

Keeping the fire between them, he snatched up a weapon from the pile stacked near the wall and whipped around, expecting to find her ready to launch herself at him. She still lay on the ground, her arms wrapped around her middle, panting. He blinked.

Curled up into a tight ball on the pallet of needle-leaves, she didn’t look capable of moving an inch let alone the few feet separating them.

“I won’t attack you.” Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper. The dark smudges ringing her eyes only emphasized the sickly, gray pallor of her face.

“I thought you had cold-sickness!” His gut burned and twisted with his stupidity. “You could be lying now!”

She flinched. “As the
Lady
is my witness, I’m not.”

They toy. They torment and then they strike.
His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head.
Demons don’t change their spots! More fool the warrior who believes otherwise!

He should have listened to his instincts when he’d seen Imhara shivering—the hard facts had been there from the time he’d taken the arrowheads out of her, but like an idiot, he’d let down his guard and trusted her.

“Arek, please, listen to me. . . .”

Tendrils of cold slithered and curled around his heart and squeezed. He’d heard a voice like hers only once before—Annika’s; gravelly, thick with need—not something he could forget. He and Kalan had found her locked in Davyn’s apartment, consumed by blood-rage, driven over the edge by her hunger. She’d attacked those who’d come to help. It’d taken Varian and Kalan to control her, to stop her from killing Rissa.

Annika hadn’t been able to control herself.

Nor had the
Na’Reish
he’d seen on patrol.

Why would Imhara be any different?

“I’ve seen your kind with blood-rage,” he hissed. Breath rasping in through his mouth, his pulse thundering in his ears, he stared across the small distance between them. “You feed, then discard the victim like an empty water pouch. Your hunger for blood is all consuming until you heal.” His grip tightened on the dagger. “What’s to stop you attacking me?”

“Not all of us are affected by it, Arek. Only a rare few.” Her purple-hued eyes locked with his. “Yes, I’m starving, but I’m not a danger to you.”

His lips twisted. To think he’d believed she’d been about to die from cold-sickness. Her plight had brought back memories of the failed rescue mission and the uncertainty of not knowing whether his best friend had lived or died because of his actions.

With Imhara, sharing his body heat had been the only thing he could think to do, and doing something was better than nothing. While helping her had felt good, and should have been his only purpose, as he’d slid behind her, his thoughts hadn’t been on the healing benefits of their position.

In truth, all he could think about was the way her body fit against his. How her torso molded to his chest, the curved softness of her buttocks nestled into his lap, and her long legs resting between his. The sensation of cradling her against him went from pleasure to desire in less than a heartbeat, and it’d taken every ounce of will to control that need.

The heavy tension seething low in his gut made it impossible to pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d been tempted to draw away, but his conscience hadn’t let him, not when he knew his actions could save her life.

But it turned out she hadn’t needed that kind of help.

Goose bumps prickled his skin. She was just like his grandfather, twisting situations to further her own agenda and keeping him in the dark unless given no other choice.

What was the truth? Was Imhara like the blood-crazed demons he witnessed after skirmishes, the ones who drain captured warriors or human-slaves of blood in order to heal? Or could she control her blood-need?

“You had the chance to tell me about your hunger. You didn’t.” His voice shook. “You speak of wanting me to trust you, yet you withhold information when it suits you.”

“I was trying to protect you, not hide anything from you!” He snorted. Her mouth pulled flat, her gaze flared hot. “One moment I scent your desire, the next a loathing so intense it chokes me. I don’t understand. Why do you cling to your hatred like a child clutches his mother’s leg?”

Heat surged into his cheeks. “Because you give me plenty of reason to,
demon
!”

Closing the distance between them, Arek called on his Gift and pushed her flat, his hand pressed to her chest. Her soft gasp and pinched expression warned him the energy seared her senses. She shuddered.

He reined it in, detesting that she’d made him lose control, despising the extreme emotions that were shredding him raw.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was wrong with you?” he ground out from behind gritted teeth.

She glared at him, the fire in her gaze bright. “Are you telling me you’d have reacted differently if I had?”

“You never gave me the chance!”

Guilt and regret flickered across her ashen face. “I’m sorry—”

Beneath his hand, her body jerked as another convulsion cut off whatever she was going to say next. Her face contorted as a muscle-twisting shudder tore through her. The seizure lasted several heartbeats, agonizing to watch in its intensity. Her body bowed upward. She bit her lip so hard blood welled from it. Sweat beaded on her cheeks like tears.

His gut contracted as she suffered in silence. One heartbeat. Two. Another half dozen. Then her body went limp.

While there was nothing weak about Imhara, there was a definite vulnerability in the way she lay there after the seizure subsided, her dry, cracked lips parted, sucking in ragged breaths. Beneath his palm, he could feel the rapid thump of her heart in her chest and the clammy dampness of her skin.

Deep inside him, something stirred. As the feeling persisted and gnawed at him, he fought it. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for anyone who lied to him. She was strong, tough. She was
Na’Reish
and more than capable of deceit when it suited her.

But still, if she was as hungry as she claimed to be, or consumed by blood-rage, why hadn’t she tried to bite him? His arm had been close enough.

She wasn’t behaving like he’d expected her to.

“It seems your desire to see me dead means more to you than your oath to help kill Savyr.” The thick slur to Imhara’s voice brought his attention back to her. “So much for Light Blade honor.”

Her goading pricked like a healer’s needle.

Hissing a curse, he released his hold on her. “You’d use that to manipulate me?”

“Whatever it takes,” she refuted. Exhaustion rode her hard yet her gaze remained fierce. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, but your hatred blinds you. You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

Didn’t she ever give up?

His jaw clenched. “My hatred for the
Na’Reish
is shared by every other Light Blade.”

“Scents don’t lie, Arek. Yours is much deeper, darker. Why?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is if it endangers our plan!”

No way he was telling her anything about himself, or his family.

Yet his promise committed him, his honor bound him to seeing this through. Once given, to break with either breached the sacred trust he’d been given by the
Lady
the day he’d sworn allegiance to serve
Her
.

Nor could he dismiss the fact that Savyr’s death would satisfy their common need for vengeance.

His lip curled. “What endangers it is you not telling me the truth about your illness . . . you letting me believe the cause of it was something else. If you want it to succeed, then you tell me everything I need to know. Regardless.” He stabbed a finger at her. “Don’t withhold the facts. Don’t lie to me. Don’t honey coat anything because you’re worried about how I’ll react. I’ve given you my oath. Trust me to deal with my hatred. Trust me to make the right decision. But give me the information I need to do both. It’s the only way this will work.”

In the name of the
Lady
, why was he giving her another chance when logic warned him against believing her? Arek scraped a hand over his jaw, the rasp of skin on stubble harsh in the heartbeat of silence. He had no explanation, none whatsoever.

“All right. You’ve made your point.” Imhara nodded and drew in an unsteady breath. “It wasn’t a lie when I said I wasn’t a danger to you. If you wanted to, you could kill me right now using your Gift or the dagger.” Her chin lifted, then her head tilted to expose her throat. “I’m too weak to stop you.”

Beneath her skin he could see the rapid beat of her pulse. One swift flick of his wrist and the blade would slice through her artery.

Vulnerability and submission.

Something he’d never seen any
Na’Reish
offer voluntarily.

Yet she was a fighter, a warrior, to the core.

“Twice now you’ve given me the opportunity to take your life.” He shook his head. “You aren’t like any
Na’Reish
I’ve known.”

After several long heartbeats, Imhara brought her chin down. Wary hope flickered across her face.

Her tongue swept out to moisten dry lips. “So, does this mean you’ll let me feed from you?”