Allegiance Sworn (32 page)

Chapter 35

“I
MHARA,
behind you!”

Arek spun on his heel at Rassan’s warning shout as around him the whole room erupted. Their anticipated fear was coming to pass. With Savyr’s plan of mating Imhara unsuccessful, only her death would give him what he craved. And he’d given Yur free rein to accomplish it by any means possible.

The faint hiss of a blade being drawn from its sheath came from his right. He heard Rassan’s battle cry, felt more than saw Imhara move to engage Yur, but then had to focus.

The two
Na’Hord
warriors moved on him, swords drawn. They outweighed and outmuscled him, their height and reach superior to his. A slave didn’t stand a chance against them.

Good thing he wasn’t a slave.

But both possessed swords and belt daggers. And even though he’d faced such odds in border skirmishes, he’d done it armed. His heart beat a little harder and faster.

They took their time closing in; a mistake as it gave him time to strip his belt from around his waist. Leather and metal, small defense against four weapons but better than bare hands. He’d need every year of training and battle experience to match them.

“Come, human, I offer you a swift death.” The warrior on the left lowered his sword and gestured with his hand. “A knife blade to your heart before I feed on you.”

A promise of mercy? From a
Na’Reish
demon?

“You think I’d willingly walk to my death?” he asked, and shook his head.

The first demon lunged at him. He sidestepped the attack, making sure to keep the warrior between him and the second. Bringing the belt up in an underhanded strike, the buckle clipped the demon’s chin and scored across his cheek. The warrior bellowed and clutched at his face.

Arek dropped the belt and tackled him about the waist, driving the demon to the wall. They hit with a thump. He grabbed the wrist of the arm that held the sword, fingers searching until he found the flesh between the demon’s sleeve and glove. His Gift surged, fast and hot. The rush of power seared every nerve in his hand, but he held on and pushed it into the demon.

The warrior convulsed. His mouth stretched wide in a soundless scream. Arek snatched the sword from his lifeless hand. Not waiting to see the body hit the ground, he turned.

The second
Na’Hord
warrior stared at his comrade, utter surprise on his face. “There’s no wound.”

His gaze lifted and locked on to him. Arek saw his confusion clear and realization cross his narrow face.

“No!” The deep rasp held a note of disbelief. He shook his head. “But I felt . . . You can’t be!”

The element of surprise, so important in any battle, would be lost in less than a minute once the demon accepted what instinct already told him—that he faced an experienced Light Blade, not just some slave.

Arek didn’t wait. With a cry, he engaged the
Na’Hord
warrior with a flurry of blows. No finesse, no fancy blade work, no break in his attack, just pure speed and force. The blade was heavier than he was used to but it didn’t matter. He made the weight work for him with every blow.

Their clash of sword on sword resonated through the room, muscle and bone vibrating with every blow. There was little room to move between a bed and a wall, even less for a seven-foot demon wielding a five-foot sword.

Arek ducked to avoid an overhead sweep. The blade screeched against the wall. Sparks spat close to his head. Burnt metal filled his nostrils. The edge of the sword bit into the wooden frame of the window nearest the bed. It caught and held.

Grunting, Arek brought his down for an overhead strike. The blow caught the flat of his opponent’s blade with enough force to tear the hilt from his grasp. The demon’s sword clattered to the ground.

With a snarl Arek surged forward, wrist twisting his weapon at an upward angle. The tip of his blade speared into his abdomen, just where the edge of the armor and hips met. He drove it deep into the demon’s innards and twisted it. The shock on the warrior’s face was gratifying.

Black lips stretched wide but no sound came forth.

Lungs pierced.

Arek grinned. “Now I offer you a swift death!”

He sent a second bolt of power surging through his blade, as strong as the previous one, but nowhere near as painful with the metal as the conduit used to deliver the killing surge.

The
Na’Hord
warrior dropped to his knees, his shocked expression slackening. Arek yanked his sword free. The demon toppled over, his dead weight thumping hard as he hit the ground. Ominous dark stains seeped and spread into the rug around the body.

“Arek!”

Rassan’s bellow whipped him around. The
Na’Chi
had his hands full holding off an opponent even though three bodies lay sprawled on the floor in front of him. The two came together in a frenzy of blows, every strike blocked or countered.

An even match, yet the
Na’Hord
warrior’s shirt sleeve flapped wetly. Blood soaked it, and every strike splattered droplets through the air. At the rate he seemed to be losing blood, weakness would eventually set in, if it hadn’t already. Rassan would prevail.

The
Na’Chi
delivered a nasty slice to his opponent’s thigh. As the
Na’Reish
staggered and fell to one knee, Rassan stepped back.

Why had he given up the advantage?

The
Na’Chi’s
gaze lifted and Arek saw the brilliant flare of yellow in the flecks in his eyes. He pointed with his bloody sword across the room.

“Help, Imhara!”

Arek’s heart pounded then choked in his chest as he saw Yur backhand Imhara hard against her cheekbone. She staggered yet recovered quickly enough to deflect a vicious upward thrust from Yur’s blade with her sword, but she’d lost ground.

Yur gave her no quarter, delivering several overhead blows in quick succession. Imhara blocked each, the jarring vibrations travelling the length of her blade and arm. If her muscles weren’t numb yet, they soon would be. She was being driven into the corner of the room, overpowered by sheer strength.

Arek hissed a curse and started forward, already knowing the outcome. If her weapon arm lost strength, and unless she was skilled enough to wield a sword in her other hand, Yur would have her. The thought made his stomach twist and knot.

He headed around the bed then changed his mind. Rounding the end would bring him up behind Yur, an advantage he could use, but Imhara didn’t have that sort of time. She needed him now.

Seizing the end poster, Arek leapt onto the bed. Imhara took another overhead blow. She grunted with the impact. The force drove her blade to the ground. Yur slammed his boot down on the flat of it, ripping the hilt out of her hand. With a sharp crack it smacked against the floor.

Yur’s lips peeled back from his teeth. The warrior lunged, his dagger glinting in the lamplight.

Adrenaline surged through Arek. His breath seized in his lungs. “No!”

Time slowed.

The scene before him altered.

Imhara’s face blurred, became Kalan’s. The room, a shadowed clearing.

Light
, not again!

He’d failed a friend before. He couldn’t fail another now.

The curved dagger punched into Imhara’s side, just below the ribs. She cried out. Her features contorted into a teeth-baring grimace. She grabbed Yur’s wrist to stop him from driving the blade deeper.

Yur’s sword rose high. He reversed his grip on the hilt, holding it like an oversized dagger. Imhara’s pain-filled gaze lifted to it. It began to descend.

Arek launched himself across the distance separating them. He landed beside the demon. With an upward block he caught the strike, metal screeched on metal. Their hilts met. The angle was all wrong; he’d had no time to position himself correctly. Arek twisted anyway. With a hard pull, he deflected Yur’s blade away from Imhara, unable to fling it from his grasp.

Yur’s head snapped toward him, fury lashing his face. “I’ll take pleasure in killing you once I finish with her!”

Arek bared his teeth. “You can try, demon!”

“I’ll take my pleasure now!” Imhara ground out through her teeth with barely contained ferocity.

Light flashed on a metal blade near her waist, one bloody hand wrapped around the ornate hilt. Her own dagger. With a grunt she brought it up in a diagonal sweep, aiming high. The blade sliced deep into Yur’s windpipe, from one side to the other. Blood sprayed from the heart vessel.

“That’s for my family!” she rasped.

Yur staggered back, releasing both weapons to clutch his throat. The demon’s gasp became a wet, gurgling sound, then a cough. His mouth opened and closed as more blood seeped between his fingers.

Arek followed through with a kick into the demon’s torso. The sole of his boot hit with a dull thud. The impact sent him careening into the wall. His head struck with a sickening crack and he sank into a tangled heap against the wall.

Arek crouched and placed the point of his sword beneath Yur’s chin. The iron-rich odor of blood filled his nostrils. “Nothing to say now,
Na’Reish
?”

Dazed purple eyes, bright with fear, locked with his. Every desperate breath gurgled and choked in Yur’s throat. One bloodstained hand reached out and clawed Arek’s leg.

Too weak to gain purchase, his fingers slipped. A silent snarl shaped his black lips.

Arek knew his smile lacked warmth. “This is for Imhara.”

He drove the blade up into Yur’s head.

Chapter 36

A
combination of furious elation and relief flooded Imhara as Yur slid lifelessly to the floor, his eyes glazing over. The warrior responsible for the massacre of her family was dead.

Finally.

Justice was served.

Her vendetta with Savyr was in serious danger though. The moment Yur’s dagger had slid into her, she’d known it.

Imhara grimaced and pressed a hand to her side, the throbbing pain excruciating and debilitating enough to steal her breath and make her head spin. Reaching out blindly, she staggered to the bed, almost not making it before her legs gave out.

“Imhara!” Rassan’s voice sounded like it came from a great distance. She blinked, forcing her eyes open, never even realizing she’d closed them. Her head felt light, while all her limbs were heavy.

Across the room Rassan stepped over and around four bodies to get to her. Arek swiveled where he crouched near the still body of Yur, his fierce expression softening to concern.

“Should have seen that coming, eh?” She grimaced at the sticky warmth oozing beneath her hand and tried to press harder. “In training you always warned me—” Another wave of pain washed through her, cutting off the rest of her sentence. She groaned, unable to hold back the sound.

Rassan knelt in front of her, placing his sword down on the floor beside him. “Let me look.” The flecks in his eyes were bright yellow.

Fresh blood pulsed from the wound as soon as she lifted pressure from it. Dark, not bright, which was some relief. Rassan peeled up the edge of her shirt. Strong hands caught her shoulders, and the bed dipped as someone slid onto it to support her from behind. A familiar spicy scent surrounded her.

Arek.

“How bad is it?” His terse tone sounded in her ear.

“Lady’s Breath!”
Rassan’s soft curse confirmed Imhara’s fear.

“That bad, huh?” She offered him a weak smile.

Her Second nodded once. “It’s deep. The blood’s clean. No foul odor and the blood wells rather than spurts, so the blade missed your innards. It’s still flowing. That’s all I can tell.”

Arek’s arms tightened around her. “We need to get back to camp. Get you a healer.”

Rassan shook his head. “No time. She risks bleeding out before we even make it to the fortress gate.”

“Then what about Ilahn? Surely he’d have access to a healer.”

A laugh rasped from her throat. “Arek, we’re in a room with seven bodies. Ilahn might not have liked Yur, but if Savyr finds out his Second died in his House, it’d be enough to warrant the trader’s death. He’d turn us over to Savyr in a heartbeat if he knew it would save his skin.”

“It’s true, Arek. Yur used intimidation to find out what room you were in. For anyone else Ilahn would have had his staff forcibly escort them from the House, but he knew to resist would mean reprisal.” The yellow in Rassan’s eyes changed to green as he looked past her to the Light Blade. “Let her feed from you.”

“What?” Every part of Arek pressed against her back went tight and the faintest odor of soured citrus tickled her nose.

“Imhara needs your blood to heal. Full healing might take a few hours, but you saw how quickly she recovered after you let her feed from you up in the mountains.”

Imhara shook her head. “No, Rassan.”

Arek’s loathing from that time holed up in the makeshift shelter remained a vivid memory. His reaction to Rassan’s suggestion now only proved how unfair it would be to put him in that position again.

Her stomach cramped and eased in the space of a heartbeat. The hollow emptiness remaining left her nauseous. The first stirrings of blood-need. She took a slow, easy breath.

“Just pack and bandage the wound. I’ll take the risk.” She held a hand up before he could protest. “We need to get moving. These walls are thick but not so thick Ilahn couldn’t have heard the commotion. He’ll be wondering what’s happened. Once he gathers the nerve, he’ll check.”

The
Na’Chi’s
brow dipped. “You can barely stand, let alone move with the speed we’re going to need. And you know it.” His glare heated. “You’ll die without feeding. I’d offer you my vein, but the human blood in me is too weak to sustain you. Neither you nor Arek have any choice in this.”

Imhara swallowed against a dry throat. Her friend had never hidden the truth from her, ugly or bad. One of the qualities she admired in him, and always had.

Arek’s arms loosened from around her. One blood-smeared hand tugged at his shirtsleeve until his forearm was bared.

“Your Second is right.” Terse words that made her flinch. “Feed and take all you need. No half measures this time.”

Surprise and shock raced through her. “But you hate it.” She managed to move a little to look at him. “Your scent—”

Twilight eyes locked with hers, level and steady. “I used to hate Annika and the other
Na’Chi
at Sacred Lake, but my attitude changed. If this journey has taught me anything, it’s that I can adapt.” His stubbled jaw flexed and his voice roughened. “Besides, before we were so rudely interrupted tonight, I made you a promise, and it’s one I intend to keep. How can I do that if you die?”

A promise? Imhara frowned then blinked. Surely he wasn’t referring to the comment he’d made about making love to her again? She inhaled deeply. He was. The spicy scent filling her lungs didn’t lie.

Her throat tightened. Inside her chest, her heart beat at a rapid thrum. His words breathed life once more into long-suppressed yearnings.

To hear Arek share his journey so openly when she knew he disliked leaving himself vulnerable sparked a soul-deep warmth that rose and encircled her heart. It didn’t seem that long ago when she’d wondered if he’d ever reach this point, whether she’d earn his trust and he’d consider her an ally.

He was giving her a part of himself even when he didn’t want to, and the precious feeling that came with his gift was breath stealing.

Now he wanted to be her lover; something she’d never even expected or dared to hope for.

Until this moment.

She could easily love such a man. Imhara closed her eyes at the dizzying thought and tried not to let herself hope too much. But, deep down, she knew it was too late.

His words and actions claimed her heart. Absolutely.

She already loved him.

Her chest tightened. The realization was powerful and stunning.

“Imhara?” Arek’s knuckles brushed the side of her face.

Did he have any idea just what she felt for him?

The scent of new-fallen rain flooded the air. Someone did.

Imhara glanced to Rassan. Surprise lightened his gaze, but then his mouth quirked and satisfaction deepened his scent.

She took a slow, deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

Arek offered his arm to her again. All too aware of how badly her fingers shook, she grasped his wrist. Saliva filled her mouth as she pressed a kiss against his flesh, unable to vocalize just how precious his gesture was to her. Thanking him seemed so inadequate.

Without any further delay, she bit into him, heard his soft grunt, and then fed. The hot, sweet taste of his blood exploding in her mouth made her stomach cramp. She opened all her senses to her hunger, monitoring its intensity, allowing the warmth of Arek’s blood and the energy that came with it to fill her.

Light
, she could feel every cell in her body heating, absorbing his blood, repairing the damage done to her by Yur’s blade in a way she’d never felt before, only ever read about in her ancestors’ journals. The sharp, prickling sensation centralized around the wound.

After a few minutes, her light-headedness vanished, another couple and the agony in her side diminished to a manageable ache, like she’d overworked and pulled every muscle in her side. But with her improving health, the full-bodied, iron-rich tang of Arek’s blood began to weaken. She stopped feeding.

“What’s wrong?” Arek asked.

She licked her lips. “There’s a point reached in any feeding where you’d begin to feel the side effects of blood loss. You’ve reached it. I can taste the difference. If I kept feeding and took too much, you’d lose consciousness.”

Rassan lifted the edge of her shirt again and rechecked the wound site, his fingers probing in a thorough pattern as he tested the flesh. The wound no longer bled. The skin looked just healed over, red raw in the center, a deep pink at the edges.

“Any pain?” he asked.

She shook her head. “None, just a bit of tenderness and a lingering ache.”

“You still need to be careful, give it time to knit properly and for your strength to return.”

Imhara nodded. She’d seen the results of pushing a body still healing too far. Any strenuous activity could potentially tear open the wound again and they’d be back to square one. It was going to make confronting . . . She blinked and uttered a curse.

“What about Savyr?”

“Imhara . . .” Rassan grimaced and pushed to his feet.

An icy coldness prickled her skin. “No! Don’t even say it!”

His dark brows descended in a deep frown as he resheathed his sword. “You can’t go after him. That would be suicide!”

Familiar fury twisted in her gut. Savyr couldn’t be allowed to live, to continue his reign. The blood of too many lives stained his hands. His pursuit of total domination,
Na’Reish
and human territory alike, had to end now.

She pressed a hand to her side, to the tear in her shirt where Yur’s blade had penetrated, then fisted the material in her hand. Five years of prayer and oaths made at her family’s graveside to avenge their deaths, and five years of being something she wasn’t—gone, in a single thrust. One unfortunate error on her part, and she’d sacrificed years’ worth of planning.

The knowledge hit her like a fist to her stomach.

She straightened. “There’s time between now and when we get to him for me to regain my strength.”

“Don’t delude yourself.” Rassan’s hard words lashed like whip.

Her temper ignited. “We came here to kill him! You want to abandon everything and walk away? Let him
live
?”

“Of course not!” The words exploded from her friend. “I want to see him dead as much as you. We planned for every contingency we could, but we knew the odds of success coming into this venture.” He sucked in a deep breath, and the black flecks in his gaze faded. “Making another attempt now is careless. Stupid. We took out the king’s right hand. We have to settle for that small victory and move on.”

Denial raced through Imhara in a hot wave that scorched every nerve, head to toe. She shot to her feet, wincing as her side protested the angry move, and snatched her sword off the floor. To come so close and turn away . . . She couldn’t do it. . . . She couldn’t break her oath to her family, to her people, to herself.

The weight of responsibility made her chest tighten. Why now? Just when she’d discovered a man she could love and allowed herself to hope for a future of her own? She bit her lip and pushed the pain clawing at her heart away.

“Take Arek. Leave the fortress. Get everyone home and do the best you can dealing with the Blade Council.” She retrieved her dagger. “I’m going after Savyr. Alone.”